Chapter VII.

Then came reorganization. It seemed like a "general breaking up." It was. Instead of the mere handful of men that stood about the torn and tattered colors of the old regiment but yesterday, nearly a thousand were grouped together in the new organization. They might all be considered veterans. Some had been in service since the beginning of the war; all had, at least, the experience of the present campaign. It was generally felt that the new regiment had in it some elements of success not to be found in one brought into existence under ordinary circumstances. The officers of both regiments were tried men, who had the confidence of all. Most of them had risen from the ranks, and had received promotion, step by step, with the approval of their comrades. Sergeant William Coleman, of Company D, was made first-lieutenant of Company I; and Lieutenant R. Birkman, of Company E, was promoted to captain of Company A, of the One Hundred and Ninetieth. These both served faithfully until the close of the war. Lieutenant Hayden, of Company —, of the Eleventh, was transferred to the One Hundred and Ninety-first, and lost a leg at Appomattox Court-house, the morning of Lee's surrender.

With organization still incomplete, these two regiments were pushed forward to the front, and had a share in the terrible fighting at Cold Harbor. As soon as possible, however, the organization was completed, and the two companion regiments became the Third Brigade, Third Division, Fifth Army Corps. William R. Hartshorn was commissioned colonel of the One Hundred and Ninetieth, and Joseph B. Pattee lieutenant-colonel. The latter, a brave and capable officer, commanded the regiment during its entire history, except when absent, wounded, as Colonel Hartshorn was absent, for some cause, most of the time. I was assigned to Company C. Neri B. Kinsey was captain. Lieutenant Moses W. Lucore was in command until some time after July, when Captain Kinsey returned. He was severely wounded, in October, and discharged the following March, on account of his wounds. The regiment adopted the bucktail, in honor of the old "Bucktails," who were more largely represented in the One Hundred and Ninetieth than any other regiment.

In the afternoon of June 12th, we received marching orders, and soon tents were struck, and we were on our way, none knew whither. At this time we were short of provisions. I had a very small quantity of coffee, but nothing else, except fresh meat, which had just been issued. When orders came to strike tents for the march, I was engaged in cooking a slice of fresh beef, by holding it to the fire, spitted on a sharp stick. With an appetite sharpened by a more than orthodox fast, I was watching the operation most devoutly; and the savory odor which rose from the sputtering morsel awakened anticipations which only a ferociously hungry man can imagine. But I was doomed to illustrate the words of the Scottish bard:

"The best laid plans of mice or men
Gang aft aglee."

With my half-cooked meat in my hand, I swung on my knapsack, and we marched away. The march continued, without intermission, during the night, except now and then a brief halt for rest. Towards morning we crossed the Chickahominy, at Long's Bridge. Here we halted for rest and breakfast. My entire commissary outfit consisted of about one teaspoonful of coffee. We had halted for breakfast, and might as well go through with the programme. I went to the river and procured about a pint of liquid from that famous stream, and boiled the coffee with due circumspection, and drank the product.

The final member of the above sentence is not inserted to inform the reader that we did not eat the "product"; but, in explanation, when we thought of that Chickahominy water, the "old man" stirred mightily within us, and we greatly desired to say that it was good, knowing well with what unction every unfortunate that ever tasted it, would say, "O, what a lie!" We would like also to insert a few thoughts about G. Washington, who could not tell a lie, but we forbear. We drank that coffee as a war measure.

Our course was then toward the right, a short distance along the river, soon bearing away from it toward Richmond. During the forenoon we reached White Oak Swamp, where the enemy was encountered in strong force. We moved out past some timber to where the cavalry were skirmishing with rebel troops posted in the woods beyond. Part of the regiment deployed as skirmishers and advanced to where the cavalry were fighting and joined in the fray. The rest remained in their rear as support. We lay down in a slight depression of the ground about four rods behind the skirmishers. As we were getting into position a few were wounded; but after arrangements were completed, we lay in comparative safety. About three hundred or more yards to the left, on a little knoll, two guns were in position. Except these, which seemed unsupported, I could see no other force. Where the other troops were or how posted, I have not been able to make out.

The day was warm, and after our night march, the men were fatigued and sleepy. Before long many of them were sleeping soundly, unmindful of the bullets that were whistling over. I do not know how long we lay thus. There is a peculiar satisfaction in sleeping under circumstances of danger. You are no more exposed than when awake, and you don't have to do the thinking. Suddenly I awoke to a consciousness that something had "broken loose." A volley of musketry was poured into us from the rising ground in front of our skirmishers, and the bullets were hissing close above us. I lay still a moment as they passed over, and then sprang to my feet. The skirmishers were giving way, still facing the rebel line of battle that was charging forward. On the left, our guns were belching forth grape and canister into the rebel infantry, that came sweeping on like ocean waves. I think these guns were lost. The last I saw of them the rebel troops seemed to roll right over them. We were driven back to the woods. Here we checked their advance, and held the ground till night. A part of the Fifth Corps and one division of cavalry had been thrown up in this direction to make a diversion, and also to cover the flank of Grant's army while it crossed the Peninsula to the James River, and placed itself before Petersburg. Hence there was not much object in fighting except to hold our position for a sufficient length of time. In the evening a heavy force of the enemy was reported moving toward our left. For this reason, or in carrying out the original programme, we marched in the same direction, starting just after dark. As we fell back in the afternoon, I found a haversack containing some hard-tack. This our mess divided. We did not fail to commiserate the unlucky chap whose loss was our gain. This was a very unsatisfactory fight. It always seemed to me like a scrub race. The rebels plunged in as if they thought it was a 2.20 affair, at the least. The march continued all night. About two in the morning I concluded that the thing had gone on about long enough, and, without any ceremony, made my bed beside a stump in a little opening in a strip of woods through which we were passing. It was after sunrise when I awoke. Breakfast was not an elaborate affair, and was quickly dispatched. It consisted of the vivid recollection of the two delicious hard-tacks which I had eaten the day before. It was light diet, but the best that could be afforded. I found that the column, after keeping the road right on for some time, had about faced and retraced their steps to a point opposite where I had slept. A road here led to the left of our original line of march. This they followed a couple of miles and camped. I found them without trouble. Here we waited, with nothing to eat, till the evening of the 15th. This is the only time I ever felt the pangs of extreme hunger. During three days and nights of almost constant marching and fighting, I had eaten one ration of fresh beef and two crackers. It seemed as if I was all stomach, and each several cubic inch of that stomach clamoring incessantly for "grub."

The boys amused themselves laying out an imaginary bill of fare. The merits of sundry inviting dishes were zealously discussed. Roast turkey was eloquently extolled by one; another set forth the attractions of a table to which forest, mountain-stream, or river had contributed delights. Sometimes the grotesque imagination of some wild fellow would conjure up a feast so full of horror that a famished cannibal might well protest. In striking contrast with this was the gentle pathos of word and manner as some boy told of dinner at the old farm-house among the hills, where mother poured out the fragrant coffee, rich with honest cream.

Chapter VIII.

On the 16th we marched to the James River. I do not know at what point. The rest of the corps, together with the Second, Sixth, and Ninth, had crossed at Wilcox's Landing. I think we must have reached the river lower down. We were crowded on board transports. Judging from the time we were on board, we must have been carried a considerable distance up the river. We landed on the south side. Here we rested awhile. I went down to the river to bathe and to wash a shirt. Hundreds of soldiers were in the water, plunging, splashing, diving, enjoying themselves like schoolboys. After sharing in the sport to my heart's content, I washed my shirt. The process was simple enough. The garment was well soaped, then held on a large stone and pounded with a club or any thing convenient. A final washing out completed the operation. This is the usual modus operandi during a campaign. When I have described this process in these latter days, some of my good friends have manifested an unreasonable and unnecessary skepticism as to the real and ultimate object of the pounding. But I solemnly affirm that the purpose is to expel the dirt from the garment.

There is a little animal. Every soldier knows him. Noah Webster, LL.D., knew him. Noah is good authority. He derives his name from the Gothic verb liusan, to devour.

The noble Roman knew him. He called him pediculus. He is truly democratic in his instincts and disposition.

He loves a rebel. But a copperhead loves a fat army contract. So does he. On this line he is cosmopolitan. He has some splendid business qualifications. He is modest, retiring, persistent, insinuating. He comes to stay. He will stay if you let him. He sticketh closer than a brother. If you don't want him you must skirmish for him. You can not argue him out of it.

I once knew a warrior that cultivated him contrary to army regulations. We protested. They were firm friends, like David and Jonathan.

One day stern Law, embodied in a corporal and a file of men with glistening bayonets, took that man down to the running brook, and, regardless of the frosty air and chilly temperature, with a scrubbing broom they cleansed and variously purified him, furnished him a new outfit of regulation clothing, and brought him back as bright and rosy as need be. He made some remarks. They were comprehensive, but not to edification, and we will not reproduce them. If that veteran still breathes the vital air, he voted for Hancock last Fall.

This seems like a digression, but it is suggested by the facts of the case. As before remarked, I washed that shirt. When I began it was only an ordinary shirt. When I got through it was a most extraordinary garment. There were "millions in it." I skirmished, and washed again. The result was astonishing. I thought of Moses, Aaron, and Egypt, and wondered why Pharaoh did not let the people go. It was a moving sight. It may be there yet, or it may have followed the army. I do not know. I retired from the scene sadder, but wiser.

During the forenoon the march to Petersburg began. The day was very warm, and the dust which rose as the column pressed on rendered the hot air stifling. The men suffered greatly from thirst. I do not remember any march more trying in this respect. Late in the afternoon we halted to rest. There was a strip of rough, broken ground on the right, a kind of ravine, about half a mile away. I went over there in search of water. Not a drop could be found. Returning to the column, I learned that there was water some distance to the left. Here was a beautiful spring of clear, cold water flowing in abundance. My intention was to drink very moderately; but I forgot all about this when I raised my quart cup, brimming full of the delicious beverage, to my lips. Of course I paid the penalty of my imprudence, and before dark was so ill that I was compelled to leave the ranks. I kept up with the column until after dark, but finally gave up all hopes of keeping with them, and camped till morning. The regiment, meantime, had reached the vicinity of Petersburg, and during the severe fighting there, had suffered some loss. Lieutenant-colonel Pattee was dangerously wounded. Lieutenant Steel, of Company A, received a terrible wound in the face. Abe Eshelman, formerly of the Eleventh, was mortally wounded, and died a few days later at City Point. The regiment was on a sandy ridge in front of woods, facing the rebel works, at a point nearly where the Norfolk Railroad passed through their lines. Behind them, in such a position as to fire almost over them, was a battery of rifled guns, which kept up a fire of shells upon the rebel works at intervals day and night. The rebel batteries responded at intervals of but a few minutes. This position was also under a continual fire from rebel sharpshooters, their balls reaching as far as the woods beyond with fatal effect.

The second day we were here, June 18th, William Rutter was mortally wounded. He had picked up a piece of corn-cake in the field back of the works. Some jesting remark was made about the cake and the rebel that made it, when he said he would go out and get some more. He was sitting in the pit beside me. He rose, still laughing, to carry out his purpose; but as his head and shoulders were exposed above the pit, there was a sharp "crash," and he grasped his left shoulder with his right hand and uttered a smothered exclamation of pain. A large rifle ball had penetrated and crushed the shoulder joint. He was taken back at once, and the arm amputated. It was reported that he did not survive the operation; but I have since learned that he lived till the 15th of July. We lost a number of men in this way and on the picket line.

The pickets were changed during the night, usually between nine and ten o'clock. This was the occasion for a lively time down on the line, in which the artillery usually joined. Sometimes this picket firing, with its accompaniment of booming cannon and screaming shells, would rise almost to the dignity of a night battle. In front, from the picket pits, rifles blazed and flashed with their crackling roar; and farther back, the great guns belched forth their lurid flames, casting a momentary glare over the weird scene. The gunners would range their guns before dark, so as to give the rebels a good one when the time should arrive. Every device was resorted to that would make this night-firing effective and annoying to the enemy.

Not long after the siege began, and while we were yet at this point of the line, we got a mortar-battery—two guns—into position. One clear, calm evening, the Yankees proceeded to try a little of this new-fangled music on our friends across the lines. The mortars were planted some distance to the right, and in such a position that we had a fine chance for observation. The line had been unusually quiet, as if the beauty of the tranquil sunset hour had subdued for a season the fierce spirit of war in the hearts of men. The sun's last ray had faded from hill-top and tree, and twilight was settling down upon the scene, when we heard on our right a strange, grumbling, muffled roar; and with a rushing sound, we saw what seemed two lighted tapers mounting upward, describing a curve through the air, and descending upon the rebel works, followed by two sharp, ringing explosions. There was a moment's pause, and then "boo-oom," and again two curves of light were marked along the dark sky, and the great shells descended upon the rebel works, exploding with a terrific crash. Still no reply from the rebel guns. Again the mortars boom out as before; but now, as if by a preconcerted signal, the batteries for about a mile along the rebel line cut loose at once, a perfect volley of cannon, all centered on the one point, around which the shells burst and flashed like a thousand thunderbolts. Not a cannon replied from our lines; only at intervals, for a while, would growl out that "boo-oom," and above the flash of bursting shells and flaming cannon would rise those two little points of light, curving slowly upward and then down, with a seeming deliberation that contrasted oddly with the whirl and bustle below. This continued a few minutes, and the "boo-oom" ceased. The little mortar-battery was "knocked out of time." Then there arose along our line a great "ha-ha"—an army laughing. Such was the spirit in which the men had watched this unequal combat. But the laugh quickly changed to a cheer, and a hundred cannon roared out their savage thunder from either line. Gradually the noise of strife died away, and an hour later the army slept.

As before noted, our rifle-pits extended along a sandy ridge, the ground open in front, sloping downward to the railroad. On our right the ground was somewhat rough and broken; but immediately in front, at the railroad, the ground rose abruptly for several feet, and then sloped gradually upward toward the rebel works. Toward the left of this point, the abrupt rise disappeared; but in general, the rebel works crowned elevated ground beyond, and the entrenched picket-lines of the two armies were in the open ground between the railroad and the rebel entrenchments. On the right, as you would go down from our trenches to the road, a kind of ravine extended toward the rebel works, and was commanded by their rifles. A large and well-manned picket-pit was established at its head, from which they sent their bullets hissing down almost without hindrance.

On the afternoon of June 19th, I think it was, word came in from our picket-line that ammunition was running short, and a fresh supply must be sent out. Myself and nine others were detailed to perform this rather delicate operation. The ammunition wagons were beyond the strip of woods in our rear, and we must run the gauntlet of sharpshooters, and risk odd shells in going and returning over this route, before getting started from the works. Taking each a piece of shelter-tent, in which to carry cartridges, we started for the wagons. If any man, that has been placed in similar circumstances, can say that he felt no unusual agitation, in view of the possible consequences, I must be allowed to suggest that he is got up on a different plan from myself. The truth is, I was considerably shaken up over the matter. It would seem quite heroic to be able to say that I was glad of it, when assigned to this dangerous duty. I am free to confess I was not glad of it. When selected for this purpose, I went through with it. The world looks very bright, on a fine June day, to a healthy boy of seventeen. He is not particularly anxious to exchange it for another, least of all by way of minie balls, when he has no chance to send back any in return. To do our work without faltering, it was necessary to count on a hurried burial down there between the lines that night. Whatever reckoning others made, this is how it seemed to me, and we might just as well look the probabilities square in the face.

Taking as much ammunition as each could conveniently carry, we returned to the rifle-pits, and thence to the skirmish-line. For some distance we had partial protection from the rifle balls, by crouching low as we walked; but as we advanced we drew the fire of the rebels more and more, as they discovered us and our object. At last we reached the ravine. It seemed as if a perfect stream of bullets was hissing down it; but we must pass. One after another we dashed through. As I passed, I turned my head to the right, and glanced up the ravine. The pit, at its head, seemed to smoke, from the rapid fire of its occupants. As I turned my head, a bullet clipped close to my face, and seemed to touch my hair. Onward we went, at the top of our speed, and soon reached the shelter of the high bank by the railroad.

Here we rested a few minutes. All were safe thus far. A fine spring bubbled out of the bank. How cool and refreshing its water seemed! Here were a number of men who had been shot on the picket line, some dead, others dying, one or two unharmed, caring for the wounded, until night should permit their removal. The sight of these mangled, bloody forms here was grimly suggestive. We must not think too much. The most dangerous part of our work still remained. The ammunition must go to the picket pits—must be carried there under the close range of rebel riflemen. During our progress thus far our pickets had kept up a sharp fire on the enemy. As we started for the pits the fight became more exciting. Both parties exposed themselves more recklessly, the rebels to shoot us before we could complete our mission, and our men to keep them down and make their fire less deadly. Bullets hissed at every step. I went toward the left, past several pits, I know not how far, and stopped at one in which was a lieutenant. Forgetting the situation for a moment, I stood upright, and stretched myself for relief from the weariness of carrying my heavy load. Instantly a bullet whizzed past my head, and dashed into a tree in the rear of the pit. Quick as a flash the lieutenant jerked me down, and warned me of the danger of exposure. After resting awhile, I started to return. Back to the railroad, again our only protection was the rapid fire and deadly aim of our riflemen. Thence to the main line, the only point we dreaded much was passing the ravine. The return was at last successfully accomplished. Notwithstanding the severity of the fire to which we were exposed but one of our number was injured—mortally wounded, I was told. Had it not been for the return fire of our own men not one of us would have reached the picket line alive.

This was my first and only visit to the picket line at this point. The same evening I was detailed for guard duty at brigade headquarters, where I remained till after July 4th.

On this part of the line it was not the custom to station videttes in front of the picket pits at night, as was usually done. A constant fire was kept up day and night. The boys used to invent various contrivances for the special benefit of the "graybacks." I have seen them work for hours to mold a bullet of such form as would make a particularly ugly sound, and then fire it across with a double charge of powder. But the favorite amusement was shooting iron ramrods. These could be picked up by hundreds over the battle-ground of the previous days, and, with a little careful fixing, could be made to fly with considerable accuracy. They were thought to have peculiar penetrating power, if they could be made to strike a picket pit with the sharp end. As they would send such an unusual missile whizzing through the air, they would laugh and chuckle over the anticipated consternation it would cause. One result often prophesied was that they would "string" a goodly number of the enemy on the ramrod. Whether such direful results were ever produced, we had no means of knowing.

Colonel Carle, of the One Hundred and Ninety-first, then in command of the brigade, had his headquarters in the woods about a hundred yards in the rear of the line. Here we were exposed to shells and stray rifle-balls, which occasionally reached us. The only damage inflicted was the loss of a quart of coffee, which was overturned by a fragment of shell striking in our fire while we were preparing dinner. About the same time one man was wounded at division headquarters, a few rods to our right.

It is remarkable how indifferent men become to danger under such circumstances. While myself and another soldier were engaged in washing some clothes one day, at a little stream to the right of this place, a bullet passed within a foot of our heads. The only effect was to turn our conversation to the subject of the range of rifles. It would naturally be supposed that, under such constant danger of death or wounds, men would be in continual dread of what might happen. As a rule, it is quite otherwise. Feelings of dread and uneasiness gradually give way to a sense of comparative security.

Coming under fire for the first time, a man usually feels as if he were about as large as a good-sized barn, and consequently very likely to take in all the balls, shells, grape, and canister, and such odds and ends, coming in his direction. After a while he begins to realize that he is not so large, after all, and frequent and continued experience confirms him in the view. That which unnerves the recruit is not alone the fear of injury or death to himself, but also the very nature of the terrible tragedy about to be enacted. He takes his place in line of battle as they are forming for a charge, knowing that hundreds of men who now stand with him there in the full flush of life and health and the hopefulness of vigorous manhood, in one hour will lie dead in their blood, or be racked with the agony of shattered limbs or torn flesh. What man of ordinary humanity can be unmoved by such surroundings? No man should regard war otherwise than with the utmost horror, nor sanction it except as an awful, inevitable necessity. Some such feeling as this is in the breast of most men on the eve of battle, modified somewhat by the fact that the stern necessity is present. The difference between a recruit and a veteran is, mainly, that the latter has learned to command, perhaps to ignore, such feelings.

For my own part, I can remember few occasions when such thoughts did not oppress me during the waiting which is frequently incident to the opening of an engagement. These thoughts soon vanish amid the noise and excitement of battle.

You may ask whether soldiers feel any scruples as to shedding blood. I answer, first and in general, kill is the game. You know it, and prefer that the killing should be confined as much as possible to the parties over yonder. If this seems to you to be a cold-blooded way of looking at things, please remember I am not representing the ideal, but the real. Again, suppose the bullets are coming thick and fast from the woods over yonder, you soon discover that the only way to stop them is to send in your own as close as possible.

In firing, we always took aim, though often we could not see the enemy on account of trees or brush in which they were concealed. In such case we took aim at the point where they were supposed to be, guided by the smoke, a glimpse of a battle-flag, or the glitter of a gun here and there. The men were sometimes ordered to keep up a fire when not an enemy could be seen. The One Hundred and Ninetieth was generally sent on the skirmish line. The men always preferred this, and did not like it if this place was given to another regiment. Those who were not accustomed to skirmishing dreaded it. On the other hand, our boys were uneasy if placed in line of battle. As a matter of course, the skirmishers took aim in fighting. It was not seldom a question of marksmanship between two men, each the other's target. We took advantage of every thing possible in the way of "cover," the main point being to go ahead, stir up every thing in front, develop the enemy's position, drive in his skirmishers. A line of skirmishers is always thrown forward when the presence of an enemy is suspected. They will soon discover what is in front. Advancing at a distance of five paces apart, the loss is not so great as if a regular line were advanced in the same manner. In the Summer of 1864 the One Hundred and Ninetieth was armed with the Spencer rifle, an eight-shooter, and well adapted to work on the skirmish line.

Chapter IX.

June 23d the brigade was withdrawn from this position for a day's rest. Our stay at this point had been almost equivalent to continuous fighting. We had lost men every day in killed and wounded. At headquarters we had received orders to prepare to move. After we were packed up ready to march, there was still a little delay before starting. Young Robbins and myself sat down with our backs against a tree, taking it easy. As we were sitting thus, a bullet came singing over, and struck the tree close to our heads. The ball was so far spent that it did not enter the tree, and was picked up by Robbins. We concluded this would do as a parting salute, and soon got out of that without any lingering regrets.

On the morning of the 24th the brigade moved to the left, and went into works before occupied by men of the Second Corps, on the Jerusalem plank-road. They should have reached this position before daylight, but did not. They could have reached the works with very little exposure by coming in a little further to the right. Instead of this, the column was led by Colonel Carle through open ground, less than eighteen hundred yards from rebel batteries. These, of course, opened on them with shell, causing considerable loss. Moreland, of our company, was among the killed. A shell struck him in the chest. The men, without waiting for orders, but without disorder, moved obliquely to the right, to reach the protection of lower ground, which there led up to the works. This called forth such violent protest and condemnation from Colonel Carle, that the result was a serious mutiny in the One Hundred and Ninetieth. Both officers and men felt that it was a blunder and an outrage to be thus needlessly exposed; and when Carle cursed them as cowards, they resented it. Confusion followed. The officers, almost to a man, refused to obey orders, or do any thing, until the insult should be retracted. The men were becoming dangerous. Carle rode up to Adjutant Wright, and ordered him to restore order, and take the men on to the works. Wright replied defiantly and profanely. Carle laid his hand on his pistol. Instantly a score of rifles were leveled on him. Yells and curses resounded on every side. He withdrew his hand, apologized to both officers and men, and they moved on to the rifle-pits without further trouble. Carle had the reputation of being a good officer; but it was said that he was under the influence of whisky at this time. I was with the brigade tent and baggage, and knew nothing of this until I visited the company the next evening. Neither do I remember who was in command of the regiment on this occasion. I think the colonel, lieutenant-colonel, and major were all absent, wounded. After we had been here a few days, arrangements were made to desist from picket firing; and after this we were no longer subjected to the peril resulting from this useless and barbarous practice. The loss of men from this cause was said to be about eighty a day in Grant's army, and was probably not less on the other side. Where the lines were so close, it was probably necessary and justifiable.

I remained at brigade headquarters until some time after July 4th, and was then relieved and returned to the regiment. It was then posted on the left of the Jerusalem road. Our camp was on sloping ground, the rifle pit at the foot of the slope. A few rods in front rose a slight ridge, and beyond this, a narrow fringe of timber shut out the rebel works from direct view. In this timber, or just beyond it, were our pickets. The well from which we obtained our supply of water was between our rifle-pits and the ridge spoken of. Further to the left, our line extended into woods, where the timber had been "slashed" in front for several hundred yards.

Back of where Company C's camp was, on the left side of the road as you faced the works, we soon after began the construction of a fort, called Fort Warren. It was four hundred feet square, strongly and carefully constructed. When finished, the ditch must have been twelve feet deep. The rebels did not get the range of our position at first, but annoyed us a good deal at times by pitching shells around at a venture. In a few days they would strike the vicinity of the fort with considerable accuracy, and kept at it with a persistence which showed that they were certain of the locality. After the work had progressed some time we felt no concern about the shelling. If it became too lively, we would stretch ourselves in the bottom of the ditch, and wait for the thing to let up, with great resignation, as we preferred this to working.

The confederate gunners had a way of sending shells "hopping" across, which was rather uncomfortable. One evening they were entertaining us in this fashion. The little ridge in front of our pits generally prevented shells from striking them, though the camp on the sloping ground behind was exposed. We had gone down to the works, waiting for the rebels to get through with their fun, which we regarded as comparatively harmless. We could see the flash of the gun, and by the time the shell would arrive, we would be safely sheltered behind the pit. One of these, however, struck the pit a few feet to my left. We waited a few seconds, expecting to hear it explode. Thinking the fuse had been extinguished, the men had risen up again and were indulging in jocular remarks over the matter, when, to our astonishment, the shell exploded in the air about ten feet high and nearly over the works, not far from where it struck. Where it had been during the intervening seconds we could not imagine. Fortunately no one was injured.

At this time, one of the men, who had not yet had supper, became impatient and started out for water. Just as he reached the well a shell came bounding over and struck him. A single exclamation of pain announced the result. Some of the men were at his side in a moment. A stretcher was procured, and he was carried back to the ambulance stand, to be taken to the hospital. The shell struck him about midway between the knee and ankle, leaving the fragment dangling by a few shreds.

While engaged in constructing Fort Warren we alternated in work with a regiment of colored troops. They were fine, soldierly fellows, and stood the shelling quite as well as any green troops.

At the entrance of the inclosure, of course, there was no ditch, a space being left about twelve feet wide. Passing along, one day, I saw a young colored soldier standing on this narrow passage between the ditches, curiously examining a twelve-pound shell which had been thrown over, and had failed to explode. Addressing him and taking the shell in my hands, I proceeded to give him a scientific explanation of how the thing worked. After expatiating at considerable length and in glowing language on the prodigious effects of such projectiles, I then unfolded to him the manner in which this particular sample might be exploded.

"Do you see that thing?" pointing to the fuse.

"Yes, sah, I sees him," replied the dusky warrior.

"Well, now, if I spit on that—the thing will go off. See here—yeep! yeep!" as I spat on it and hurled it into the ditch. With a yell and a screech a Comanche might have been proud of, that darkey "lit out." As he ran he turned his head, and seeing me dancing a war-dance to work off the extra hilarity which his fright had occasioned, he pulled up and joined in the laugh.

Work at this place continued about two weeks. One morning we were roused up before daylight and ordered to strike tents quietly. In ten minutes the column was moving down the plank road toward the rear. We went about half a mile and camped. The next morning we again struck tents before daylight, and moving toward the front, we formed line of battle in the rear of Fort Warren. Here we lay till after sunrise, when we returned to about the same place from which we had started. What all this meant was more than we could make out, but we supposed that an attack was anticipated.

We were then placed on picket still farther to the left. We called it picket duty; but as far as I could ascertain, we were the only force in front of the enemy on this part of the line. This ground had been fought over. The Second Corps had been driven from here June 23d, with heavy loss of men and guns. From the manner in which the trees were cut and splintered by bullets and cannon-shot, it would scarcely seem possible for a human being to remain alive on part of the ground. The loss had been terrible. Many of the dead had been buried in the trenches. Others, by the score, were buried where they fell, in rebel fashion, by throwing some dirt over them where they lay. Now, after the lapse of a couple of weeks, the dirt had washed from them, in some instances. Here and there you might see an arm, a leg, or a ghastly head protruding from a slight mound of earth. If any man was enamored of the glory of war, it was good for him to sit down and meditate in such a field as this.

Two of the boys sat down to their dinner, one day, near some bushes at the edge of the woods. The coffee was poured out, the frying-pan, with its contents of fried meat was beside the blackened coffee-cups. They were squatted on the ground on either side eating with a hearty relish, when one of them noticed more closely the bushes just overhanging the frying-pan, within a few inches of it. A human hand, dried, black, shriveled, protruded from the leaves, the distorted fingers in attitude as if about to make a grab at the contents of the pan. You suppose they turned away in horror at such an intrusion on their feast. Why so? The dead were all around us. When we slept at night behind the trenches, we made our beds by them. Under such circumstances human nature suffers a reaction, and horrors become the common things of life. These young men did nothing of the kind. With a light remark suggested by the idea of such a party wanting to rob them of their dinner, they moved the pan a little, and finished their meal. This done, they examined further, and found it to be the half-buried remains of a rebel soldier. On a scrap of paper they found the name, company, regiment, and State. The paper also contained a request for the burial of the body. They prepared a grave and buried him. Then as a matter of courtesy and humanity, one of them went out between the lines and was met there by a rebel soldier, to whom he related the circumstances, and requested him to join in this becoming duty by preparing a properly inscribed head-board. This was cheerfully done, and the board set up at the grave. In passing to and fro between the lines other dead were found, and these, too, were decently interred.

The days passed on pleasantly, and without special incident. No videttes were kept out, except in the night. None were needed, as the ground was open and level between us and the enemy. There was no picket firing, and we had a very comfortable time of it. We could watch the artillery "practice," which took place almost every evening, between the batteries on our right, without any apprehension that they would practice on us.

One evening I sat on the rifle-pit, watching this. Scores of the men were doing the same, or were idling the time away as suited them best. The sun had sunk from sight; but as the shells would burst over the rebel redoubt, which was then the mark of our artillerists, they seemed balls of silver, in the rays of the sun, now invisible to us. Then they would expand, and roll away in little snowy cloudlets, almost before the sound of the explosion would reach us. Suddenly a great column of smoke shot upward from the redoubt; dark at first, but turning to a silver whiteness, as the rays of the sun touched it. A sound that seemed to shake the earth came rumbling through the air. A shell had reached and exploded the magazine. A laugh, with a cheer here and there, ran along our heavy picket-line. The rebels called out: "Stop laughing, Yanks!" "Stop that laughing!"

Whether this would have resulted in an outbreak between the pickets, is uncertain; but a moment later a shell came screaming across, about ten feet above the pits, passing a few rods to my right. Thinking this was but introductory, the men dived for the pits, and the laugh was suddenly and indefinitely postponed. Then a general "ha-ha" rose from the rebel pickets, and good nature was restored.

Some time in July I was taken sick with fever. I stayed a day or two at the surgeon's tent, but can not remember much about what occurred. I gave away every thing I had. Fortunately I gave my gun to Joe Bovard, who took care of it. I remember nothing of this, but he told me so afterward. I have also an indistinct recollection of being sent away in an ambulance, of being very sick at City Point, of the dull, dreamy indolence of convalescence. I was then sent to Davis' Island, New York. I improved rapidly during the voyage. I was here but a few days when I received a furlough, to report at Philadelphia, September 10th. The patriotic people of Pittsburg had ample and generous arrangements to care for the sick and wounded soldiers that passed through their city. Arriving there weak and dispirited, a gentleman met me at the train, and took me to a place where every convenience and comfort was provided. I had looked so long on the forbidding, bloody front of war, that it was a most pleasing revelation to discover that back here was the warm, loving heart of Peace.