Further on we came to a cleared field of considerable size, in which there were, I believe, one or two small, old buildings, perhaps negro houses. Just before reaching the open field we turned off to the right and came in on the right hand side of the field, and lay down behind the rail fence. While in this situation, a general officer came up and had a talk with Barlow. From what I heard at the time and have since read, I am of the opinion it was Gen. Kearney. I heard him say, “Colonel, you will place your men across that road, and hold it at all cost.” Barlow replied, “General, you know I have but few men.” “Yes,” he said, “but they are good ones.” The general, whoever he was, then went off. Barlow at once ordered the men up, and to advance. The fence was passed, then a right wheel made, an advance of some rods, and we were near to the edge of the field and directly across the road. The order was given to lie down. Shortly after this was executed, a voice came out of the woods in front of us, and very near by. It was too dark to see anything, but our ears took in every word of the question asked, “What regiment is that?” At once an Irishman replied, “Sixty-first New York.” Then came the command, “Lay down your arms, or I’ll blow every one of you to hell.” That sentence was scarcely out of his mouth, when Barlow roared, “Up and at them, men.”
The command was instantly obeyed. We got in the first volley, and it was doubtless effective. Some of our wounded left on the ground and captured next day, reported, when we next saw them, that there was a large number of dead rebels close up to the line of our field.
As soon as our volley had been delivered the men of their own accord dropped back a rod or two, lined up and went steadily at work. As I have suggested, it was too dark to see anything within the woods, and, if the enemy could see anything of us, it was just a line.
Our fire was at once returned. As soon as our empty muskets could be loaded the men would take a quick aim at a flash in the woods and let drive. The enemy did the same. In no battle that I was in, did the bullets sing about my head as they did here. No doubt this came from the aim drawn on the flash of my musket. This steady, rapid firing continued till it ceased from the woods, and we concluded that we were victors.
Barlow then directed that the sound men take to the rear those alive, but wounded so that they could not help themselves. A sergeant by the name of Marshall, as I now remember, was badly wounded through the thigh. Another man and I attempted to carry him back. I found that my gun was an obstruction and I laid it down, thinking I could come back and find it, or some other. We carried our comrade to the rear, where quite a number were placed, among them Capt. E. M. Deming, who was suffering from a broken leg. We were close friends, having been together in the winter of ’60 and ’61 in the Academic Department of Madison University. I stopped to have a little talk with him, believing that there was to be no more fighting that night.
Presently my attention was called to the fact that there was a fresh lining up of men where we had just fought. It was not so dark but that the outline of a body of men could be distinguished in the open. At once the firing from both sides was resumed as brisk as ever. Later on I learned that a part of the 81st Pa. had come to our aid.
I was not long in sensing that my position was not military. Some of my regiment must be in that line, and I was some rods to the rear, and without a gun. I did not propose to go hunting for a lost gun in that darkness and under fire. In looking about, I discovered a gun standing against a tree. I took it, saw that it was loaded, and then conceived the notion that I might make a flank attack on the rebels by myself. The line of battle on each side was but a few rods in length. Where I stood the trees were not thick, and I was a little to the right of the firing. I made an advance movement that brought me nearly up to the line of our men, but, as I said, to their right. I decided that Providence had favored me in providing a good-sized stump just beyond and in the line I proposed to fire. I brought my gun to an “aim,” waited for a flash from a Confederate gun, and pulled the trigger. About as soon as could be, after the flash of my fire, came quite a volley of bullets singing around my head, from the enemy’s line. I moved closer to my stump for more complete protection, when to my dismay, I found it to be only a body of tall grass. I did no more firing from that position, but fell back in good order.
The fighting soon ceased and our men retired and took position in the road in the woods, but near to the open field. We lay down on our arms. After a while the enemy came up where their wounded were, and we could hear them call out the regiments to which they belonged as they were picked up. Finally matters quieted down and most of us went to sleep.
At the time we called this the battle of Charles City Cross Roads. I think the accepted name at present is Glendale. This position had been during the day desperately attacked by the Confederates and heroically defended by the Federals. If the enemy had succeeded in their purpose they would have cut off a large section of our army and captured property of great value. In my account of the fight written at the time to my people I said, “Barlow got us together in line and found that a good deal more than half of the men were gone, and pretty much all of the officers. Captains Deming, Spencer and Moore lost legs, and Angell was wounded. Lieut. Crawford and Adjutant Gregory were wounded. Col. Barlow and Lieuts. Keech and Morrison were the only officers with us, and some of these had very close calls, all of them had bullet holes in their clothing. Barlow’s horse was killed and Keech’s scabbard was battered up with one or more bullets. But forty men were together unharmed at the end of the contest.”
That my account of this fight may not stand alone as a stubborn and desperate one, I will quote from the account of it as found in Appleton’s Annual of 1862. While it may be obnoxious to the charge of gushiness, to those who were in this fight, by daylight, or in the night, I think scarcely anything can appear exaggerated. It is as follows: