Reaching the summit of an open hill, where stood a little old house, and its surrounding naked orchard, we were fronted and ordered forward on the left of the road.... Now we entered the battle. There were two lines of works before us; the first or inner line, from a hundred and fifty to two hundred yards in front of us; the second or outer line, perhaps a hundred yards beyond it, and parallel to it. There were troops in the outer line, but in the inner one only what appeared to be masses without organization. The enemy were firing in front of the extreme right of the brigade, and their balls came obliquely down our line; but we could not discover, on account of the woods about the point of firing, under what circumstances the battle was held. There was a good deal of doubt as to how far we were to go, or in what direction.... The truth is, the road by which we had come was not at all straight, which made the right of the line front much farther north than the rest, and the fire was too hot for us to wait for the long loose column to close up, so as to make an entirely orderly advance. More than this, there was a death struggle ahead, which must be met instantly. We advanced at a double-quick, cheering loudly, and entered the inner works. Whether by order or tacit understanding, we halted here, except the Twelfth Regiment, which was the right of the brigade. That moved at once to the outer line, and threw itself with its wanted impetuosity into the heart of the battle.... The brigade advanced upon the works. About the time we reached the inner lines, [362] General McGowan was wounded by a minnie ball in the arm, and forced to quit the field. Colonel Brockman, senior Colonel present, was also wounded, and Colonel Brown, of the Fourteenth Regiment, assumed command then or a little later. The four regiments, the First, Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Rifles (the Twelfth had passed on to the outer line), closed up and arranged their lines. Soon the order was given to advance to the outer line. We did so with a cheer and a double-quick, plunging through mud knee deep and getting in as best we could. Here, however, lay Harris' Mississippi Brigade. We were ordered to close to the right. We moved by the flank, up the works, under the fatally accurate firing of the enemy, and ranged ourselves along the entrenchments. The sight we encountered was not calculated to encourage us The trenches dug on the inner side were almost filled with water. Dead men lay on the surface of the ground and in the pools of water. The wounded bled, stretched, and groaned, or huddled in every attitude of pain. The water was crimson with blood. Abandoned knapsacks, guns, and accoutrements, with ammunition boxes, were scattered all around. In the rear disabled caissons stood and limbers of guns. The rain poured heavily, and an incessant fire was kept upon us from front and flank. The enemy still held the works on the right of the angle, and fired across the traverses. Nor were these foes easily seen. They barely raised their heads above the logs at the moment of firing. It was plainly a question of bravery and endurance now.
We entered upon the task with all our might. Some fired at the line lying in our front on the edge of the ridge before described; others kept down the enemy lodged in the traverses on the right. At one or two places Confederates and Federals were only separated by the works, and the latter not a few times reached their guns over and fired right down upon the heads of the former. So continued the painfully unvarying battle for more than two hours. At the end of that time a rumor arose that the enemy was desirous to come in and surrender. Colonel Brown gives the following in his official report: "About two o'clock P.M. the firing ceased along the line, and I observed the enemy, standing up in our front, their colors flying and arms pointing upwards. I called to them to lay down their arms and come in. An [363] officer answered that he was waiting our surrender—that we had raised a white flag, whereupon he had ceased firing. I replied, 'I command here,' and if any flag had been raised it was without authority, and unless he came in, firing would be resumed. He begged a conference, which was granted, and a subordinate officer advanced near the breastwork and informed me that a white flag was flying on my right. He was informed that unless his commander surrendered, the firing would be continued. He started back to his lines, and failing to exhibit his flag of truce, was shot down midway between the lines, which was not more than twenty yards at this point. The firing again commenced with unabating fury." ... The firing was astonishingly accurate all along the line. No man could raise his shoulders above the works without danger of immediate death. Some of the enemy lay against our works in front. I saw several of them jump over and surrender during the relaxation of the firing. An ensign of a Federal regiment came right up to us during the "peace negotiations" and demanded our surrender. Lieutenant Carlisle, of the Thirteenth Regiment, replied that we would not surrender. Then the ensign insisted, as he had come under a false impression, he should be allowed to return to his command. Lieutenant Carlisle, pleased with his composure, consented. But as he went away a man from another part of the line shot him through the face, and he came and jumped over to us. This was the place to test individual courage. Some ordinarily good soldiers did next to nothing, while others excelled themselves. The question became pretty plainly, whether one was willing to meet death, not merely to run the chances of it. There was no further cessation of fire, after the pause before described. Every now and then a regular volley would be hurled at us from what we supposed a fresh line of Federals, but it would gradually tone down to the slow, particular, fatal firing of the siege. The prisoners who ran into us now and then informed us that Grant's whole energies were directed against this point. They represented the wood on the other side as filled with dead, wounded fighters, and skulkers. We were told that if we would hold the place till dark, we would be relieved. Dark came, but no relief. The water became a deeper crimson, the corpses grew more numerous. Every tree about us, for thirty feet from the ground, [364] was marked by balls. Just before night a tree six or eight inches in diameter, just behind the works, was cut down by the bullets of the enemy. We noticed at the same time a large oak hacked and torn in such a manner never before seen. Some predicted its fall before morning, but the most of us considered that out of the question. But about 10 o'clock it did fall forward on our works, wounding some men and startling a great many more. An officer, who afterwards measured this tree, informed me that it was twenty-two inches in diameter. This was entirely the work of rifle balls. Midnight came, still no relief; no cessation of the firing. Numbers of the troops sank, overpowered, into the muddy trenches and slept soundly. The rain continued. Just before daylight we were ordered, in a whisper, which was passed along the line, to slowly and noiselessly retire from the works.... Day dawned, and the evacuation was complete.
Thus ended one of the most stubbornly contested battles of the war, if not of the century. The whole army, from one end to the other, sung the praises of the gallant South Carolinians, who, by their deeds of valor, made immortal the "Bloody Angle."