A projected but uncompleted railroad, with alternating cuts and embankments, afforded a splendid line of defense to our infantry on the left. The most continued and persistent fighting was where it began, on that portion of the line held by Jackson's old division. In the course of an hour the attack was repulsed and a counter-charge made, but, judging from the number of dead the enemy left on the field, and the rapidity of their pursuit, the Confederates met with but little resistance thereafter.
An attack had been made on Longstreet's corps at the same time, which met with the same ill success, and was followed by a counter-charge. I remember our noticing the high range of hills in front of Longstreet, completely commanding, as it did, the intervening ground, and some one remarking, while the charge was in progress, that it seemed impossible to carry it. But the reserves who occupied this high ground made but little resistance, and, joining those who had been repulsed, all fled hurriedly from the field. As soon as the retreat of the Federal army began, active participation in the battle by the artillery ceased. We joined in the pursuit, which was brought to a close soon after it began by approaching night.
In crossing a field in the pursuit, a short distance from our gun, I passed near a young infantryman lying entirely alone, with his thigh-bone broken by a Minie-bullet. He was in great distress of mind and body, and asked me most pleadingly to render him some assistance. If I could do nothing else, he begged that I should find his brother, who belonged to Johnston's battery, of Bedford County, Virginia. I told him I could not leave my gun, etc., which gave him little comfort; but he told me his name, which was Ferguson, and where his home was. Fortunately, however, I happened on Johnston's battery soon after, and sent his brother to him. I heard nothing further of him until five years later—two years after the war—when I was on a visit to some relatives in Bedford County. As we started to church in Liberty one Sunday morning I recalled the incident and mentioned it to my aunt's family, and was informed that Ferguson was still alive, had been very recently married, and that I would probably see him that morning at church. And, sure enough, I was scarcely seated in church when he came limping in and took a seat near me. I recognized him at once, but, fearing he had not forgotten what he felt was cruel indifference in his desperate situation, did not renew our acquaintance.
W. S. McClintic
After parting with him on the battlefield and overtaking my gun, our route for a time was through the enemy's dead and wounded of the battle which took place two days before, who had been lying between the two armies, exposed to the hot sun since that time. While taking a more direct route, as the battery was winding around an ascent, my attention was called to a Federal soldier of enormous size lying on the ground. His head was almost as large as a half-bushel and his face a dark-blue color. I supposed, as a matter of course, that he was dead, and considered him a curiosity even as a dead man. But, while standing near him, wondering at the size of the monster, he began to move, and turned as if about to rise to his feet. Thinking he might succeed, I hurried on and joined my gun.
Here we had a good opportunity of observing the marked and striking difference between the Federals and Confederates who remained unburied for twenty-four hours or more after being killed. While the Confederates underwent no perceptible change in color or otherwise, the Federals, on the contrary, became much swollen and discolored. This was, of course, attributable to the difference in their food and drink. And while some Confederates, no doubt for want of sufficient food, fell by the wayside on the march, the great majority of them, owing to their simple fare, could endure, and unquestionably did endure, more hardship than the Federals who were overfed and accustomed to regular and full rations.
Our following in the pursuit was a mere form, as the enemy had been driven by our infantry from all of their formidable positions, and night, as usual in such cases, had put a stop to further pursuit. As we countermarched, to find a suitable camping-ground, great care had to be taken in the darkness to avoid driving over the enemy's wounded who lay along the course of our route. I remember one of them especially, in a narrow place, was very grateful to me for standing near him and cautioning the drivers as they passed by.
On the next day, Sunday, August 31, after three days of occupation such as I have described, we were not averse to a Sabbath-day's rest, which also gave us the opportunity of reviewing at leisure the events and results of our experience, and going over other portions of the battlefield. Looking to the right front, spread out in full view, was the sloping ground over which Longstreet had fought and driven his antagonists. The extensive area presented the appearance of an immense flower-garden, the prevailing blue thickly dotted with red, the color of the Federal Zouave uniform. In front of the railroad-cut, and not more than fifty yards from it, where Jackson's old division had been attacked, at least three-fourths of the men who made the charge had been killed, and lay in line as they had fallen. I looked over and examined the ground carefully, and was confident that I could have walked a quarter of a mile in almost a straight line on their dead bodies without putting a foot on the ground. By such evidences as this, our minds had been entirely disabused of the idea that "the Northerners would not fight."