It was the wilderness almost as De Soto had traversed it nearly four centuries before, and it had a majesty which in its wildness was not without its sinister note.
They approached a creek, deeper and wider than usual, flowing in slow, yellow coils, and, as they descended into the marsh that enclosed its waters, there was a sharp crackling sound, followed quickly by another and then by many others.

The reports did not cease, and, although blood was shed freely, no man fell from his horse, nor was any wounded mortally.

But the assault was vicious and it was pushed home with the utmost courage and tenacity, although many of the assailants fell never to rise again.

Cries of pain and anger, and imprecations arose from the stricken regiment.
"Slap! Slap!" "Bang! Bang!" "Ouch! He's got his bayonet in my cheek!" "Heavens, that struck me like a minie ball! And it came, whistling and shrieking, too, just like one!" "Phew, how they sting! and my neck is bleeding in three places!" "By thunder, Bill, I hit that fellow, fair and square! He'll never trouble an honest Yankee soldier again!" The fierce buzzing increased all around them and Colonel Winchester shouted to his trumpeter: "Blow the charge at once!" The man, full willing, put the trumpet to his lips and blew loud and long.

The whole regiment went across the creek at a gallop--the water flying in yellow showers--and did not stop until, emerging from the marsh, they reached the crest of a low hill a mile beyond.