The Sword and Gun 3

The Sword and Gun 3

Early on the morning of the 17th June, the brigade was formed in line

of battle, in a ravine, preparatory to charging a line of works,

extending from the Bagster Road almost to Hare Hill, the future site

of Fort Steadman. This line of works was situated in the middle of a

field of corn, then just in the tassel, on the crest of a ridge or

slight elevation, and was built in the shape of the letter V, the

apex of the line being towards the rear. To the right and left of the

line were batteries, and another in a narrow section of pine woods

covered the centre of the line. Though not very strongly manned, the

work was a heavy one, and from its commanding position and the heavy

enfilading fire that could be brought to bear on almost any part

of it, not by any means an easy one to carry. Our line was however

formed, and we stood there, the hot bright sun almost blinding us

and heating the dry sand under our feet, till it almost blistered

them, awaiting the orders to commence our first battle. A desultory

fire was being kept up by a line of skirmishers and sharpshooters

entrenched a little in advance of our line and a round of spherical

case or canister would occasionally come whistling over our heads,

spattering sharply and viciously through the timber close in our rear

and making the limbs and splinters fly far and wide. At length the

preparations were all made, and with beating hearts we waited for

the word; it came at last: "Forward, double quick! charge!" a wild,

loud cheer, rolls along from one end to the other of the brigade, a

sudden trampling of feet breaks in on the comparative quiet of the

summer's morning, a few seconds and the line of works in our front

becomes wreathed in smoke, as we mount a low bank which had hitherto

concealed it from our view;--an angry roar from the batteries in

the woods in front of us, and an hailstorm of shot, shell, grape,

canister, and minie balls screaming through the air above and around

us and throwing up clouds of dust, as they strike the sand in every

direction, till the whole battle field is obscured by a heavy cloud

of dust and smoke through which the rebel works in front of us and

their truculent looking butternut defenders are barely discernible.

And through it all the wild cheering yell of our boys as they

pant and struggle on through the deep sand, which fills mouth and

nostrils, almost suffocating us; the crash and roar of cannon and

musketry, the bursting of shells, the whiz of the missiles as they

pass, the cries of the wounded as they roll over in their agony, all

blended and mingling together, yet each sound distinct and clear

as if the only one to break the stillness of the summer air. But

no words can paint a battle any more than can canvas portray its

details, which only those who have participated in can appreciate or

understand. On we go,

 

"On, on, through the hell-fire of shrapnel and shell

On without faltering, right on with a yell,"

 

till we see the scowling, wolfish looking faces of the rebels

in their works, till their fire slackens, till we can see the

artillerymen working the guns of the battery on our left limbering up

their pieces and starting to the rear, till the right of their line

breaks slowly from their works and retires to the rear.

 

Then comes an order "half wheel to the right," a wavering confused

movement along the whole line, a yell of derision from the Rebels,

a sudden recommencement of their fire; and, with victory within its

grasp, the brigade falls back on the line of works they lately left

confident of victory, shattered and broken and leaving hundreds of

its numbers on the field.

 

From whom the order came directing the movement to the right has

never, I believe, been satisfactorily established, but to this

order, exposing the whole brigade, as it did, to a most severe

enfilading fire, may be attributed the failure of the charge and the

heavy loss sustained by the brigade. Our leading files were close up

to the works, the Rebels were withdrawing their men and guns, and had

we but been allowed to go right ahead, we should have taken the whole

and suffered much less loss than we did. Had we done so, our entrance

into Petersburg that afternoon would have been easily accomplished,

as the troops opposed to us were nothing but the Petersburg Reserves,

raw militia, and few in number.

 

Our regiment suffered severely in this its first day's fight. Major

Kershaw was shot through the legs; Lieut. Colonel Doolittle was

slightly wounded in the shoulder and had his shoulder strap torn off

by a piece of a shell; Lieut. Earl, Co. B, received a gunshot wound

which caused his death shortly afterwards; Lieut. F. B. Riddle, Co.

C, was mortally wounded, and Capt. Green received a slight contusion

from a piece of shell.

 

In this engagement Serg't Greene, of company C, the Regimental Color

Bearer, was shot through both legs by a grape shot, in the early part

of the fight; unable to walk and fearful lest the colors entrusted

to his charge, should fall into the hands of the enemy, he rolled up

the flag on the staff and seizing this in his teeth, drew himself

off the field and behind the works into a place of safety. Such

unselfish heroism is deserving the highest commendation, though poor

Greene lived barely long enough to know that his courageous act was

known and appreciated. Our loss in killed and wounded in this battle

amounted to 138 of which number 44 were killed on the field and 10

died from the effects of their wounds.

 

I do not suppose that a more disheartened and, for the time, broken

down set of men ever met together, than the scattered fragments of

our regiment when we collected in the ravine after our ill-fated

charge on the first day of the battle of Petersburg. Our men had

been marched for four successive days and nights, had had little or

no sleep for five, and been on short rations for the same period. To

this may be added that depressed feeling, the natural sequence of

great excitement, which always follows a battle, even if successful;

the loss of so many of our number, and a feeling that would creep

in--that there had been a blunder, somewhere.

 

We remained in the ravine for an hour or two, getting rest and

refreshment, of both of which we stood in much need. Towards night,

however, we were ordered forward to support the Second Division who

had advanced their works some way up the field. We accordingly took

possession of a partially constructed breastwork on the edge of the

ravine, and after an hour or two employed in further completing and

strengthening our defences, lay down to get what rest we could to

prepare us for what the morrow might have in store for us. We slept

that night, without rocking, and a heavy fire that the enemy opened

on our lines during the night, hardly awakened us. At daylight

we were roused up and ordered to advance in line of battle, with

two companies deployed as skirmishers, which order, however, was

afterwards modified by the 8th Michigan being deployed along the

whole Brigade front.

 

We advanced steadily and slowly over the scene of yesterday's

battle and found the line of works for which we had then contended

unoccupied, except by the rebel dead, who were pretty thickly piled

up all along the works. We entered the woods I have before mentioned

as being in the rear of the defenses, in which we found traces of

a large camp, which had evidently been abandoned in great haste.

Muster rolls and other military records, more or less complete, were

scattered round in every direction, cooking utensils and a variety of

eatables lay round everywhere, forming, with worn out clothing and

accoutrements and the remains of the huts and tents, a lively picture

of confusion and ruin.

 

A brisk fire on the skirmish line showed that we were fast

approaching the scene of action, and on reaching the edge of the

timber we were ordered to build breastworks and await the arrival of

Gen. Bartlett's command on our right. The day was clear and bright,

and, owing to a light northerly breeze, not unpleasantly warm. Our

boys soon threw up a light line of works and lay down under the shade

of the pines to rest.

 

The situation was a picturesque one not devoid of a certain

solemnity. The light breeze hummed through the pines overhead, with

a pleasant dreamy sound; before us lay a field of oats, waving and

undulating in alternate light and shade as the soft breath of the

summer wind passed over it; far off on the right the distant spires

of Petersburg showed faint and indistinct through the soft blue haze;

on our left a cloud of dark, black smoke curled lazily up over the

tree tops, and dropped gently away to leeward from where a large

cotton factory had been fired by the rebels in their retreat. The air

was alive with the hum of insects and the chirp of birds, and in the

trees, on the left of our regiment, a mocking bird was whistling,

softly but clearly. It was a strange scene, the long lines of faces,

the subdued murmur of conversation, broken only by an occasional shot

from the skirmish line, sounding strangely distant and unreal, and

the flickering shadow of the pine boughs falling at times on some

sunburnt face, with a grave fixed look on it, which showed how the

thoughts were then traveling back over hundreds of miles to some spot

in the far-off North where the loved ones lay, little conscious of

the fate of their nearest and dearest.

 

On many faces there a darker shadow than that of the pine boughs was

soon to fall forever, and a brighter and more lasting glory than that

of the sun's rays, as the swaying boughs moved aside and let in the

gleaming light. For many there, their last sun had arisen, and the

fitful slumber that now from time to time drooped their eyelids was

but the prelude to the "sleep that knows no waking."

 

But our thoughts were soon recalled to the realities of the occasion

by the order to advance, and under a sharp fire of cannon and

musketry we pressed on across the oat-field towards a line of works

just discernible, ahead of us. On we went, steadily and unwaveringly,

halting only once to reform the line which had become somewhat broken

from the uneven nature of the ground over which we were advancing.

Forward! again with a cheer, and we see their skirmishers falling

back on their main line of battle; forward a few steps more, and a

wide trench unexpectedly opens before us--it is a deep cut on the

Norfolk and Petersburg railroad. A momentary pause as we catch in a

telegraph wire cunningly stretched on stakes and hid in the long rank

grass on the edge of the cut, and a withering volley sweeps the top

of the cut, and numbers roll down its steep sides to find a grave in

the muddy ditches on the side of the track. Up the steep bank, on

the opposite side, the fragments of our brigade try, once more, to

charge, but the fire that meets them is too heavy, and they fall back

under the protection of the sides of the cut.

 

Twice again they attempt it, and twice again they are compelled to

fall back, leaving many of their number behind on each successive

charge. And now, on our right, the enemy's sharpshooters have got

into position and, firing along the whole length of the cut, pick off

a man at every shot. Capt. Stevens, of Co. A, is mortally wounded,

and 2d Lieut. Lowber, of the same company, receives a ball through

his fore-arm, thus leaving that company without an officer. And

now the enemy are seen getting a battery into position on a height

commanding the whole of our position. None of our artillery has yet

come up to support us, and our position if not a critical, is at

least, a most anxious one. But soon the sharp crack of a Napoleon

is heard in our rear and the solid shot hums along over our heads

and sends up a cloud of dust and splinters as it strikes where the

rebels are trying to build an earthwork, and Capt. Romer, of the 34th

N. Y., has got his guns into position, and with a few well directed

shots, shells the rebels away from their covert. The crack of those

Napoleons was a thoroughly welcome sound to us all, for it gave

evidence that we were not all alone nor without backers, which, as

the troops on our right and left did not connect with us, appeared at one time to be the case.