The story of a fight, from the cock-pit point of view, would be very horrible telling, and that is all I saw.

I heard the thunder of our own guns, and the shouts of our men, and the splintering crash of the heavy shot that came aboard of us.

But before long, when the streams of wounded began to come our way, I heard nothing but gasps and groans, and saw nothing but horrors which I would fain blot out of my memory, but cannot, even now.
I had seen wounded men before.

I had been wounded myself.

But seeing men fall, torn and mangled in the heat of fight, with the red fury blazing in one's own veins, and the smoke and smell of battle pricking in one's nostrils, and death in the very air--that is one thing.