This closed my experience in the hospital. I was so worn out by the
constant strain which such labor made on body and mind, that rest was
imperative. During all these days I could get no definite information of
the fate of John Elliot. The wounded reported that he was missing, but
whether among the dead or living they could not tell. It was difficult
to drive away the thought of the painful possibilities that imagination
would bring up. Had he been disabled that first day in the wilderness
and perished in the flames of the burning woods? Had he been mortally
wounded, and died alone in the thick underbrush which veiled so many
tragic scenes? Had death come more swiftly and mercifully, or was he a
prisoner and unharmed? Such were the questions that might be solved by
inquiry among the members of the company.
After some delay I found the regiment by a little stream called the Ny.
The spot on which they were camped, or rather resting under arms, was
within beautiful shelling range of the rebel batteries, as I found out
afterward to my great discomfort and dismay. Toward evening, Sergeant W.
Coleman was taken quite sick, and at his request I started with him to
find the hospital. After proceeding some distance, he became so ill that
we could go no further, and some means of conveyance must be found. A
stretcher was procured, and two men to carry him. To these I confided my
charge, and began to retrace my steps. It was now after dark, a clear,
moonless night. Crossing the little stream at the point where I had left
the regiment a few hours before, to my great disappointment not a man
could be found.
What to do was a puzzling question. The resolution was finally taken to
spend a few hours, at least, in trying to find them. At first I started
in a direction bearing toward the right, but soon met a column marching
toward the left. Reasoning that if troops were being moved to the left,
none would be moving at the same time toward the right, I fell in with
this column, determined to see what the outcome would be. Soon the open
ground was crossed, and the column began to bear to the right of its
line of march, through the woods. Presently I noticed that an unusual
silence was observed. Not a word was spoken above a whisper, every noise
and clatter incident to the march were carefully avoided.
Growing weary at length, and reflecting that after all I might be going
away from the regiment instead of toward it, I dropped out of the line
and lay down against the root of a tree close to the road, to sleep till
morning. Half sleeping and half waking I lay there, dreamily watching
that army of shadows gliding stealthily by. Shadows they seemed as they
moved hurriedly along under the gloom of the overhanging trees, as
noiseless almost as an army of spirits from Homer's nether world. The
mystery of this secret night march served to quicken imagination, and I
could see this same column grimly marshaling in "battle's magnificently
stern array" in the dim light of the coming morning, ready to burst upon
some exposed point of the enemy's line.
Opening my eyes a little later, the same ghostly procession was filing
past, but in an opposite direction. This meant that, sooner or later,
my rest must be disturbed, or I might be left in an exposed and
dangerous position. Present comfort, however, being the stronger motive
just then, prevailed, and I sank into unconsciousness again. From this I
was aroused by some one shaking me by the shoulder and warning me in a
whisper that I must wake up and come on. The muffled "tramp, tramp" had
ceased, the rear of that shadowy army was vanishing in the darkness; one
solitary figure waited, delaying a moment, to see if I was fully awake.
Rising, I followed. Reaching the open ground from which we had entered
the woods, I found myself alone and bewildered. Proceeding some distance
with rather a vague notion of direction, I determined to make a final
halt till morning. All that was necessary to make myself comfortable was
to sink down on the ground without removing any thing, my knapsack
fitting conveniently under the back of my head, supporting head and
shoulder as if intended for the purpose. Thus bestowing myself by the
side of a rail fence, I was soon sleeping soundly.
But my rest was destined not to be undisturbed. Something awoke me.
What! Was this night given over to ghosts and spirits intangible? Again
the forms of men were gliding noiselessly about me. Above were the
twinkling stars, around were busy men, and silence everywhere. With
instinctive cautiousness I lay motionless, furtively noting the curious
scene. A moment's careful attention explained it in part. One by one the
rails of the fence were taken up with the utmost caution and borne away.
They were building breastworks somewhere. There was work to be done, I
thought, and preferred to finish my much delayed sleep, if allowed to do
so. I lay motionless, only sufficiently awake to dimly take in the
situation. Twice men came and stooped over me with their faces close to
mine, looked intently, and turned away in silence. Congratulating myself
on my good fortune, that I was going to sleep the night out while others
worked, I gave myself again to repose.
When I awoke the sun had got fairly started on his course, and was
pouring his rays full into my face. The events of the preceding night
seemed like a dream; but there was evidence about me that my visitants
had not been as ghostly as they seemed. The fence by which I had lain
down had disappeared, and I was alone in an open field. Utterly
bewildered, I addressed myself to the somewhat difficult task of
deciding what must be done. On either side of me could be seen what I
knew to be earth-works, but not a living thing was visible. The field
gave evidence of having been fought over, for the well-known _debris_ of
a battle were strewn around. At length my mind was made up to go to the
rear, find the division hospital, and get information.
But where _was_ rear? Where was front? Where was any thing? After
meditating profoundly on these questions, I decided that my course lay
in the direction of the earth-works on one side of the open ground. This
was the "rear," and these works had been abandoned in the progress of
advance. Proceeding leisurely in this direction, I had not advanced far
until I was surprised by the boom of a cannon behind me. A shell
screamed over my head, and exploded with a sharp ring against the
earth-works a few hundred yards ahead of me. Looking back, I saw a
Yankee officer standing on the earth-work, glass in hand, watching the
effects of the shot. This was a revelation. I was between the lines, and
heading for the rebel works. That shot saved me a trip to a Confederate
prison-pen. Hastily retracing my steps, I lost no time in reaching our
lines, expecting each moment that an artillery battle would break out
while I was between the combatants. The position was perhaps a half-mile
to the right of the spot where I had last seen the regiment. No infantry
was visible, but no doubt there were troops concealed in the woods near
by. The sharp ridges by which the open ground was broken were occupied
by artillery, the men standing by their guns.
The day was before me, and I was resolved to have a little more
experience; the more so as I could make my observations in comparative
safety. Those guns frowning grimly over the earthen redoubts meant
mischief. I would see an artillery fight; my curiosity was soon amply
gratified. Standing near a vacant redoubt, looking toward the rebel
batteries, suddenly a white smoke burst forth, followed by the roar of
cannon and the hissing shriek of shells, as the noisy missiles came
tearing through the air toward us. After the first discharge, the rebel
fire was directed chiefly to the right of the earth-work behind which I
had taken refuge, though shells kept striking and bursting around. My
position, however, was favorable for a view of our own batteries, and
for observing the effect of the enemy's fire. Sometimes the shells would
strike the ground, sending the dirt many feet into the air, and go
tearing across the field, touching the ground and bounding again at
intervals. Others would strike the earth-works, or explode in the air,
and hurl their fragments far and near, whizzing and buzzing to the
earth.
This noisy combat lasted for some time, and ceased,--not because either
of the combatants was seriously damaged, as far as I could see, but
because they were tired of it.
This will be as appropriate a place as any to remark, that "shelling" is
usually quite harmless, except when the guns are served by skilled
artillerists, and under favorable circumstances. Unless the shell is
exploded at the proper distance and altitude in front of a line, it is
not likely to do any injury. A cannonade which, to the uninitiated,
would seem sufficient to destroy every thing before it, will be faced
with the utmost equanimity by veteran troops, if the artillerist have
the range too "long." It is always very annoying, however, as there is
no telling when a shell may prove a little "short," and distribute its
fragments for rods along the line. The men are usually ordered to lie
down, unless directly engaged. The shell cleaves the air with a
frightful sound, that is but faintly described by the word "shriek." Few
men can refrain from "dodging," as the dangerous missile comes over with
its unearthly sound. The writer has frequently tried it, but can
remember no instance of marked success, except while engaged, or
otherwise employed. Perhaps the most disagreeable sound of all, is when
the guns are charged with grape and cannister, and send their
destructive contents through the air with a grinding, groaning, gnashing
sound, that chills the blood of the listener. This may partly result
from association, as such a charge is seldom used except at close range,
on a charging line. Then, if directed by cool, determined men, the
effect is terrible. Those who have once heard this sound can never
forget it. It requires but little imagination to fancy that the fiend
which was sending forth such loud defiance just now, has grappled with
his adversary and is hissing out his horrid rage in the midst of Titanic
strugglings. A little experience will enable you to determine from the
sound what a gun is firing; shot, shell, or grape. The artillery-men
usually have little fear of shell, but dread a volley from infantry.
With the infantry the case is reversed. Generally the men preferred the
branch of service to which they were accustomed. Each did not envy the
other.
The cavalryman rode all day; but at night he had to care for both
himself and horse. The infantryman had nothing to care for but himself.
He would make his coffee, and sleep all night, while the cavalryman must
scout, or picket front or flank. Sometimes the infantry must spend a
part of the night in throwing up breastworks, or making a night march;
but usually he considers himself more certain of rest and comfort than
his fellow-soldiers of the mounted force.