We made a hasty breakfast, and then the waiting of the preceding day
continued. Every rifle stood loaded where it could be grasped in a
moment. As time passed on, there was an evident uneasiness on the left.
About ten o'clock, the occasional picket firing increased to the sharper
rattle of skirmishing, and then deepened to the roar of battle, as the
sound of continuous volleys rolled through the woods, mingled with the
bellow of cannon and the hiss of shells. Every man now stood with rifle
in hand, ready for the decisive moment which had evidently come. Above
the noise of musketry and cannon we could sometimes hear the well-known
rebel yell, and knew that they were charging with all their force. Now
the horrid uproar could be heard moving backward toward the run. But now
orders have come. Word is immediately sent along the line to assemble on
the right. The Sixteenth Maine will relieve us. Colonel Pattee mounts
his horse.
"Fall in!"
"Right face!"
"Forward, double quick, march!"
We plunge into the woods, following the road toward the left. Shells
crash through the trees, and bullets patter around like hail. The left
of the division was flanked and hopelessly turned. The right was
stubbornly resisting, but giving way before the overpowering force that
was crowding down upon it. We halted and faced the front, advancing a
short distance from the road toward the fighting. Wounded men were
limping past. We could see the smoke through the trees, and the men
slowly yielding, fighting as they came.
Colonel Pattee gave an order, but we could not hear a word. We all knew
what it ought to be, and instantly deployed. The line, broken and
shattered, went back past us, and we met the enemy with the rapid fire
of our repeating rifles. We brought them to a stand in our front. If
fresh troops could have been thrown in on our left, the disaster could
have been retrieved at this point, and the rebel charge hurled back;
but our flanks were exposed, and we were many times outnumbered, and in
danger of being surrounded. There was nothing left but to get out of
that the best we could.
Colonel Pattee rode to and fro along the line, mounted on his bay horse,
encouraging and directing his men, steadying and inspiring them by word
and example. Under a less devoted commander we would have been captured
or driven ingloriously from the field. Before we reached the edge of the
woods, the enemy had inclosed us in the form of a V, and were pouring
their fire upon us from the front and both flanks. We brought out most
of our wounded, but some had to be abandoned. Except these, not a man
was taken prisoner. Reaching the edge of the woods, I knew that no stand
could be made before crossing the branch of Gravelly Run. I "stood not
upon the order of my going," but went at once, and at a lively pace.
Colonel Pattee was the last man to leave the woods. He came down across
the narrow field, crouching close to the neck of his horse, which was
reeling and staggering from wounds out of which his life-blood gushed at
every plunge. Leaping from the back of his dying steed, he rallied his
men on foot.
The trees on the side of the ridge which sloped down to the stream
opposite the open ground in which we had intrenched on the 30th,
afforded excellent cover. Here most of the One Hundred and Ninetieth,
and some from other regiments, rallied and faced the enemy. We were not
much more than a heavy skirmish line; but the tide must be stayed here,
at any cost. The rebel lines came surging on, elated with victory; but
before our steady fire they wavered and came to a halt. Thus, with
scarcely the space of a hundred yards between us, we stood and poured at
each other showers of deadly missiles. Rebel shells from somewhere on
our right were grinding through the trees and bursting all around, while
the fire from their infantry was beating on our thin line with terrible
effect. A man close beside me was struck through the face with a rifle
ball, and walked back toward the rear, pale and bleeding. Casting my
eyes toward the left, I saw our color-bearer holding the flag, his face
deadly pale. Brave old Woo-haw had just been struck down by his side and
carried to the rear. Mike Coleman was in his glory. Miller's face wore
its accustomed smile as with grave deliberation he loaded and fired.
But this state of things could not long continue, and the most hopeful
were growing anxious. A few hundred were fighting the force that had
driven a division. But just now on the ridge behind us, a battery
wheeled into position, and sent charge after charge of grape and
canister whizzing across into the enemy's ranks. Still they did not give
way, and the battle raged more fiercely than ever. I had fired not less
than eighty rounds, and only a few cartridges remained. Others had
nearly exhausted their ammunition. At this point, to our great joy, we
saw a line of battle advancing to our support. Steadily, quietly, they
came on, their battle-flags gleaming through the trees, moving as
orderly as if on dress-parade. As they neared us they quickened their
pace, and charged forward with a tremendous cheer. It was a grand sight
as they swept on, every eye fixed on the smoking timber beyond. But the
little stream threw them into disorder, and they went rushing over the
field without waiting to re-form. As they went over the rising ground
which lay between them and the enemy, they received a terrible volley.
Half their number seemed to go down before it. Back they rolled in
confusion, leaving the ground strewn with their dead and wounded. They
came back to the narrow flat by the run. There, as by one impulse, they
rallied and proceeded to re-form their lines. Not a man shirked. While
they were forming, we opened fire again, over and past them. This lasted
but a few minutes, and they were ready to advance. Steadily,
irresistibly, their line passed up the slope, into the woods, driving
every thing before it.
Our ammunition wagons had now come up, and we procured a fresh supply.
We immediately moved down the stream and crossed, to drive back the
enemy and retake the ground lost at this point. Here the bank on the
other side was abrupt, rising thirty or forty feet in a very short
distance, when level ground, partly open and partly wooded, extended
toward the west and north. On this steep bank we formed for the charge,
three lines of battle. The right of the regiment was detached, and
placed on the left of the lines of battle to cover the flank. When the
advance was made we deployed at skirmish distance, at a right angle
with the line, and moving in the same direction. In this advance, which
was made about two in the afternoon, we that were on the flank did not
fire a shot. We were not much exposed, though some bullets whistled
around.
We finally reached a farm-house in the midst of a large plantation. Here
we halted. We found some of our wounded abandoned by the enemy, who
seemed to have disappeared from our front. Perhaps the decisive battle
might have been fought on this afternoon instead of the following day,
by pushing the Fifth Corps across the White Oak Road on the right of the
intrenched position of the rebels. The course followed was probably the
safer one.
At first the house which we had reached seemed to be deserted; but a
little later we found the family, husband, wife, and daughter, concealed
in a cave in the garden. The man was a tall, gray-haired old gentleman,
all of them well dressed and evidently intelligent and refined people.
The old man was so frightened that he could scarcely speak. They seemed
to expect brutal treatment from the barbarians of the North, who, as it
happened, were quite their equals in culture and humanity.
About five in the evening General Bartlett's brigade of the First
Division was sent across the country to threaten the flank of the enemy,
who had now pressed Sheridan back to Dinwiddie Court-house. They marched
out past us toward the south-west, and disappeared from sight.
Darkness soon came on, and we prepared to pass another night under arms.
It had been a hard day. We had lost eighteen hundred men, and inflicted
a loss of one thousand on the enemy. Our losses fell chiefly on the
Second and Third Divisions. Since ten o'clock the struggle had been
almost continuous, and night found the enemy foiled in his purpose of
driving us from our advanced position, which we now held more firmly
than ever; but this was all the gain for either side. Some time after
dark rations were distributed, and we lay down to sleep.
All the accounts of this battle that have come under my notice contain
statements which I am not able to explain, if they are correct. It is
generally stated that the corps advanced toward the White Oak road, the
Second Division in front, the Third next, and the First in the rear;
that the Second Division was driven back on the Third, both on the
First, and that all were forced back to or beyond the Boydton road. From
the preceding narrative it will be seen that this was not true of the
right of the corps. When we were compelled to fall back, in the
forenoon, we did not retreat more than three or four hundred yards. The
point at which we rallied must have been fully half a mile from the
plank-road. If the rest of the corps did not make a stand until they
reached the plank-road, it is rather surprising that a rebel force was
not thrown across the run on our left, by which we would have been
flanked and driven away or captured. The run was a favorable position
for defense, while the vicinity of the plank-road was not so good.
Veteran soldiers like those of the Fifth Corps would certainly rally at
the former point. It is probable that some went back farther, while
enough stopped at the run to check the rebel advance. We must have
fought nearly three-quarters of an hour before we were re-enforced. The
troops sent to our relief were from the Second Corps.