It fell to the duty of the First Massachusetts Heavy Artillery of General
Tyler's division to put under ground the men they slew in the sharp battle
of May 18th, and here they are near Mrs. Allsop's barn digging the trench
to hide the dreadful work of bullet and shot and shell. No feeling of
bitterness exists in moments such as these. What soldier in the party
knows but what it may be his turn next to lie beside other lumps of clay
and join his earth-mother in this same fashion in his turn. But men become
used to work of any kind, and these men digging up the warm spring soil,
when their labor is concluded, are neither oppressed nor nerve-shattered
by what they have seen and done. They have lost the power of experiencing
sensation. Senses become numbed in a measure; the value of life itself
from close and constant association with death is minimized almost to the
vanishing point. In half an hour these very men may be singing and
laughing as if war and death were only things to be expected, not reasoned
over in the least.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE FEARLESS CONFEDERATES]
[Illustration: THE REDOUBT THAT LEE LET GO