"HATCHER'S RUN."
While we were yet before Petersburg, two divisions of our corps
(the Fifth), with two divisions of the Ninth, leaving the line of
works at the Weldon Railroad, were pushed out still farther to the
left, with the intention of turning the enemy's right flank.
Starting out, therefore, early on the morning of Thursday, October
27, 1864, with four days' rations in our haversacks, we moved off
rapidly by the left, striking the enemy's picket-line about ten
o'clock.
* * * * *
"Pop! pop! pop! Boom! boom! boom! We're in for it again, boys; so,
steady on the left there, and close up."
Away into the woods we plunge in line of battle, through briers
and tangled undergrowth, beneath the great trees dripping with
rain. We lose the points of the compass, and halt every now and
then to close up a gap in the line by bearing off to the right or
left. Then forward we go through the brush again, steady on the
left and guide right, until I feel certain that officers as well as
men are getting pretty well "into the woods" as to the direction
of our advance. It is raining, and we have no sun to guide us, and
the moss is growing on the wrong side of the trees. I see one of
our generals sitting on his horse, with his pocket-compass on the
pommel of his saddle, peering around into the interminable tangle
of brier and brush, with an expression of no little perplexity.
Yet still on, boys, while the pickets are popping away, and the
rain is pouring down. The evening falls early and cold, as we come
to a stand in line of battle and put up breastworks for the night.
We have halted on the slope of a ravine. Minié-balls are singing
over our heads as we cook our coffee, while sounds of axes and
falling trees are heard on all sides; and still that merry "z-i-p!
z-i-p!" goes on among the tree-tops and sings us to sleep at
length, as we lie down shivering under our India-rubber blankets,
to get what rest we may.
How long we had slept I did not know, when some one shook me, and
in a whisper the word passed around:
"Wake up, boys! Wake up, boys! Don't make any noise, and take care
your tin cups and canteens don't rattle. We've got to get out of
this on a double jump!"
We were in a pretty fix indeed! In placing the regiments in
position, by some blunder, quite excusable, no doubt, in the
darkness and the tangled forest, we had been unwittingly
pushed beyond the main line,--were, in fact, quite outside the
picket-line! It needed only daylight to let the enemy see his game,
and sweep us off the boards. And daylight was fast coming in the
east.
Long after, a Company A boy, who was on picket that night, told
me that, upon going to the rear somewhere about three o'clock, to
cook a cup of coffee at a half-extinguished fire, a cavalry picket
ordered him back within the lines.
"The lines are not back there; my regiment is out yonder in front,
on skirmish!"
"No," said the cavalry-man, "our cavalry is the extreme
picket-line, and our orders are to send in all men beyond us."
"Then take me at once to General Bragg's headquarters," said the
Company A boy.
When General Bragg learned the true state of affairs, he at once
ordered out an escort of five hundred men to bring in our regiment.
Meanwhile we were trying to get back of our own accord.
"This way, men!" said a voice in a whisper ahead.
"This way, men!" said another voice in the rear.
That we were wandering about vainly in the darkness, and under no
certain leadership, was evident, for I noticed in the dim light
that, in our tramping about in the tangle, we had twice crossed the
same fallen tree, and so must have been moving in a circle.
And now, as the day is dawning in the east, and the enemy's pickets
see us trying to steal away, a large force is ordered against us,
and comes sweeping down with yells and whistling bullets,--just as
the escort of five hundred, with reassuring cheers, comes up from
the rear to our support!
Instantly we are in the cloud and smoke of battle. A battery of
artillery, hastily dragged up into position, opens on the charging
line of gray with grape and canister, while from bush and tree
pours back and forth the dreadful blaze of musketry. For half an
hour, the conflict rages fierce and high in the dawning light and
under the dripping trees,--the officers shouting, and the men
cheering and yelling and charging, often fighting hand to hand and
with bayonets locked in deadly encounter, while the air is cut
by the whistling lead, and the deep bass of the cannon wakes the
echoes of the forest.
But at last the musketry-fire gradually slackens, and we find
ourselves out of danger.
The enemy's prey has escaped him, and, to the wonder of all, we are
brought within the lines again, begrimed with smoke and leaving
many of our poor fellows dead or wounded on the field.
Anxiously every man looked about for his chum and messmates, lost
sight of during the whirling storm of battle in the twilight woods.
And I, too, looked; but where was Andy?
[Illustration: THE CONFLICT AT DAYBREAK IN THE WOODS AT HATCHER'S
RUN.]