Company D had not yet been actively engaged. It had been under fire a number of times though, quite enough to show the good stuff its new men were made of. It had taken an active part in tearing up the railroad, and had done a little long range skirmishing in which its only casualty was Private Annis, wounded on the 14th; but I think that the members of it who had been in the most serious danger were those on the picket line the night of the 13th.
The picket line of this night was in charge of Captain Mudgett. In running it he placed some of us before the open grounds in which stood the house before which Lieutenant Brannen, of Company I, was killed, and then by some devious piloting placed another line between us and our line of battle, a bit of duplication that was decidedly unpleasant to us of the outer picket line, for the Confederates were terribly uneasy that night, firing heavily all along their apparently very strong picket line, we replying, of course, but—zip, zip, in front of us was all very well, but where did the bullets that flew around us from the rear come from? The unpleasant fact speedily dawned on us that a picket line lay behind us firing too at the Confederate rifle flashes, as they supposed, but really at our own, so that we poor fellows were between two fires. To attempt to go back to expostulate with the pickets behind us was impossible, for the inevitable crashing through the underbrush between us and them would concentrate sure death upon the messenger. So all we could do then was to stay where we were, cease firing, and lay low. This last we did literally, lying flat on the ground while the bullets zipped viciously back and forth over us, one every now and then striking this or that side of a tree with a suggestive spat.
But Private Day would fire, to lie still and be shot at was contrary to his nature. Every once in a while his gun would bang from his position on the left of the line, giving the enemy in front and the line behind us a range by which to pelt us most dangerously. Again and again I had to go down the line and expostulate with John, but it was of no use, and at last I was forced to take my position with him and by sheer ill-temper keep him repressed, while he foamed with wrath at the idea of being compelled to lie still and silent to be shot at.
The night of the 15th our regiment took a position on the extreme left, where we threw up a sort of intrenchment in anticipation of an attack. But in the morning the heavy firing and the shouting told us that the other flank was the one attacked. We remained in our position a short time in the thick fog, hastily getting coffee boiling and the inner man strengthened for what seemed to be a coming day's work. Soon an order came for us to move to a position in support of the assailed line. As we moved rapidly along the line, we passed General Terry's headquarters, a small house, out of which the General rushed in his shirt-sleeves to admonish us to double quick "for God's sake." Then, striking a panting gait, we soon took position under a heavy fire.
Here we lay watching the give-and-take going on in front of us, expecting each minute to be obliged to fill a gap, but instead we were suddenly ordered to march rapidly to the rear and push down the pike toward Petersburgh till we should meet the supposed to be approaching Whiting.
And we did march rapidly. The fog was long gone, and the sun was beating down hot and strong. Men fell right and left, not bullet struck, but sun-struck. Caps were filled with green leaves, handkerchiefs were soaked in water and tied around swelling temples, but still it was "Forward," "Forward." The desperate pace seemed endless, but at last we were halted, formed in a strong skirmish line, and moved through woods till we reached a creek where we awaited the Confederate advance.
We could hear them talking and moving beyond the creek, but for reasons now known to you, they did not cross it. We remained in this position until night, then by a circuitous route, down one ravine and up another, under the piloting of Lieutenant Newcomb and Sergeant Payne we stole away, and soon found ourselves behind the outworks of Bermuda Hundred.
The 17th of May was passed by the men in necessary recuperation, and by the commanding officers in a rearrangement of lines, now looking to defense. That night the pickets at Warebottom Church reported a movement down the pike. The sound of trampling horses and the rattling of heavy wagons came clearly to their ears. It was conjectured that a wagon train was moving down the pike from Richmond to Petersburgh, and it was determined to attack it. Troops were hurried from the inner lines to the front, and the Eleventh was formed in line of battle and moved through the woods toward the pike. As it was a bright moonlight night, and the woods were fairly clear of underbrush, this movement was rapidly made, but suddenly, click, click, all along in front came the sound of cocking guns, and as our men threw themselves upon the ground, a crash of musketry came from a line of battle the Eleventh had almost run into. For an hour fierce firing was kept up by both sides, a battery of artillery on ours, placed near the church, adding not a little to the uproar by throwing shells over our heads. At last, when our ammunition had become exhausted, and while the men, their blood up, where clamoring for a fresh supply, orders came to fall back.
The wagon train proved to be Beauregard's trains and batteries moving down from Richmond, and well sheltered from us by a strong line of battle.
Of D, Private Carver received a severe flesh wound in this affair and Private George L. Butler was mortally wounded, the loss of the regiment numbering 26 men.