The camp of the Purcell Battery was then on the Mechanicsville
Turnpike, as well as I remember; and it was a day or two after my
arrival that the Confederate battle flags were first distributed
to the Army of Northern Virginia. I remember, as though it were
yesterday, the return of Willie Pegram from head-quarters, with the
battle flag for our battery. It was only a square of coarse cloth
with a blue field and a red cross dotted with stars. But to the
soldiers of the Confederate armies it was then the emblem of all
that we fought for, as it is now the token of what the Confederate
soldiers endured, and of what our people lost.
At the time of the battles around Richmond the Artillery had not
been formed into battalions, as was done later in the war; and to
each brigade was attached one field-battery. The Purcell Battery
was attached to Field’s Brigade, of A. P. Hill’s Division.
Early in the afternoon of Thursday, June 26th, 1862, the head of
General Hill’s column crossed the Chickahominy, and moved towards
Mechanicsville. It was the first time I had seen the Confederate
troops marching to meet the enemy; and the gleaming bayonets, and
waving flags, the rumbling of the artillery, and the steady tramp
of the men, were both exhilarating and imposing. One of Field’s
regiments led the advance, with two guns from our battery. We
neared a narrow road between two steep banks, and were confident
that we should feel the enemy there. There was a puff of smoke and
the sharp crack of a rifle; the skirmishers advanced, and we threw
some shells into the woods. The skirmishers kept steadily forward.
They entered the woods and were lost to sight. Soon they reached
the enemy’s line, and the engagement began. We had now reached
a point near Ellyson’s Mill, at Mechanicsville, which had been
strongly fortified by the enemy. They had a battery in position,
and amused themselves by taking pot-shots at us. Willie Pegram,
however, remained motionless in his saddle, no more concerned at
the shells which were ploughing up the dust about him than if he
had been lounging on the porch in Franklin Street, this beautiful
evening. An officer rode hurriedly up, and then the order rang
out: “Attention, Battery! Forward! Trot! March!” and with a cheer
we rattled along the road and came into battery in an open field,
in full view of the enemy. The guns were instantly loaded, and
the firing began. The Yankees were not idle; and a shower of shot
and shell enveloped us. I had not been assigned, as yet, to any
particular duty in the battery, and looked on as an interested
observer until accident should make a vacancy that I might
fill. I tied my horse behind a corn crib, near by, and awaited
developments, walking up and down in the rear of the guns to see
what was going on. It was not an agreeable situation, as there was
nothing to divert my attention from the manifold unpleasantnesses
of the terrific fire which the enemy concentrated upon us. They had
twenty-four guns in position against our single battery, and were
able to enfilade our line, as well as to pound us by their direct
fire. It was one of the greatest errors of the early days of the
Confederacy that batteries were allowed to be knocked to pieces in
detail, when, by massing a dozen batteries, the enemy could have
been knocked quickly out of time and many lives saved. A solid shot
bowled past me, killed one of our men, tore a leg and arm from
another, and threw three horses into a bloody, struggling heap.
This was my chance, and I stepped to the gun and worked away as
though existence depended on my labors. For the great part of the
time I acted as Number 5, bringing the ammunition from the limber
to Number 2 at the piece. I felt for the first time the fierce
excitement of battle. There was no thought of danger, though the
men were falling rapidly on every side.
So the battle continued until about six o’clock, the men cheering
wildly whenever there was any sign of weakening on the part of
the enemy. I did not know what hurt me; but I found myself on the
ground, hearing, as I fell, a man near me say: “That Britisher has
gone up at last.” In a few moments I recovered my senses, and found
that I was not dead, and that no bones appeared to be broken. The
warm blood was pouring down my left leg, and on examination I saw
that a piece of shell had scooped out five or six inches of the
flesh below the knee, and near the femoral artery, making an ugly
wound. I did not feel that I was disabled, however, and, tying a
handkerchief as tightly as I could around my leg, I went back to
my post, and there remained until the battery was withdrawn after
sunset. Towards the end of the engagement only three men were
left at the gun at which I was serving. At a second gun only four
men were left. Another battery relieved us, and drew some of the
enemy’s fire. But I think it must have been nine o’clock when we
finally left the field. The official list of casualties in our
battery showed four killed and forty-three wounded, out of about
seventy-five who went into the engagement. Among the killed was
Lieutenant Elphinstone.
The battle-field was several miles from Richmond, and the problem
was, how to get back there. I hobbled a part of the way as well
as I could, and was then put into an ambulance with two wounded
men, one of whom died before we reached Richmond. I stopped at a
Field Hospital for a minute to get some morphine for my wounded
comrade, and then had my first experience of scientific butchering.
A rough table, consisting of two or three planks, was used for
the operations; and there the surgeons were hard at work, their
sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, their arms and hands besmeared
with blood, cutting deep with their knives into the quivering
flesh, or sawing with a harsh grating sound through the bones of
the insensible soldier. Under the table lay arms, hands, feet,
and legs, thrown promiscuously in a heap, like the refuse of a
slaughter house.