He was the
most disgusted man in the American Army; he was furious; he was
white-hot; he was so mad that the tears rolled down his cheeks, as he
reported with a soldierly salute, "Sir, Serg. Weigle reports, with his
gun. Lieut. Miley did not allow me to open fire. I would like to have
orders."
In spite of the critical condition of the engagement, it was extremely
ludicrous; but the reopening of the fire at this moment presented an
opportunity to accommodate the sergeant to his heart's content. He was
directed to run his piece up on the firing-line, report to the officer
in charge thereof, and go into action as soon as he pleased. Within
thirty seconds he was getting his coveted opportunity. He fired until
his gun became accidentally jammed, pulled it down behind the crest of
the hill and removed the defective cartridge, returned it and repeated
this operation, actually bringing the gun down three times, and
returning it into action, doing very effective work, and all the time
displaying the utmost coolness and good judgment. A sharpshooter began
to make a target of Weigle's gun, and "potted" a couple of men
belonging to the cavalry near it. This made Weigle so mad that he
turned the gun, for a moment, upon the tree in which the sharp-shooter
was concealed.
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