Page:Southern Historical Society Papers volume 23.djvu/207

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It is simple justice to say there was not a man who went out <f that pit without believing he was going out to die and yet they went without Invitation.

And they succeeded in getting that gun out; but, alas! they did not succeed in getting out between shots, for as they merged above Around the next shot came and, bursting in their midst, killed as good and brave a man as ever lived Claudius Liimssier.

Wonderful to relate, it killed no other, wounded none, and left our gun uninjured and ready to do its duty. And well did it do its duty, for our good gunner, Tomasso Morelli, did not miss a single shot, which, even now, we can see plowing those brave men hud- dled up behind that hill.

By taking that gun on the open hill it had been raised about three feet above and moved some twenty feet to the right of its former position. Our opponents, therefore, had to alter their aim accord- ingly. Before they recovered it our men had time to fire five rounds, giving their undivided attention to the task assigned them, not noticing the ten guns, the sharpshooters, and the heavy guns, whose shots were plowing the ground around them.

The gun was loaded for the sixth time when the first shot that struck it knocked it down and wounded nearly every man except Major Latrobe, our young lieutenant and No. 5, who was getting the seventh round from an ammunition chest in the pit.

In connection with this triangular fight, two facts are worthy of note. The first shell that struck us killed but one man and wounded none; the second wounded several but killed none. This is not an isolated case. Engaged in as many battles as any battery in the service, the Donaldsonville artillery lost less men than any. Some may call this chance, but we give it a better and a holier name.

Of all our wounded, Demon Le Blane was the only one who could not walk. We carried him back to our pit, which we found quite comfortable. One of his heels had been shot off. Not less brave than Achilles, he was more fortunate, for that heel cost him only one foot.

With a face all bloody from a wound in the head, Morelli recol- lected that the gun was loaded. He went out and fired it. If it was no longer well aimed it was at least pointing in the right direction. We do not know what was the result of this last shot fired by a wounded Confederate from a disabled Yankee gun.

To Major Latrobe, who put his shoulder to the wheel to help us take out the gun, and who stood by us all the while, cheering ds