We were supporting an Alabama brigade.

The fire opened--bang, bang, bang, a rattle de bang, bang, bang, a boom, de bang, bang, bang, boom, bang, boom, bang, boom, bang, boom, bang, boom, whirr-siz-siz-siz--a ripping, roaring boom, bang! The air was full of balls and deadly missiles.
The litter corps was carrying off the dying and wounded.

We could hear the shout of the charge and the incessant roar of the guns, the rattle of the musketry, and knew that the contending forces were engaged in a breast to breast struggle.

But cheering news continued to come back.
Every one who passed would be hailed with, "Well, what news from the front ?" "Well, boys, we are driving 'em.

We have captured all their encampments, everything that they had, and all their provisions and army stores, and everything." As we were advancing to the attack and to support the Alabama brigade in our front, and which had given way and were stricken with fear, some of the boys of our regiment would laugh at them, and ask what they were running for, and would commence to say "Flicker! flicker! flicker!" like the bird called the yellowhammer, "Flicker! flicker! flicker!" As we advanced, on the edge of the battlefield, we saw a big fat colonel of the 23rd Tennessee regiment badly wounded, whose name, if I remember correctly, was Matt.Martin.