The poor fellow was
starving for something to eat and he thought he would steal the time to
slip up to the cookhouse and get a bite of grub. He rode his horse
across and was in the act of leaning over to get a couple of hardtacks
the cook was handing him, when a splinter of a shell that had exploded
at his horse's feet, struck him in the neck, killing him instantly,
slightly wounding his horse and destroying the rations and vessels in
the cookhouse. The Captain yelled, "Ammunition orderly wanted," and I
volunteered. I jumped on the horse, galloped him as well as his limping
leg would permit, and weathered the storm of shells through the fire
zone, making my way to the wagon lines, where I gave the Quartermaster
the order.
Then I had the pleasure of witnessing for the first time the admirable
celerity and effectiveness with which an order of this kind is carried
out.
"Ten loads of ammunition wanted at once, sir; ammunition pretty nearly
exhausted at the guns," was the message I delivered. The Quartermaster
blew his whistle--"Stand to! ammunition up!" he yelled.
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