The Eleventh was not far from the left. They moved down the stream some distance, and halted in the midst of a beautiful farm. Before them was a valley, across which the Bucktails were advancing as skirmishers, and beyond this the ground rose again, and curved off toward woods in the distance. Scarcely had our line reached this point, when the enemy "came down like the wolf on the fold." Judging from the promptness and vigor with which they a.s.sailed us, they evidently counted on making our enterprise another Ball's Bluff affair.

As the Bucktails advanced, their rapid firing warned us that they had discovered the advance of the enemy. Dust was seen rising on the high ground beyond, and horses were dimly seen. We judged that batteries were coming into position. We were not long in doubt. Suddenly a perfect volley of artillery burst forth. The air seemed filled with the shrieking sh.e.l.ls and whizzing fragments. The men could do no more than lie down and let the storm rage. For some time we had not a single gun in position to reply, and the rebels poured in their fire without hindrance. Soldiers who had been through all the battles of the Potomac army, affirmed that they never experienced such a noisy onset, except at Gettysburg. As quickly as possible our batteries came into position, on both sides of the river. Now the tumult was doubled. The earth seemed to shake. When our artillery opened in reply, the rebels turned their attention in that direction; but on account of the awkwardness of their gunners, we were annoyed almost as much as when under their direct fire.

On the right there was severe infantry fighting. Of this we could hear little, on account of the terrible cannonading going on around us. The losses of the regiment were slight, owing to the fact that the rebels overshot us. A few were wounded, but I think none were killed. The loss of the corps was about 350. The rebel loss was reported at 1,000, including General Brown, who was in command.

May was now drawing to a close, and with it would close the history of the Pennsylvania Reserves. The 30th found us in the vicinity of Bethsaida Church. We were moving on with those stops and starts which indicate that the head of the column has met with some obstruction.

Skirmishing was going on in front, and from time to time the boom of cannon came rolling up from the left. We were moving along a road which led through open farm country, and through a strip of woods, beyond which skirmishing was heard. During one of the frequent halts, while the men were resting, some standing, others sitting or reclining at ease, a rifle ball came whistling through the air, and struck with a sharp snap in the rail-pile on which myself and others were sitting. It struck between Jim Shaffer and myself. We both naturally squirmed a little at the unpleasant nearness of the malicious little messenger. The affair called forth laughter and jocular exclamations from those around: "How are you _Johnnie_!" "Hit 'em again!" "Go _in_!"

The incident would not have caused any special notice, had it not been so unexpected, on account of our distance from the scene of action.

Forward now through the woods, out upon the open ground beyond, where the division is forming for its last battle. Their left now rests not far from where their right was when they fought at Gaines' Mill, nearly two years before. They advance some distance. "Some one has blundered."

They have no support on either wing. They are flanked, and, after a brief struggle, are driven back. Some n.o.ble men were lost here. Parks, of Company D, is mortally wounded; Daniel Graham is made prisoner. In the retreat, two men carry back John Stanley, wounded in the arm and side. At the wood they rally. A fence is torn down, and with this and whatever is nearest at hand a breastwork is hastily improvised. A few of the Bucktails have rallied on their right, and thrown up a similar defense of logs, rails, any thing that can stop a bullet. Here the line seems to terminate; but just beyond and a little back, is a bra.s.s battery, concealed by bushes, every gun charged with grape and canister.

A house stands close behind the line, in a recess of the woods.

Now the enemy is seen advancing. Line after line comes swinging out.

Sh.e.l.ls come screaming over. One explodes in front of Company D. Its fragments sever the flagstaff close to Jim Shaffer's head, rip open Mike Coleman's cap, tear off Culp's arm near the shoulder. Another bursts in the house, and sets it on fire. A woman, bearing a baby in one arm and leading by the hand a little child, comes out of the house, still unharmed. Frightened and bewildered, she is pa.s.sing along the rear of the line instead of hastening away from it. A kind-hearted soldier directs her toward a place of safety. But now the rebel lines are within rifle range. Volley after volley is poured into them, and their ranks melt before the terrible fire. In our front they falter; but toward the right they see a chance for victory. They will swing around our flank, and crush us as they did but an hour before. With exultant yells, their left comes sweeping on, wheeling to envelop our right. But now there bursts from the underbrush a blast as if from the pit, crashing, tearing, grinding, enfilading their lines, leaving in its track a swath of dead and dying. This is decisive, and the battle is won.

Over a hundred dead were counted in front of the Eleventh and the few Bucktails on their right. One man was struck with a charge of grape, or by a bursting sh.e.l.l, and his body from the knees to the neck was crushed and torn into an indistinguishable ma.s.s.

John Stanley, who was wounded in this action, was a brave, n.o.ble boy.

Looking along the company line, with its veterans of so many battles, the remnant of a hundred as brave men as ever followed a battle flag, you would not have guessed that this boyish face could be the calmest in the hour of trial. During that month of battles, he was always in his place, without bravado, but with unflinching courage, doing his duty. I saw him at the woods, as they were taking him from the field. His pale face was as calm as ever. He never returned to us, nor did I learn the result of his wounds.

The next morning the Reserves were withdrawn from the front. Their term of service had expired. The veterans and recruits were reorganized, forming the One Hundred and Ninetieth and One Hundred and Ninety-first Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry. The others started on their homeward march.

Of Company D, fourteen men returned--five non-commissioned officers and nine privates. Eleven had re-enlisted. Thirty-five were dead, of whom twenty-three had been killed in battle or mortally wounded; and six were prisoners in the hands of the enemy, of whom two died.

Of the eleven veterans, only seven were present, the others being wounded or prisoners. By the close of the war, forty of the original one hundred and one had died in the service. During the first three years, twenty-four were discharged for wounds or sickness. Such is the record of these heroic men. Mingled feelings of joy and sadness were in the hearts of all, as good-byes were spoken, and they marched away. The war-worn veterans, who now turned their footsteps homeward, and those who stood there, watching their going that day, knew too well how certainly these "good-byes" might be "farewells." I think I saw tears in a certain brave colonel's eyes; and perhaps strong hands were clasped with a little more than usual fervor, as friend looked into the face of friend; but there was no "scene." These men were too much in earnest for that.

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 circ.u.mstances. 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 a.s.signed 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 quant.i.ty 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 appet.i.te 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 antic.i.p.ations which only a ferociously hungry man can imagine. But I was doomed to ill.u.s.trate 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 circ.u.mspection, 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 circ.u.mstances 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sing. 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.

NOTE.--Some additional facts have been learned regarding this affair. The One Hundred and Ninety-first was on our left, beyond the battery. The attack was made about four in the afternoon. The One Hundred and Ninety-first had fallen back, and Colonel Pattee had received orders to withdraw. Deeming it hazardous to retire across open ground under such a fire, he rallied the skirmishers on the reserve, and met the charge of the enemy there. In a few minutes the Colonel's horse was shot dead under him. After a sharp fight the rebels broke, and we retreated to the woods before they could rally. The battery was not captured. A failure to hold our position here would have compelled a general battle, and delayed the flank movement to the James.

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 Wilc.o.x'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 n.o.ble Roman knew him. He called him _pediculus_. He is truly democratic in his instincts and disposition.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE IS A COPPERHEAD.]

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 Hanc.o.c.k 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, br.i.m.m.i.n.g 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 pa.s.sed 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 sh.e.l.ls 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 b.a.l.l.s 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 sh.e.l.ls, 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, m.u.f.fled 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 sh.e.l.ls 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 sh.e.l.ls 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 sh.e.l.ls 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 sh.e.l.ls 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 a.s.signed 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 b.a.l.l.s, 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.