PETERSBURG.
“And this is what it means, to earn
The title ‘Veteran’ on a coat;
To march through flood and field, or lie
Where rebel rifles sweep the moat;
To serve the guns in rifle pits;
To sleep beneath the silent sky;
To dream of home, and wake to war;
To see a comrade drop and die;
To hear and heed the fearful song
Which whistling minie bullets sing;
To faint and fall, and longing lie,
For one cool draught from rocky spring.”
_Unknown._
After our line of entrenchments was established, our brigade was
ordered to the rear, and we encamped along the Jerusalem plank road,
where we were held in reserve for special duty. Here we worked day and
night building a large earthen fort, which we named in honor of our
lamented Col. Prescott. Here Major Edmunds was appointed colonel, and
took command of the regiment.
We remained in reserve about three weeks, during which time we were
called upon to re-enforce the Second and Sixth Corps, on two occasions.
On July 12th we were ordered into the trenches, where we lived in
bomb proofs for five weeks, one of the hardest experiences of my army
life. These bomb proofs were a sort of artificial cavern, which we had
to construct under cover of darkness, for the enemy was continually
sending over to our lines solid shot and hissing shells, and only in
our bomb proofs, (and not always there,) were we out of danger from
them.
To build a bomb proof we dug a hole in the ground about four feet deep
if the ground was dry, but where our regiment was located it was so
springy that two feet brought us to water so most of ours were partly
above ground; after the hole is dug, the top was roofed over with logs,
and dirt thrown on top of them. A small space was left open towards
our rear for a door to go in and out of, which was sheltered by a log
canopy. Here we had to stay, and hot, uncomfortable, and unhealthy
places they proved to be, and it is no wonder that many of our men were
taken from them to the hospital, sick with malarial fever, from which
some of them never recovered.
I remember one hot night, my chum and I pitched a tent two or three
steps in the rear of our bomb proof under a pine tree, and there we
went to sleep. Before morning, the active enemy in front began shelling
our line, and we were awakened by the falling of the branches upon our
tent, having been cut off by a passing shot. Soon another shot came and
struck the tree, and my bedfellow made one leap out of the tent into
the bomb proof. The next shot struck the tree still lower, and I too
forsook my bed for the safer, though uncomfortable hole in the ground.
Sometimes, when the guns in front of us were silent, we would sit on
the bomb proofs in the evening, and watch the shells of the enemy, as
they came over on to some other part of our entrenchments. It was a
beautiful sight, far beyond any fireworks I have ever witnessed, if we
could only forget their deadly errand.
On the 30th of July occurred the explosion of the Burnside mine, that
we had made by digging a passage to and under one of the rebel forts,
and laying powder enough to destroy it. The plan had been carefully
laid, and an attack contemplated simultaneous with the explosion, which
would carry their line.
The blowing up of that mine was a horrible affair, and caused much
slaughter, but for some reason, the attack was not a success. The
artillery opened all along our line, on that eventful morning, as a
signal for the beginning of the fight.
Near our bomb proof was a battery, which was so located that in firing,
it would rake the rebel picket line on our left. The Captain of the
battery knew that the first round would almost annihilate them, and
wanted to give them a chance for their lives, so he wrote a note,
telling them if they would leave their position and come over to us,
they would save their lives; he then called for a volunteer to carry
the note. Instantly a brave boy of our regiment stepped forward. He was
told that it was a dangerous mission, and that he was risking his life,
for he would certainly be shot at. His only reply was,
“Give me the message, I will go.”
Holding up the white paper, he deliberately walked across the open
space to the rebel picket line, handed one of them the note, saying,
“Here you Johnnies, read that!”
He came back at the same moderate pace and strangely enough, was not
shot at going or coming. All seemed astonished into silence at his
daring, but he was loudly cheered, when he reached our line in safety.
The warning was in vain; the brave fellows would not desert their post,
neither would they retreat without orders. Again came the order to rake
their line; the order was obeyed, and two-thirds of the poor men were
swept into eternity.
The captain of the battery was disgusted with such butchery. He could
have fired on an advancing foe without scruple, but to fire on a thin
picket line was too cold blooded for him, and he swore that he would
not fire another shot in that direction, and he kept his word.
[Illustration]