As  adjutant,  I  had  ridden  with  the  old  battery  to  its  selected
position,  and,  these  guns  in  place,  had  returned  to  the  col-
umn and  was  aiding  in  locating  another  of  the  batteries,
when  the  fire  upon  the  Howitzer  position  became  so  heavy
that  I  galloped  back  to  see  how  they  were  faring  and  if  they
needed  anything.  As  I  rode  rapidly  in  rear  of  the  first  gun
of  the  battery,  at  which  my  youngest  brother,  Eugene,  had
been  made  a  driver,  I  noted  that  the  fire  had  slackened  con-
siderably, but  that  one  of  his  horses  had  been  killed ;  that  he
had  very  practically  pulled  the  dead  horse  around  into
proper  position,  and  he  and  the  driver  of  the  other  team  were
fast  constructing  quite  a  passable  earthwork  over  and  about
him.  Just  as  I  observed  this,  "Genie"  caught  sight  of  me,
and  springing  up,  shouted  after  me,  in  fine  voice  and  good
old  Georgia  nursery  phrase :

"Bubba,  Bubba,  I  wasn't  scared  a  bit — not  a  bit !"
A  line  of  stalwart  veteran  infantry  was  lying  down  be-
hind the  guns,  and  as  the  plucky,  but  uninitiated,  boy  shouted
this  reassuring  greeting,  several  of  these  seasoned  old  fel-
lows raised  up  partly  and  looked  around,  and  one  of  them


250  FOUR  YEARS  UNDER  MARSE  ROBERT

called  out,  "Where's  that  fellow  that  wasn't  scared  a  bit?
He  must  be  some  greenhorn  or  fool !"  And  then  there  was  a
burst  of  laughter  at  the  lad's  expense.  But  I  shouted  back
to  him  that  he  musn't  mind  them;  that  they  were  just  guy-
ing him,  and  were  glad  enough  to  be  behind  his  gun  and
his  dead  horse,  too.
