The squadron of cavalry riding with me reached the battle line. The line parted and allowed us to enter their perimeter. It was a Napoleonic infantry square. We took position inside the perimeter, dismounting and reloading. Once our men were inside the ring, the infantry line erupted into a volley of fire. I watched the scene in exhausted horror.

The first volley dropped a huge mass of nightmarish dead who had been closing in around our squadron. Their tight-knit sea of death was turning towards our sanctuary and hundreds of others were following them. Another volley struck the massed evil. Their wounded wouldn’t stay down. They would stand, or crawl if badly crippled, and advance again despite horrific damage. Yet another cascade of shot burst into the fiends. Some of them had multiple gunshot wounds, missing limbs, exposed entrails, and one had a musket ramrod jutting from its bloody chest. They closed to within a few yards.

“Now!” a ragged Confederate officer barked, “Aim at the heads! Fire at will!”