The next morning, March 27th, I went on picket. Some time after
midnight, on the 28th, we were withdrawn, and returned to camp. Orders
had come to prepare for the march. The camp was astir with busy life. In
a little while our tents, that looked so neat and trim last evening,
with their white canvas roofs and clean-swept streets, will be silent,
cheerless, and deserted. My tent-mates had taken down our shelter-tents,
and I had nothing to do but pack my knapsack, and all was ready.
In some of the dismantled tents the fires still burned, casting their
flickering rays upward through the air, while about them, sitting or
lounging at ease, were men equipped for the stern work of war, ready to
fall into line at the word of command. The stirring scene had in it not
a little of sadness. We had passed pleasant hours in this camp. That
tender something of association which clings around the thought of "the
old campground" breathed through the darkness that night, and glanced
in the camp-fires that dimly lighted up the warlike scene. These would
be our last Winter-quarters. For some, the next night would bring the
quiet "bivouac of the dead."
The strength of the Fifth Corps was as follows:
First Division, General Griffin, 6,180
Second Division, General Ayer, 3,980
Third Division, General Crawford, 5,250
------
Total, 15,410
The artillery consisted of twenty guns, and there was an escort of forty
cavalry.
The march began at three o'clock on the morning of the 29th, the Second
Division in the advance. We passed down what was called the stage-road
toward Rowanty Creek, the same road on which we had marched February
5th, at the time of the Hatcher's Run fighting. We reached the vicinity
of the creek a little after daybreak, and formed line of battle in the
open ground south-east of the residence of W. Perkins. Much to our
dissatisfaction the One Hundred and Ninetieth was placed in the line,
and the Two Hundred and Tenth was deployed as skirmishers. They did not
advance till the line was formed, and then not far enough ahead of us to
be of any use. Fortunately no enemy was found; but time might have been
saved by a prompt advance of the skirmishers without waiting for the
line.
Crossing Rowanty without opposition, we followed the stage-road to its
junction with the Quaker road. Up this we marched toward Gravelly Run.
The First Division, however, followed the stage-road some distance
farther. How far we advanced up the Quaker road I am unable to say; but
we finally turned to the left, and formed line of battle, facing the
west. In our front was quite an expanse of open ground sloping down
toward woods beyond. About a hundred yards to our left was a battery,
ready for action. The Two Hundred and Tenth was again sent forward to
skirmish. They advanced with due form and ceremony until they neared the
woods, when they opened fire with such a racket that we supposed the
enemy had been found in force. But they soon let up, and presently sent
back a solitary prisoner, about as forlorn, dilapidated looking a
specimen of grayback as could be imagined.
While we were waiting, John Edgar went down to the battery, in which he
had served for a considerable time, detached from his company for this
purpose; but he had left it and rejoined his company without being
returned in due form. He was at once placed under arrest as a deserter
by the officer in command, the man whose brutal treatment had caused
Edgar's unauthorized return to the regiment. This made quite a
commotion, and might have produced serious trouble; but as soon as
Colonel Pattee learned what had occurred, he went down to the battery,
and demanded and secured Edgar's release without delay.
After remaining here some time, we moved farther toward the left. Here
the One Hundred and Ninetieth deployed as skirmishers, and advanced into
the woods, facing the south-west. We remained in this position during
the night. Meantime the First Division had passed up the Quaker road. At
an old sawmill about half a mile from the Boydton plank-road they
encountered the enemy at four in the evening. A brief but terrific
conflict ensued, in which the enemy was driven back to the junction of
the two roads. We knew from the rapid discharges of artillery and the
heavy volleys of musketry that the great struggle had begun. The First
Division lost 367 killed and wounded, while the loss of the enemy was
heavier.
At dark on the 29th rain began to fall, and continued during the night
and the following day, making the roads almost impassable. On the
morning of the 30th we left the position held during the previous night,
and moved up the Quaker road. Near the sawmill we turned to the left,
and crossed the Boydton plank-road near Mrs. Butler's. In the field
there were dark patches of blood on the ground, here and there, which
the rain had not yet washed out. Guns that had dropped from the hands of
wounded or slain, knapsacks, haversacks, accouterments stripped from
mangled men ere they were borne from the field, lay scattered on the
ground over which we passed.
Near the plank-road, we deployed, and advanced across a branch of
Gravelly Run. The right of the regiment rested in open ground, near a
negro's house, and the left extended into the woods in a north-west
direction. I think the division formed on our left, facing the Whiteoak
Road; and we held a gap in our lines, between the Second Corps and our
own. Companies A, B, and C were on the right, in the open ground.
In advancing to this point, we were under a sharp fire, to which we did
not respond, but hastened to throw up pits. On the left of the regiment
the firing was lively, as the men in the woods did not need to be in
such haste entrenching. We were ordered to "rally by fours," and each
group threw up a separate pit.
I was in the group with Mike Coleman, and had a chance to notice one of
his peculiarities. As we advanced to this position, he seemed to be
dazed, and almost unconscious of his surroundings. When we halted to
entrench, with my most vigorous exhortations I could not arouse him to
any interest or exertion. We had no shovel, and must make a pit with
rails and stones, which we could gather up in front. I would urge him to
carry stones and put them in place. He would perhaps pick up a couple,
very leisurely, and lay them on the ground, back of the pit, and then
stand with his hands in his pockets. The bullets would whistle around,
or strike the ground near him, and he would look about as if he did not
understand what it all meant. Yet in battle, he was always cool, brave,
and daring.
In a little while we had a pit, capable of stopping a rifle ball, and
considered ourselves ready for any ordinary emergency. During the day,
the rebels attacked the line on our right, and were repulsed, after a
sharp fight, with considerable loss. They also advanced in our front,
and opened fire on us; but only as accessory to the more determined
movement on our right. The left of the regiment returned the fire; but
we could not see the enemy, and there seemed no reason to justify a
random fire.
There was a man in Company C who was usually troubled with a deficiency
in his knees at such times. Though sufficiently warlike and lion-hearted
by nature, no doubt, yet his legs were his undoing. They worked very
well, when steered for the rear, but otherwise they were a failure. When
the firing began on the right, he took his position behind the pit with
an air of great determination. Pointing his gun--a Springfield
rifle--toward the enemy, he sat crouching low, and looking intently
toward the brush in front. The boys were sitting or standing around,
dividing their attention between the skirmish, partly visible through
the trees, and R----, whose warlike attitude and evident terror called
forth good-natured raillery.
"Steady on the left, R----!"
"Cut her loose, R----!"
"Give 'em ----, R----!"
Such were a few of the cheering exhortations which greeted that
redoubtable warrior. To all these he paid no heed. I suppose, in spite
of his fears, a few shells, a sharp volley, or even a charge from the
enemy, would have given him profound satisfaction--if unharmed
himself--as a vindication of his prudent vigilance. Nothing of the kind
occurred, and soon things resumed their former comparative quiet.
There was not much done during the day, except to get troops in position
and prepare for the struggle of the morrow. There was some skirmishing,
but our losses were not heavy--less than two hundred in the two corps,
the Fifth and Second.
As night approached, a vidette was placed in front of each pit, near the
edge of the woods, which was about forty yards in advance. It was not
yet dark when the first man was posted here, and fire was at once
opened on him, by invisible marksmen in the woods.
At first the bullets went whistling over, but soon they came lower, and
began to strike the fence by which he was standing,--right, left,
close,--with a savage snap. Up to this time our vidette stood it with
seeming indifference; but, as the splinters began to fly from the fence,
his indifference gave place to a lively interest, which called forth the
laughter of the sympathizing spectators. He threw down his gun, and
hastily piled rails together for a protection, and took refuge behind
them.
Night came on, dark and gloomy, the rain continued to fall, and the
soldiers lay down on the water-soaked earth to take what rest they
could. I made a comfortable bed, by leaning two rails against the
rifle-pit. On these I bestowed myself, and drew over me my rubber
blanket. My knapsack was placed under my bed, to protect it from the
rain. My haversack served for a pillow, and, with my cartridge box,
which had not been removed since the morning of the 27th, still strapped
around me, and my rifle in my hands, I sank to sleep, the rain
pattering on the blanket over my head.
About four o'clock, Sergeant Hasler woke me up to go on vidette post. I
arose and followed him in the deep darkness. Reaching the man whom I was
to relieve, instructions were given in a whisper, and in a moment I was
alone.
This was the last watch of the night, and if a surprise was contemplated
by the enemy, the attempt would be made during these two hours. The
rebel pickets were close at hand, and occasional sounds and voices had
been heard by my predecessor. The rain dripped monotonously from the
trees, and now and then a breath of wind moaned drearily through their
branches. The ear alone could detect approaching danger; and thus, with
rifle in hand, I listened, jealously noting every sound.
Time passed on, and at length the almost painful darkness began to
disperse. Objects very near could be indistinctly discerned. What if all
those weary men back there should sleep till clearer light should made
me a mark for the unseen foe, that did such good shooting last evening?
Why were not the videttes, at least, advanced into the underbrush,
instead of being posted at its edge, to be shot at by rebel
sharpshooters? Thoughts like these were running through my mind as
daylight approached. But all anxiety was allayed before long, by the
sergeant calling me to come in.