It is like a picnic; the soldiers are ruddy and fat, and strong; whoop! whoop! hurrah! come on, Mr.Yank.

We form line of battle on top of Rocky Face Ridge, and here we are face to face with the enemy.

Why don't you unbottle your thunderbolts and dash us to pieces?
Ha! here it comes; the boom of cannon and the bursting of a shell in our midst.

Ha! ha! give us another blizzard! Boom! boom! That's all right, you ain't hurting nothing.
"Hold on, boys," says a sharpshooter, armed with a Whitworth gun, "I'll stop that racket.

Wait until I see her smoke again." Boom, boom! the keen crack of the Whitworth rings upon the frosty morning air; the cannoneers are seen to lie down; something is going on.