"Why?"
"Well, nothing in particular, except there are forty or fifty thousand Rebs in front of you. Sheridan has had a tough time of it, and I reckon there is more work to be done."
We pushed on and reached Todd's at one o'clock on Sunday morning. The roads were full of cavalry, also the fields and woods. Sheridan had been fighting several hours, with Fitz Lee. The wounded were being brought in. Surgeons were at work. In the field, a short distance from the spot, the pickets were still firing shots. The Rebels were retiring, and Sheridan's men, having won the field, were throwing themselves upon the ground and dropping off to sleep as unconcernedly as when seeking rest in the calm repose and silence of their far-distant homes.
Fastening our horses to the front-yard fence of Todd's, making a pillow of our saddles, wrenching off the palings for a bed to keep our bones from the ground, wrapping our blankets around us, we were sound asleep in three minutes, undisturbed by the tramping of the passing troops, the jar of the artillery, the rumble of the ammunition wagons, the shouts of the soldiers, the shrieks of the wounded, and groans of the dying.
At sunrise the head-quarters of the army were removed to Piney Grove Church. No bell called the worshippers of the parish to its portal on that Sabbath morning, but other tones were vibrating the air. The Fifth Corps had come in collision with the Rebels, and while the rear-guard of the army were firing their last shots in the Wilderness, the cannonade was reopening at Spottsylvania.
The day was intensely hot. I was wearied by the events of the week,—the hard riding, the want of sleep, the series of battles,—and instead of riding out to the field, enjoyed luxurious repose beneath the apple-trees, fragrant with blossoms, and listened to the strange Sabbath symphony, the humming of bees, the songs of the birds, the roll of musketry, and the cannonade.
The second division, Robinson's, and the fourth, Cutler's (after the loss of Wadsworth, killed at the Wilderness), were engaged. Baxter's brigade of Robinson's division was thrown forward to ascertain the position of the enemy. Their advance brought on the battle. The Sixth Corps was moved to the left of Warren's on the Piney Church road, and was placed in supporting distance. In this first engagement Robinson was badly wounded in the leg.
The Second Corps having filed through the woods, after a hot and dusty march, came up behind the Fifth and Sixth. I took a ride along the lines late in the afternoon. The Fifth was moving slowly forward over undulations and through pine thickets,—a long line of men in blue, picking their way, now through dense underbrush, in a forest of moaning pines, now stepping over a sluggish stream, with briers, hazel, thorn-bushes, and alders impeding every step, and now emerging into an old field where the thriftless farmers had turned the shallow soil for spring planting.
There had been a lull in the cannonade, but it commenced again. It was as before, a spirited contest, which lasted half an hour. Warren pressed steadily on and drove the Rebels from their advanced position, forcing them to retire across the creek, but losing several hundred men before he dislodged them.
Reaching an opening in the forest, I came upon Hart's plantation, a collection of negro huts and farm buildings,—a lovely spot, where the spring wheat was already rolling in green waves in the passing breeze. Looking south over Po Creek, I could see the Catharpen road lined with horse and footmen, and could hear in the intervals of silence the rumble of wagons. A cloud of dust rose above the forest. Were the Rebels retreating, or were they receiving reinforcements? General Grant came down and looked at them. The Rebel artillerists near the court-house must have discovered us, for a half-dozen cannon-shot came ringing through the air, plunging into the newly ploughed cornfield and the clover-land, knee deep with luxuriant grass.