Chapter XV.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

On the morning of March 25th, I know not why, our camp was astir earlier than usual. Heavy cannonading could be heard toward the right, but this was nothing uncommon. As time passed on, the noise of strife continued, and seemed to extend farther toward the left. Eating a hasty breakfast, I started toward the scene of action, determined to ascertain the cause of the unusual uproar. When starting from camp, I did not suppose it was any thing more serious than an artillery fight of more than ordinary interest. As I went on the sound swelled to a steady roar, which showed that a determined battle was in progress. Drawing nearer, I saw the troops in line of battle, the shells bursting, and cannon flaming as far as the eye could reach.

I was informed that Fort Steadman had been taken, and a part of our works captured by the enemy. Supposing that we would be ordered to the right to retrieve the disaster, I started to return to camp. I had not proceeded far when I saw the head of the column approaching. I hurried back to camp and procured my gun and accouterments and started to overtake the troops. I was joined by Lewis, who had also been absent. Only the pickets and ordinary camp guard remained. As we passed along we met President Lincoln, General Meade, and staff, coming toward the left. We concluded to greet them with due ceremony. As we met them we halted on the bank by the road and presented arms. The President raised his hat, and turned to General Meade with some humorous remark as they rode on. It seemed a reversal of things for the head of the nation to pass in review before a couple of stragglers.

We found the Second and Third Divisions drawn up in the rear of the works as support, awaiting events. A large number of prisoners passed to the rear while we waited here. Farther to the left, the First Division advanced on the enemy's works, and was repulsed with considerable loss, but succeeded in establishing our lines nearer to those of the enemy. We were not engaged, and returned to our quarters in the evening.

The next morning I started early to visit an acquaintance belonging to the One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania, First Division. It was not yet sunrise when I reached their camp. The acquaintance whom I had come to visit was on picket, and I went out along the line to find him. The pickets were stationed in woods, and the men were engaged in building or strengthening their intrenchments. Passing along the line, I noticed that the men kept close to the pits. I inquired if things were woolly out there, and was informed that the latitude was decidedly unhealthy.

I now noticed a Yankee vidette about twenty-five yards in front, rifle in hand, sticking close to a tree, and scarcely fifty yards farther on, a rebel vidette peered cautiously past another tree. The vigilance with which they watched each other revealed both the danger and security of the situation. If all were watching each other as jealously as these, I could continue my observations with comparative safety. A little farther toward the left I reached open ground. Arrangements had been made, under flag of truce, for burying our dead who had fallen in the battle of the previous day. Quite a number of dead lay scattered over the field, some of them close up to the rebel works. They were carried back within our own lines and buried there. They were carried on blankets, one man taking hold of each corner, and thus bearing them along.

Four men thus engaged, halted with their burden to rest as they were passing near me. In the blanket lay a boy, certainly not more than eighteen or nineteen years old. At first glance you could scarcely believe that he was dead. Surely the grim King could not stamp upon dying clay a smile so pleasant, a laugh so winning, as shone out from those parted lips and half-closed eyes! But just over his heart, half-concealed by his arm, that bloody rent in his blouse showed how he died.

"Somebody's darling is cold and dead."

I looked upon that handsome, boyish face with wonder. The smile was so happy and so life-like that the first impression was only that of light and careless mirth; but the lines curved away into an expression of solemn majesty, is if the passing spirit, thrilled with the full perception of the grandeur of its own immortality, had left this impress on the tenement of clay.

On the way back to camp, evidences were everywhere visible that the final act of the great national tragedy would quickly come on. That afternoon I made ready for active operations by purchasing from the "commissary" a couple of pounds of extra coffee. The regulation quantity was sufficient while in camp; but after a hard day's march there was a strong inclination to throw an extra handful into the old coffee-pot. As a result, the inexperienced frequently found themselves short after a few days, to their discomfort and actual disadvantage.

Chapter XVI.

The next morning, March 27th, I went on picket. Some time after midnight, on the 28th, we were withdrawn, and returned to camp. Orders had come to prepare for the march. The camp was astir with busy life. In a little while our tents, that looked so neat and trim last evening, with their white canvas roofs and clean-swept streets, will be silent, cheerless, and deserted. My tent-mates had taken down our shelter-tents, and I had nothing to do but pack my knapsack, and all was ready.

In some of the dismantled tents the fires still burned, casting their flickering rays upward through the air, while about them, sitting or lounging at ease, were men equipped for the stern work of war, ready to fall into line at the word of command. The stirring scene had in it not a little of sadness. We had passed pleasant hours in this camp. That tender something of association which clings around the thought of "the old campground" breathed through the darkness that night, and glanced in the camp-fires that dimly lighted up the warlike scene. These would be our last Winter-quarters. For some, the next night would bring the quiet "bivouac of the dead."

The strength of the Fifth Corps was as follows:

The artillery consisted of twenty guns, and there was an escort of forty cavalry.

The march began at three o'clock on the morning of the 29th, the Second Division in the advance. We passed down what was called the stage-road toward Rowanty Creek, the same road on which we had marched February 5th, at the time of the Hatcher's Run fighting. We reached the vicinity of the creek a little after daybreak, and formed line of battle in the open ground south-east of the residence of W. Perkins. Much to our dissatisfaction the One Hundred and Ninetieth was placed in the line, and the Two Hundred and Tenth was deployed as skirmishers. They did not advance till the line was formed, and then not far enough ahead of us to be of any use. Fortunately no enemy was found; but time might have been saved by a prompt advance of the skirmishers without waiting for the line.

Crossing Rowanty without opposition, we followed the stage-road to its junction with the Quaker road. Up this we marched toward Gravelly Run. The First Division, however, followed the stage-road some distance farther. How far we advanced up the Quaker road I am unable to say; but we finally turned to the left, and formed line of battle, facing the west. In our front was quite an expanse of open ground sloping down toward woods beyond. About a hundred yards to our left was a battery, ready for action. The Two Hundred and Tenth was again sent forward to skirmish. They advanced with due form and ceremony until they neared the woods, when they opened fire with such a racket that we supposed the enemy had been found in force. But they soon let up, and presently sent back a solitary prisoner, about as forlorn, dilapidated looking a specimen of grayback as could be imagined.

While we were waiting, John Edgar went down to the battery, in which he had served for a considerable time, detached from his company for this purpose; but he had left it and rejoined his company without being returned in due form. He was at once placed under arrest as a deserter by the officer in command, the man whose brutal treatment had caused Edgar's unauthorized return to the regiment. This made quite a commotion, and might have produced serious trouble; but as soon as Colonel Pattee learned what had occurred, he went down to the battery, and demanded and secured Edgar's release without delay.

After remaining here some time, we moved farther toward the left. Here the One Hundred and Ninetieth deployed as skirmishers, and advanced into the woods, facing the south-west. We remained in this position during the night. Meantime the First Division had passed up the Quaker road. At an old sawmill about half a mile from the Boydton plank-road they encountered the enemy at four in the evening. A brief but terrific conflict ensued, in which the enemy was driven back to the junction of the two roads. We knew from the rapid discharges of artillery and the heavy volleys of musketry that the great struggle had begun. The First Division lost 367 killed and wounded, while the loss of the enemy was heavier.

At dark on the 29th rain began to fall, and continued during the night and the following day, making the roads almost impassable. On the morning of the 30th we left the position held during the previous night, and moved up the Quaker road. Near the sawmill we turned to the left, and crossed the Boydton plank-road near Mrs. Butler's. In the field there were dark patches of blood on the ground, here and there, which the rain had not yet washed out. Guns that had dropped from the hands of wounded or slain, knapsacks, haversacks, accouterments stripped from mangled men ere they were borne from the field, lay scattered on the ground over which we passed.

Near the plank-road, we deployed, and advanced across a branch of Gravelly Run. The right of the regiment rested in open ground, near a negro's house, and the left extended into the woods in a north-west direction. I think the division formed on our left, facing the Whiteoak Road; and we held a gap in our lines, between the Second Corps and our own. Companies A, B, and C were on the right, in the open ground.

In advancing to this point, we were under a sharp fire, to which we did not respond, but hastened to throw up pits. On the left of the regiment the firing was lively, as the men in the woods did not need to be in such haste entrenching. We were ordered to "rally by fours," and each group threw up a separate pit.

I was in the group with Mike Coleman, and had a chance to notice one of his peculiarities. As we advanced to this position, he seemed to be dazed, and almost unconscious of his surroundings. When we halted to entrench, with my most vigorous exhortations I could not arouse him to any interest or exertion. We had no shovel, and must make a pit with rails and stones, which we could gather up in front. I would urge him to carry stones and put them in place. He would perhaps pick up a couple, very leisurely, and lay them on the ground, back of the pit, and then stand with his hands in his pockets. The bullets would whistle around, or strike the ground near him, and he would look about as if he did not understand what it all meant. Yet in battle, he was always cool, brave, and daring.

In a little while we had a pit, capable of stopping a rifle ball, and considered ourselves ready for any ordinary emergency. During the day, the rebels attacked the line on our right, and were repulsed, after a sharp fight, with considerable loss. They also advanced in our front, and opened fire on us; but only as accessory to the more determined movement on our right. The left of the regiment returned the fire; but we could not see the enemy, and there seemed no reason to justify a random fire.

There was a man in Company C who was usually troubled with a deficiency in his knees at such times. Though sufficiently warlike and lion-hearted by nature, no doubt, yet his legs were his undoing. They worked very well, when steered for the rear, but otherwise they were a failure. When the firing began on the right, he took his position behind the pit with an air of great determination. Pointing his gun—a Springfield rifle—toward the enemy, he sat crouching low, and looking intently toward the brush in front. The boys were sitting or standing around, dividing their attention between the skirmish, partly visible through the trees, and R——, whose warlike attitude and evident terror called forth good-natured raillery.

"Steady on the left, R——!"

"Cut her loose, R——!"

"Give 'em ——, R——!"

Such were a few of the cheering exhortations which greeted that redoubtable warrior. To all these he paid no heed. I suppose, in spite of his fears, a few shells, a sharp volley, or even a charge from the enemy, would have given him profound satisfaction—if unharmed himself—as a vindication of his prudent vigilance. Nothing of the kind occurred, and soon things resumed their former comparative quiet.

There was not much done during the day, except to get troops in position and prepare for the struggle of the morrow. There was some skirmishing, but our losses were not heavy—less than two hundred in the two corps, the Fifth and Second.

As night approached, a vidette was placed in front of each pit, near the edge of the woods, which was about forty yards in advance. It was not yet dark when the first man was posted here, and fire was at once opened on him, by invisible marksmen in the woods.

At first the bullets went whistling over, but soon they came lower, and began to strike the fence by which he was standing,—right, left, close,—with a savage snap. Up to this time our vidette stood it with seeming indifference; but, as the splinters began to fly from the fence, his indifference gave place to a lively interest, which called forth the laughter of the sympathizing spectators. He threw down his gun, and hastily piled rails together for a protection, and took refuge behind them.

Night came on, dark and gloomy, the rain continued to fall, and the soldiers lay down on the water-soaked earth to take what rest they could. I made a comfortable bed, by leaning two rails against the rifle-pit. On these I bestowed myself, and drew over me my rubber blanket. My knapsack was placed under my bed, to protect it from the rain. My haversack served for a pillow, and, with my cartridge box, which had not been removed since the morning of the 27th, still strapped around me, and my rifle in my hands, I sank to sleep, the rain pattering on the blanket over my head.

About four o'clock, Sergeant Hasler woke me up to go on vidette post. I arose and followed him in the deep darkness. Reaching the man whom I was to relieve, instructions were given in a whisper, and in a moment I was alone.

This was the last watch of the night, and if a surprise was contemplated by the enemy, the attempt would be made during these two hours. The rebel pickets were close at hand, and occasional sounds and voices had been heard by my predecessor. The rain dripped monotonously from the trees, and now and then a breath of wind moaned drearily through their branches. The ear alone could detect approaching danger; and thus, with rifle in hand, I listened, jealously noting every sound.

Time passed on, and at length the almost painful darkness began to disperse. Objects very near could be indistinctly discerned. What if all those weary men back there should sleep till clearer light should made me a mark for the unseen foe, that did such good shooting last evening? Why were not the videttes, at least, advanced into the underbrush, instead of being posted at its edge, to be shot at by rebel sharpshooters? Thoughts like these were running through my mind as daylight approached. But all anxiety was allayed before long, by the sergeant calling me to come in.

Chapter XVII.

We made a hasty breakfast, and then the waiting of the preceding day continued. Every rifle stood loaded where it could be grasped in a moment. As time passed on, there was an evident uneasiness on the left. About ten o'clock, the occasional picket firing increased to the sharper rattle of skirmishing, and then deepened to the roar of battle, as the sound of continuous volleys rolled through the woods, mingled with the bellow of cannon and the hiss of shells. Every man now stood with rifle in hand, ready for the decisive moment which had evidently come. Above the noise of musketry and cannon we could sometimes hear the well-known rebel yell, and knew that they were charging with all their force. Now the horrid uproar could be heard moving backward toward the run. But now orders have come. Word is immediately sent along the line to assemble on the right. The Sixteenth Maine will relieve us. Colonel Pattee mounts his horse.

"Fall in!"

"Right face!"

"Forward, double quick, march!"

We plunge into the woods, following the road toward the left. Shells crash through the trees, and bullets patter around like hail. The left of the division was flanked and hopelessly turned. The right was stubbornly resisting, but giving way before the overpowering force that was crowding down upon it. We halted and faced the front, advancing a short distance from the road toward the fighting. Wounded men were limping past. We could see the smoke through the trees, and the men slowly yielding, fighting as they came.

Colonel Pattee gave an order, but we could not hear a word. We all knew what it ought to be, and instantly deployed. The line, broken and shattered, went back past us, and we met the enemy with the rapid fire of our repeating rifles. We brought them to a stand in our front. If fresh troops could have been thrown in on our left, the disaster could have been retrieved at this point, and the rebel charge hurled back; but our flanks were exposed, and we were many times outnumbered, and in danger of being surrounded. There was nothing left but to get out of that the best we could.

Colonel Pattee rode to and fro along the line, mounted on his bay horse, encouraging and directing his men, steadying and inspiring them by word and example. Under a less devoted commander we would have been captured or driven ingloriously from the field. Before we reached the edge of the woods, the enemy had inclosed us in the form of a V, and were pouring their fire upon us from the front and both flanks. We brought out most of our wounded, but some had to be abandoned. Except these, not a man was taken prisoner. Reaching the edge of the woods, I knew that no stand could be made before crossing the branch of Gravelly Run. I "stood not upon the order of my going," but went at once, and at a lively pace. Colonel Pattee was the last man to leave the woods. He came down across the narrow field, crouching close to the neck of his horse, which was reeling and staggering from wounds out of which his life-blood gushed at every plunge. Leaping from the back of his dying steed, he rallied his men on foot.

The trees on the side of the ridge which sloped down to the stream opposite the open ground in which we had intrenched on the 30th, afforded excellent cover. Here most of the One Hundred and Ninetieth, and some from other regiments, rallied and faced the enemy. We were not much more than a heavy skirmish line; but the tide must be stayed here, at any cost. The rebel lines came surging on, elated with victory; but before our steady fire they wavered and came to a halt. Thus, with scarcely the space of a hundred yards between us, we stood and poured at each other showers of deadly missiles. Rebel shells from somewhere on our right were grinding through the trees and bursting all around, while the fire from their infantry was beating on our thin line with terrible effect. A man close beside me was struck through the face with a rifle ball, and walked back toward the rear, pale and bleeding. Casting my eyes toward the left, I saw our color-bearer holding the flag, his face deadly pale. Brave old Woo-haw had just been struck down by his side and carried to the rear. Mike Coleman was in his glory. Miller's face wore its accustomed smile as with grave deliberation he loaded and fired.

But this state of things could not long continue, and the most hopeful were growing anxious. A few hundred were fighting the force that had driven a division. But just now on the ridge behind us, a battery wheeled into position, and sent charge after charge of grape and canister whizzing across into the enemy's ranks. Still they did not give way, and the battle raged more fiercely than ever. I had fired not less than eighty rounds, and only a few cartridges remained. Others had nearly exhausted their ammunition. At this point, to our great joy, we saw a line of battle advancing to our support. Steadily, quietly, they came on, their battle-flags gleaming through the trees, moving as orderly as if on dress-parade. As they neared us they quickened their pace, and charged forward with a tremendous cheer. It was a grand sight as they swept on, every eye fixed on the smoking timber beyond. But the little stream threw them into disorder, and they went rushing over the field without waiting to re-form. As they went over the rising ground which lay between them and the enemy, they received a terrible volley. Half their number seemed to go down before it. Back they rolled in confusion, leaving the ground strewn with their dead and wounded. They came back to the narrow flat by the run. There, as by one impulse, they rallied and proceeded to re-form their lines. Not a man shirked. While they were forming, we opened fire again, over and past them. This lasted but a few minutes, and they were ready to advance. Steadily, irresistibly, their line passed up the slope, into the woods, driving every thing before it.

Our ammunition wagons had now come up, and we procured a fresh supply. We immediately moved down the stream and crossed, to drive back the enemy and retake the ground lost at this point. Here the bank on the other side was abrupt, rising thirty or forty feet in a very short distance, when level ground, partly open and partly wooded, extended toward the west and north. On this steep bank we formed for the charge, three lines of battle. The right of the regiment was detached, and placed on the left of the lines of battle to cover the flank. When the advance was made we deployed at skirmish distance, at a right angle with the line, and moving in the same direction. In this advance, which was made about two in the afternoon, we that were on the flank did not fire a shot. We were not much exposed, though some bullets whistled around.

We finally reached a farm-house in the midst of a large plantation. Here we halted. We found some of our wounded abandoned by the enemy, who seemed to have disappeared from our front. Perhaps the decisive battle might have been fought on this afternoon instead of the following day, by pushing the Fifth Corps across the White Oak Road on the right of the intrenched position of the rebels. The course followed was probably the safer one.

At first the house which we had reached seemed to be deserted; but a little later we found the family, husband, wife, and daughter, concealed in a cave in the garden. The man was a tall, gray-haired old gentleman, all of them well dressed and evidently intelligent and refined people. The old man was so frightened that he could scarcely speak. They seemed to expect brutal treatment from the barbarians of the North, who, as it happened, were quite their equals in culture and humanity.

About five in the evening General Bartlett's brigade of the First Division was sent across the country to threaten the flank of the enemy, who had now pressed Sheridan back to Dinwiddie Court-house. They marched out past us toward the south-west, and disappeared from sight.

Darkness soon came on, and we prepared to pass another night under arms. It had been a hard day. We had lost eighteen hundred men, and inflicted a loss of one thousand on the enemy. Our losses fell chiefly on the Second and Third Divisions. Since ten o'clock the struggle had been almost continuous, and night found the enemy foiled in his purpose of driving us from our advanced position, which we now held more firmly than ever; but this was all the gain for either side. Some time after dark rations were distributed, and we lay down to sleep.

All the accounts of this battle that have come under my notice contain statements which I am not able to explain, if they are correct. It is generally stated that the corps advanced toward the White Oak road, the Second Division in front, the Third next, and the First in the rear; that the Second Division was driven back on the Third, both on the First, and that all were forced back to or beyond the Boydton road. From the preceding narrative it will be seen that this was not true of the right of the corps. When we were compelled to fall back, in the forenoon, we did not retreat more than three or four hundred yards. The point at which we rallied must have been fully half a mile from the plank-road. If the rest of the corps did not make a stand until they reached the plank-road, it is rather surprising that a rebel force was not thrown across the run on our left, by which we would have been flanked and driven away or captured. The run was a favorable position for defense, while the vicinity of the plank-road was not so good. Veteran soldiers like those of the Fifth Corps would certainly rally at the former point. It is probable that some went back farther, while enough stopped at the run to check the rebel advance. We must have fought nearly three-quarters of an hour before we were re-enforced. The troops sent to our relief were from the Second Corps.

Chapter XVIII.

About midnight the Second Division was ordered down the plank-road to join Sheridan. Bartlett's brigade had proceeded as far as Gravelly Run, reaching it at dark. They found the stream swollen, the bridge gone, and the enemy strongly posted on the other side. The brigade was withdrawn during the night. It was no easy task to move troops under the circumstances. Orders had to go from corps commander down through brigade, regimental, and company officers to the privates, who had to be aroused from sleep and got into ranks without noise.

Through the deep mud and intense darkness we moved toward Dinwiddie Court-house. The darkness was so deep that we could tell nothing about localities. We must have marched past the Court-house. We might easily have passed the village without being aware of it. We then about-faced and retraced our steps for some distance. There is a road leads north from Dinwiddie toward Five Forks. We may have taken this, or we may have followed the plank-road a couple of miles farther back to a road which leads across to the one just mentioned. However this may be, daylight found us confronting the enemy somewhere in this vicinity. The only force found was a picket or skirmish line, which was easily driven away. The Second Division massed near the residence of J. M. Brooks, on the Five Forks road. Here we remained from about 7 A. M. until 10 A. M. During this time the other two divisions arrived, and took position a little north of us on the same road. When we reached this point the One Hundred and Ninetieth was thrown forward in skirmish line.

Meantime, the rebels had retired to their fortified position at Five Forks. Their works extended more than a mile, east and west, making a slight angle with the White Oak road, turning northward about a half-mile east of the Ford road. A heavy skirmish-line was deployed in front of their left, and extending some distance eastward, and south of the White Oak road. This force consisted of fourteen hundred riflemen, reputed the best in Lee's army. In this position they awaited our attack.

About ten o'clock we began to move, taking the road leading past Gravelly Run Church. At first there seemed to be some uncertainty about the movements and position of the enemy; but it was soon evident that his entire force was in our front. The column advanced along the road, with frequent brief halts, which indicated that we were nearing the foe. Erelong we could hear skirmishing, and an occasional discharge of cannon. Ambulances were passing, freighted with wounded cavalrymen, and later, stretcher-bearers, with their bloody burdens, met us, as we moved slowly toward the front.

Near Gravelly Run Church, our line of battle was formed. The Second Division was on the left, the Third on the right, the First in reserve, close behind the other two, a little on the right of the center. The two divisions in front were arranged as follows: Each division placed two brigades in front, in two lines each, and the remaining brigade in the rear of the center, in two lines. In the Second Division, the Maryland Brigade was on the left, ours on the right, and Winthrop's in reserve. The One Hundred and Ninety-first, including the fragment of the One Hundred and Fifty-seventh, and the Fourth Delaware, were the first line of battle, under Colonel Pattee. The One Hundred and Ninetieth was ordered forward to skirmish. We deployed in the woods, and waited for the completion of the arrangements going on in our rear. A few rods farther on there was open ground, which, in our front, gradually sloped down to woods. Opposite the left of the regiment, the open ground extended farther toward the north and west, and on that side was a slight hollow, with rough, broken ground beyond. Rebel skirmishers were in the woods in our front, now exchanging shots with cavalry in the open ground near us. Our skirmish-line was ready for business in a few minutes; but it was some time before the divisions were formed, in readiness for the assault.

If you should attempt to form an idea of that thin line of waiting men, who were to lead the way in the decisive struggle, which all knew was at hand, the mental picture would probably differ widely from the reality. Cast your eye to the left, along the line. You can see a goodly distance. The wood is not very dense. That does not look much like "battle's magnificently stern array." There is nothing magnificent or stern about it. You expected something of a scene. There is nothing of the sort. Instead, these men surprise you by their quiet bearing and seeming indifference. Most of them are young men. A few days ago they were so neat and tidy in dress and appearance, you might almost mistake that they were college students playing soldier. Now they are dirty, smeared with mud, half wet still from the rain, which only ceased this morning. Some are seated, leaning against the trees, taking it easy, conversing as pleasantly as if these were the ordinary occurrences of life. That bright-faced fellow, of Company E, is diligently polishing a little rusty spot, which he has discovered on his gun barrel. If there is time, he will scrape the mud from his shoes, and from his pants, which are stiff with it, almost to the knees. A few are nervous and anxious, but most of the really faint-hearted took advantage of the hard march last night to secure absence to-day. Dunn is on hand,—he that took himself from the field yesterday with such agility, at the beginning of the fight, and gave such comical reasons for his unceremonious flight, when he came up in the evening. R—— is in the line, looking black, silent, and still troubled in his knees. Do these careless men realize that they are about to decide the fate of a great nation? Perhaps they are unconscious of the greatness of the present hour; but what of that? They stood in their lot.

But our waiting is over at last; and, at the word of command, every soldier is in his place. These men were not stolid, ignorant, nor inexperienced. Their thinned ranks show how well they know what battle means. You can see some pale faces, and lips compressed, as "FORWARD" passes down the line. We pass out of the woods into the open field. A few rods ahead, some mounted cavalrymen are firing toward the woods, which conceal the enemy. We can see a puff of smoke here and there among the trees. A little farther, and the cavalry gallop away to the right, and bullets begin to whistle past, some over, some tossing up the dirt at our feet. It would be a waste of powder to return the fire at this distance; besides, we are going down there. But the bullets begin to come closer. They are fairly hot as they hiss around us. We quicken our pace. It is five hundred yards to the woods. The men on our left open fire—four hundred yards, three, the line slackens a little, and a volley, and another, and another, bursts in quick succession from our Spencer rifles. Then a cheer, as we dash for the woods at headlong speed, yelling and firing as we go. The rebel skirmishers give way before our charge, and the woods are gained.

Up to this time I had not looked back. I supposed we had advanced about a thousand yards, and would soon encounter the main force of the enemy. As we reached the woods, I turned to see if the line of battle was yet in sight. My eyes fell upon the most stirring scene I ever witnessed. This was the grandeur, the sublimity of war. The corps was coming in order of battle, line after line sweeping on with steady step. Their front extended nearly a mile across the open ground, guns at a right-shoulder, glittering in the sunlight like silver, battle-flags fluttering in the air. In front, the skirmishers were fighting savagely; on the left a score of cannon were thundering, shells screaming out their horrid warning, as they leaped from the smoking guns. But this living avalanche swept on in stern silence, as if there breathed within it a great soul, which scorned to speak or strike but once. A single glance took in the inspiring scene. I gazed but a moment, and then hurried into the woods.

The ground here consisted of alternate ridges and depressions, covered with trees and bushes, with occasional open places. It was hard ground to fight over, every ridge serving as a rallying point, and affording a superior position for defense. Our advance was now a succession of charges. When the rebels were driven from one ridge, they rallied at the next. A short distance from the edge of the woods, where we first encountered them, was a little brook, running nearly east; along its banks were some large rocks, while a few rods nearer were piles of wood, logs, and other means of shelter. Quite a large group of rebels made a stand here. Sergeant Hasler, Crocket, one or two others and myself, centered our attention on these, and advanced upon them, at first taking what cover we could among the trees, firing rapidly as we went. As we were pressing forward, my foot tripped on something, and I came to the ground with stunning force. Crocket, who was a few yards to my right, hurried toward me, his face the very picture of anxious sympathy, and inquired if I was struck. Recovering my breath, in a moment I was on my feet again, and assured him I was all right.

We now rushed on them with a cheer, and they broke and fled. We were so close on them, that seven of their number took refuge behind a large rock, while three or four more fled across the brook, leaving one of their number wounded on its bank. The men behind the rock now waved hats past it in token of surrender, and soon they were marching toward the rear in charge of Crocket. The wounded rebel whom I had seen fall, lay about a rod to the left, shot through the thigh. I gave him a drink, filled my canteen, and went on.

We had now become scattered, and made our way onward without much regard to order or concert of action. For a while the two lines were mingled together in the underbrush, so that you scarcely knew which way to look for friend or foe. Sometimes I was with others, and again entirely alone. The woods resounded with the yells of the combatants and the crack of rifles, as the deadly fight raged along the line.

Passing through the corner of an open field, I noticed some rebels eight or ten hundred yards to the left and front in such a position that I could give them a flank fire, while just a short distance from me in the field was a stone pile. The temptation was too strong to be resisted. I repaired to the stone pile and opened on them. At the first shot they looked to see whence it came; the next, they dodged, and hugged close to their rifle-pit, and then discovering me, they returned the fire. Their first shots went wild, but they soon got the range, and began to strike the stone pile. I gave them a few parting shots from my Spencer, and went on into the woods.

The skirmishing continued at close range, as before. The rebels fought stubbornly from point to point. Their works seemed farther off than we expected, but the crisis must come soon. We had just passed over a ridge, and the rebels had made a stand among the timber beyond. A slight depression lay between us, down which a gully had been washed by the water. None of our men were in sight, but I could hear their firing in the brush, right and left.

Wishing to gain the timber beyond the gully, I started forward without waiting to recharge my rifle, which I had just fired. The trees which I wished to gain were not more than forty feet away, and the gully about half that distance. I had gone but a step or two when a rebel soldier rose to his feet in the gully, facing me, with rifle in hand. It was a groundhog case. As he rose, I rushed at him, aiming at his heart and calling on him to surrender. He instantly dropped his gun. It was all over in less time than it takes to pen this sentence. His gun was loaded and capped. We waited till the line of battle came up. As they pushed through the brush behind us, seeing a rebel soldier, a dozen rifles were leveled on us; but they saw how it was in time to withhold their fire. Leaving my prisoner with them, I started forward again.

We soon reached an abrupt rise of ground beyond which we could not advance. Before us was the left of the enemy's intrenched position. We had done our work. We had driven every thing before us, and others must face the storm now. Some kneeling, others lying flat on the ground, we continued to fire and waited for the line of battle. In a few minutes we could see them coming on through the woods. A short distance behind us was a small patch of swampy, boggy ground. As this was approached orders were given and executed as coolly as if on the parade ground. The portion of the line opposite the swamp folded back of the other toward the left, and when the ground was passed, went back to place again without the least delay or confusion.

As they moved up the bank upon which we were, a volley burst upon them before which they wavered and swerved backward a few paces, as here and there a man reeled and staggered or sank to the earth. There was no panic—not a back turned—only that instinctive shrinking which Life sometimes feels when Death unexpectedly thrusts out his ghastly face through the smoke of battle. A color-bearer sprang forward with the battle-flag. He halted beside me and rested the end of the flagstaff on the ground. He half-faced about toward the men. His voice rang out like a bugle blast, as he raised his arm and shouted:

"Here are your colors!"

The line responded with a yell as it sprang forward, and soon was wrapped in the sulphurous smoke of its volleys which it thundered against the foe.

As the line moved on, I stepped behind them and passed farther to the right, and again went out ahead. The "left wheel" which the corps made in this battle resulted naturally from the position of the forces engaged. If we had moved directly forward in the direction in which we started, only the left of the Second Division would have struck the rebel's works; but the men posted in their front, as they were forced back, retreated toward the north-west, and we naturally swung around in following them.

We were now in front of the Third Division, the rebels still contesting every foot of ground. We finally drove them across an open field about a hundred yards wide. A road was on our left; at least all the Bucktails in sight were on the right of the road. A house stood near the road next to the woods, out of which we had driven the rebels, who were now firing from the farther side of the field. We were crossing the field, and some had reached the woods beyond, when the line of battle came up by the house behind us and opened fire. We hurried back to escape their bullets, which we considered more dangerous than those of the enemy. I stood behind them near the house, watching their firing, very much disgusted with the performance. There was a young lady in the house, apparently the only occupant. She was almost wild with fright, and gave vent to her feelings in screams and cries of terror.

A little lieutenant was prancing around back of the line, flourishing his saber in gallant style. He accosted me, and demanded why I was standing back, doing nothing. I replied that I did not belong on his—line, and made some comments perhaps not strictly polite. This added wrath to his excitement. I think this must have been the first time he had smelled gunpowder, except at a distance, and he supposed they were doing grandly. There was no telling how much effort it had cost him to get his courage screwed up sufficiently to bring him thus far; and to have this dirty, mud-bedraggled scrub of a boy intimate that the whole outfit should be furnished with long ears, was too much. As Homer would say, "his diaphragm became black all over." At this point Captain Birkman appeared on the scene and announced that he was responsible for me. This ended the matter.

After firing awhile, this brigade started to advance across the field. The regiment on the left moved up in good order as far as the edge of the woods. The others straggled forward in disorder. Both officers and men seemed to be confused. By the time they reached the woods they were little better than a mob, and had to halt to re-form. I think the man in command of the brigade was responsible for this. I now started out to skirmish again, intending to keep in front of the regiment on the left. As I reached the point where the road entered the woods, I met Mike Coleman coming on a run, and greatly excited.

"Why, Mike, I thought you were kilt! I heard you were shot in the head back yonder."

Scarcely pausing for a reply, he went on:

"We've got them! we've got them! We're right in their rear. We'll take them all! Why don't these men come on?"

With this he hurried back to the men just behind us, and in a breath told them the situation, and urged them to come on without delay. To his great disgust, his appeals were unheeded, and he turned to me saying we would go alone. But now we saw some of the Bucktails coming forward, and soon about twenty of us were deployed at skirmish distance, advancing on the rebel rear. Their line could be seen stretching far to right and left. Our Spencers rattled among the trees as we rained the bullets upon them. They turned on us savagely, and their rifles blazed and flashed in reply. Presently their fire slackened. They right-faced, and began to move off toward the west, at first with some order; but soon they were only a panic-stricken mob, fleeing in all directions, some to the right, some to the left, others toward us. The latter we disarmed and sent to the rear without any guard, and kept up a fire on those who were running to the right. They threw down their guns by hundreds, and surrendered.

Toward the close a rebel soldier came toward me at full speed, with his gun at a trail-arms. I did not notice him until he was within twenty-five or thirty yards of me. I yelled at him to surrender; but he came on without checking his speed. I stepped from the tree by which I was standing, and leveled my rifle on him.

"Drop that gun!" I yelled again.

He dropped it as if it had burned him, and hustled off his accouterments, and threw them on the ground. I made him stay with me, intending to take him back myself. My cartridges were about exhausted, and I fired all but one or two at the rear of the fleeing rebels, and started back with the prisoner.

The sun had now gone down. The moon was shining peacefully. How quickly those fateful hours of battle had passed! I started for the point where our line had formed, expecting to dispose of my prisoner there, and then sleep all night. As we passed along, the dead lay scattered here and there as they fell. There was something startlingly solemn in those motionless forms, the stony eyes staring in the moonlight.

Beyond the church I found a large number of prisoners, and turned over my man to the guards, and started to return. I was joined by L. C. Walb, who had also been back with prisoners. The church had been turned into a hospital. It was full of wounded, and many were laid on the ground outside. A few rods past the church we lay down to sleep. There came a reaction after the excitement of the day. Nerves, strained to their utmost tension for hours, relaxed, and seemed to tingle with the pain of weariness. The jarring noises of battle were reproduced as the senses glided through that strange interval between waking and sleeping, and more than once I came back to consciousness with a start, scarcely able, for a moment, to distinguish the real and the unreal. A low, moaning sound came from the hundreds of wounded about the church; not any single groan or cry of pain, but only a sound as if the hurried breath from suffering lips smote upon the strings of an unseen harp, which sounded out its sad cadences through the air. But at last I sunk into a sound sleep.

Our losses were less severe than on the preceding day. Eight hundred and thirty-four were killed and wounded, and fifty-four were missing. The opposing force of the enemy was practically annihilated. Three thousand were killed and wounded, and five thousand five hundred were made prisoners. Eleven stand of colors were taken, and four guns, with their caissons; also wagons and other material.

Captain Birkman, of Company A, says of this battle, in an extract kindly furnished from his diary: "The most successful attack I ever witnessed." It was a decisive battle, and settled the fate of the Confederacy. Since leaving camp on the morning of March 29th, three days before, the Fifth Corps had lost nearly one-fourth of its number in battles.

In this engagement the direct assault was made by the Second Division, the other divisions swinging around on the enemy's left flank and rear. The Third Brigade first struck, and broke through the rebel works. Sergeant Huck, with the colors of the One Hundred and Ninety-first, was the first man across the rebel rifle-pits. Colonel Pattee, commanding the first line, was the first mounted officer across, and leaped his horse over the breastwork while the foremost of the assailants were crowding over. They found themselves in the midst of the panic-stricken rebels, who threw down their arms and surrendered in large numbers. The Maryland brigade struck the rebel position almost at the same time, and with like results. The division then passed on down along the rear of the rebel position, doubling them up rapidly, and driving them in confusion.

We have read how the infantry faltered, till General Sheridan led them to the charge. We venture the opinion that this is wholly imaginary. These two brigades moved upon the rebel works as steadily and swiftly as the nature of the ground would allow. General Sheridan's reputation does not need any artificial bolstering, least of all at the expense of deserving men and officers.

The arbitrary removal of General Warren from the command of the Fifth Corps was unknown to the soldiers until the following morning. We heard only expressions of surprise and disapproval. It must be a cause of regret to all fair-minded men, that he was not allowed to share in this grand success with the men whom he had so long commanded. He was held in high esteem by the private soldiers, who regarded him as a brave and skillful officer.