"I swung my coil over the ground where on that day so many years ago, men's hearts beat faster. Cannons thundered and white smoke drifted heavily across the field. Hot lead flew thick through the air and the smell of burnt gun powder permeated the valley. Cannon balls exploded or sped and bounced along the ground cutting a deadly swath through the ranks. Distant crackling musket fire carried on its rolling cadence up and down the lines of held positions. Bark and limbs showered down from trees as heavy musket balls slammed into opposing positions, many of the balls finding their targets with sickening thuds. The deafening roar of returning musket fire rolling up and down the defending lines, made for a foreboding rhythmic dance of death. A line had been drawn in this field that day and those that came would step across it.
As I detected, I listened and tried to hear the shouts of the officers and screams of wounded men above the pitched tempo of battle, surely the sounds still echoed through the valley, riding forever on the winds of time. Surging waves of humanity rushing this way and that. Sword wielding riders on screaming wide-eyed horses crashing to the ground their hoofed legs flailing the air."
One of the battles of Saylor Creek
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