The battle of Five Forks was fought on Saturday. Sabbath morning the sun
rose bright and clear. When we camped the night before, Walb and myself
planned for a substantial night's rest. For the first time since
breaking camp, on the night of March 28th, we unpacked our blankets and
made a bed. It was after sunrise when we awoke. Far to the right we
could hear the low grumble of artillery, sounding like the roar of
distant thunder. Since four o'clock in the morning a great battle had
been raging in front of Petersburg, from the Appomattox on the right, to
Hatcher's Run on the left.
Without waiting for breakfast, we went on to find the regiment. They
were camped not far from where the roads crossed which formed the famous
"Forks." At an early hour we were in motion, toward the right, where
heavy and continuous firing could be distinctly heard. We passed by the
ground where we had fought the evening before. The rebel dead were
strewn far and near, like sheaves of grain in a harvest-field, showing
how destructive had been our fire. The One Hundred and Ninetieth was
deployed on the flank, and moved parallel to the column, at skirmish
distance, about two hundred yards from it.
After marching for some time in the direction of Petersburg, we bore to
the left, and about noon we reached the South Side Railroad, near
Southerland's Station, and marched some distance along it. Beyond the
road we found strong rifle-pits, which the enemy had abandoned. During
the day news reached us that the works in front of Petersburg had been
taken, and there was general rejoicing. That night we bivouaced near the
Appomattox River.
April 3d we moved, at eight in the morning. Some firing was heard on our
left, and many prisoners met us as we marched along. We found cannon
abandoned in the road, and there was evidence on every hand that the
rebels were hard pressed. Our general course was along what is called
the river road, though we did not follow it all the time. Our movements
and progress had to be governed by the supposed movements of the enemy.
At one time we were deployed as skirmishers, and went down to the
river. I do not know the reason of this precaution, but no enemy was
found. We camped that night along the road.
April 4th we resumed the march, soon after sunrise. We were short of
provisions, and foragers were sent out to secure what could be gathered
from the country. I was out in the afternoon. While returning in the
evening, after sun-down, I was shot at by some one, when quite near the
column. That night we reached the Danville Railroad, near Jettersville,
and camped in order of battle, about three miles from Lee's army. For
this reason no fires were made. We had been thrown between him and
Danville, which he was aiming to reach. Here Lee made a mistake. It was
his duty to know of our presence here during the night. He should have
attacked us promptly by daylight on the following morning; and, if
possible, overwhelmed us before the rest of the army could arrive. There
was little if any force confronting him, except the Fifth Corps, not
more than twelve thousand men. I think we reached Jettersville in
advance of the main body of the cavalry.
The morning of the 5th found us intrenched, and expecting an attack from
the enemy. Rebel troops could be seen in the distance, and we supposed
they were forming for battle. We stood behind the works waiting. Their
skirmishers advanced and opened fire on our outposts. Hour after hour
passed. At length the Second and Sixth corps arrived, and Lee's
opportunity was lost.
April 6th we advanced, at first with some caution. But Lee was in full
retreat toward Lynchburg, and we followed. During the day, a body of
rebel cavalry made a dash at the wagon train, and we were ordered back
to drive them off. We went back about three miles at double-quick. We
met quite a number of men who had been skulking with the train, now
rushing for the front at full speed. As we witnessed their
consternation, we were entirely reconciled to the loss of a few wagons,
just to see the "coffee brigade" shaken up. The rebels had been repulsed
by our cavalry before we reached the scene. We remained with the train,
and camped with it during the night. We marched twenty-nine miles, and
arrived within five miles of High Bridge.
On the 7th we still remained with the train. We passed a place where a
rebel wagon train had been attacked by our cavalry. Ammunition and
stores of all kinds were strewn everywhere. Wagon loads of shells had
been emptied out, and lay scattered through the woods.
Some time during the day, we had halted by the road, and, as our rest
was quite prolonged, some of the men had fallen asleep. Among others,
Captain Birkman was sleeping soundly, perhaps dreaming of the peace that
was now almost conquered. The woods were burning, a few rods on our
right. The fire at last reached a lot of shells, which had been thrown
from the wagons, to keep them from falling into the hands of the
Yankees. They went off with a frightful clatter. The captain bounced
from the ground as if a hornet had lifted him. "FALL IN!" he
shouted, grasping his sword. Of course, all who were awake comprehended
the situation, and prudently lay still, to avoid the flying fragments.
As the truth dawned upon him, the captain at first looked "sold" and
disgusted, and then joined in the general laughter.
We halted that night near Prince Edward's Court-house, after a march of
eighteen miles. Here we rejoined the brigade.
April 8th we made the most trying march of all. We lost some time by
going out of the way, and made frequent halts during the forenoon, as if
uncertain of the direction, or suspicious of the movement of the enemy.
About noon we reached Prospect Station, thirteen miles from Farmville.
In the afternoon we settled down to hard marching. We did not halt for
supper. The sun went down, night came on, and still we marched on. By
nine o'clock conversation had ceased--no breath could be wasted in
words. Even "Sport" could no longer muster spirit to crack a joke on any
body. You could only hear the "tramp, tramp" of feet, and the occasional
clatter of a saber. But there was no grumbling. We knew this was the
last forced march. One more blow, and treason would be crushed in the
dust. As the column, from time to time, became clogged by some
obstruction ahead, and halted for a moment, the men would sink down on
the ground, most of them just where they stopped, to catch brief rest
for their aching limbs. At such times I would be sound asleep in a
moment, and more than once the column was marching on and myself with it
when I awoke.
Midnight came, and still we pressed on relentlessly. About one in the
morning we saw lights ahead, which indicated that a halt had been made.
Never did rest and sleep seem sweeter, nor a mile seem longer. It
required a distinct effort of the will to compel each single step. But
at last the task was accomplished. We had marched forty-two miles since
sunrise, and lay within striking distance of the enemy.
The company was represented by Dunn, Bovard, Mike Coleman, Sergeant
Hasler, and myself. The rest had broken down under the terrible strain
and fallen behind. Without removing any thing, I threw myself on the
ground, and knew no more until I was aroused at daylight to go on.
Just after sunrise we halted--for breakfast, they said. It was rather a
grim sort of a joke. Scarcely one in fifty had any thing to eat. A few
had coffee, and fires were made, and we went through the regulation
motions of getting breakfast. This done, we started on again.
It soon became evident that the enemy had been brought to bay. The
confused noise of battle rang through the air. We had halted in the
woods, and stood in the road waiting, sure that the end had come.
Colonel Pattee was on his horse, half faced about toward his men,
evidently impatient and eager. An aid gallops up with orders. Colonel
Pattee looks happy. He gives his old horse an extra jerk:
"FORWARD! DOUBLE QUICK! MARCH!"
On we go toward the scene of conflict.
Again Colonel Pattee's voice rings out: "DEPLOY SKIRMISHERS!"
and in less than a minute a line of Bucktails stretches through the
woods, facing the enemy. There is no waiting. "FORWARD!" passes
down the line, and we move out into the open field in front. A hundred
yards ahead the cavalry are stubbornly facing a heavy force of rebel
infantry that is crowding on them and steadily pushing them back. Now
and then a man falls from his horse or rides back wounded. We were on
lower ground than they, and the bullets whistled above us; but as we
went up the rising ground, they began to hiss around our heads. We
double-quicked forward and began firing.
Between us and the town there was a hollow, and on the farther ridge a
road led down through the village. There was a wood on the left at the
head of the hollow, and on the right a narrow strip of timber ran up to
within two hundred yards of the road. The right of the regiment extended
past the woods, or rather only a small portion of the left would strike
them in moving straight forward. As we came to the ridge overlooking the
hollow, we saw the rebel troops drawn up on the opposite slope. Soon
they gave way and moved off toward the town out of sight, and a battery
from the ridge opened with shell.
As soon as the battery opened fire, Robbins, myself, and two or three
others started toward it. A rail fence ran along the hollow proper on
the side next to us. As we neared the fence, Robbins, who was a few
steps in advance, stopped.
"We had better stay here," he said, as he deliberately aimed at the
battery.
"There are rebels in the woods there," meaning on the left. As he spoke,
a bullet from the left clipped close over his gun barrel.
"See that!" he added, his aim not in the least disturbed. The gunners
were shooting over us, as we supposed, at the line of battle farther
back. But we had only fired a few shots when a shell burst in front of
us, its fragments scattering dirt, fence rails, and splinters for yards
around.
"Well! I think we'll go on," said Robbins. On we went to the farther
side of the hollow, and under shelter of the bank, we kept up our fire
with good effect. We would dodge their shells as they fired, and then
rise and fire till they were ready again. Some riflemen in the vicinity
of the battery gave us trouble, but failed to hit any of us.
After this had continued for some time, the One Hundred and Fifty-fifth
Pennsylvania, a Zouave regiment, came down behind us on a double-quick,
deployed as skirmishers. As they neared the fence a shell from the
battery screamed over our heads, and exploding, killed one of their men.
They heeded this no more than if it had not occurred, and came on with a
cheer. Giving a parting shot to the battery which was now pulling out,
we started on, bearing to the right toward the town. As we neared the
point of the strip of woods on our right, Ginter, of Company E, stopped
and sat down flat on the ground, remarking that it was getting mighty
hot. I was of the same opinion, and halted a few feet in advance of him
and fired a few shots in a kneeling posture. While thus engaged, I heard
the sound of a blow behind me, and looking around, I saw Ginter tumbling
on the ground, his heels in the air. He quickly gathered himself up to a
sitting posture with a very rueful countenance, giving vent to his
feelings in sundry expletives, as soon as he could get breath enough to
deliver them properly. With many a doleful grunt he examined the extent
of his injuries. A bullet had struck the belt of his cartridge-box,
nearly over the heart. The ball had force enough almost to pierce the
leather belt and severely bruise the chest, raising a lump half as large
as a hen's egg, and very painful. Some fellow off to the left had
reached for us, and well-nigh finished Ginter. He did not go to the
rear, but kept on, holding his clothing from the painful bruise, too
much engaged in this to do any more shooting.
A few minutes later, a rebel officer galloped along the line with a
white flag. We were almost to the road at this time, at the outskirts of
the town. We did not think of continuing the fight any longer, but some
rebel soldiers on the left past the town, fired on us when we exposed
ourselves, and we returned the treacherous fire, and advanced across the
road. By the road, facing us as we approached, stood a negro cabin, out
of which a rebel officer came as we reached it. A few words were
exchanged between him and Adjutant Wright, and I think he was allowed to
go down the road to where the main body of the rebel troops had halted.
Our fire continuing, Colonel Pattee rode up to us, excitedly, to learn
what it meant. Adjutant Wright explained that rebel skirmishers were
still firing at us.
"Have this firing stopped at once," he said; and seeing a protest in
Wright's face, he went on: "I tell you, you're excited, adjutant, and
the men are excited. They've surrendered, and this must cease."
"Excited!" was the reply. "If they want to surrender, let _them_ cease
firing."
At this moment a bullet whizzed past the colonel's head, and killed a
cavalry man on the bank beyond him. He rode off to the right, and left
us to manage it to suit ourselves. In a little while the firing from
both sides ceased. The Army of the Potomac had accomplished its
mission. We had fought our last battle. The One Hundred and Ninetieth
and One Hundred and Ninety-first had proved themselves, to the last
hour, worthy successors of the Pennsylvania Reserves.
The preceding narrative will be better understood by a fuller statement
of the part taken by the entire regiment in the engagement. The original
intention was for Colonel Pattee to connect the right of his command
with the First Division and the left with the command of General Ord. On
reaching the front, he discovered that the cavalry were hard pressed,
and would soon be dislodged from the woods, which would have to be
regained at great disadvantage, and perhaps serious loss. He, therefore,
ordered the regiment forward to their relief. Advancing rapidly, they
relieved the cavalry and engaged the enemy before the troops on either
flank were in position. Colonel Pattee now found his skirmish line
confronting heavy lines of battle, and back of these, on the ridge near
the village, in position to sweep all the open ground in front, Lee's
artillery was massed. He at once thinned the exposed center and right of
his line, strengthened the left, and charged boldly forward upon the
enemy, throwing his left around upon their flank. Meantime the right
pressed rapidly on, and engaged the rebel infantry in the open ground,
and, later, the artillery on the ridge. Their infantry was routed, and
driven back over the ridge, where their officers tried in vain to rally
and lead them forward. Their artillery resisted with desperation until
their commander was killed. By this time many of their horses had been
shot, and they tried to drag the guns away by hand. But now the left of
the regiment, under Colonel Pattee, came charging down on their right
flank, bursting upon them like a tornado; and literally mingled
together, almost fighting hand to hand, they went pell-mell toward the
village. Here the flag of truce met them, and soon hostilities ceased.
Rarely has a more brilliant and successful attack been executed in
modern warfare, and it reflects the highest credit upon Colonel Pattee
and his command. Rebel officers who witnessed it spoke in the highest
terms of the splendid and reckless courage with which this skirmish line
dashed upon the heavy masses of the enemy.
The death of the cavalryman, to which reference has been made, was a
cause of great regret to all who witnessed it. He was a brave young man.
When relieved by the Bucktails, he might have retired from the field
with honor, as did most of the command to which he belonged. He
preferred, however, to remain. Falling in with Colonel Pattee, he fought
by his side during all the engagement, charged with him in the last
deadly onset, and escaped unharmed, to fall by the bullet of a cowardly
truce-breaker.
Lieutenant Hayden, of the One Hundred and Ninety-first, a brave young
officer, formerly of the Eleventh Reserves, lost a leg in this battle.
It seemed hard to suffer death or maiming in this, the last hour, let us
hope, that the nation will know of civil strife; but let us honor the
men who were thus faithful to the end.