May 7. There was no fighting done. We lay quietly near the place where the last fighting was done the day before. Early in the morning of May 8th, we started on the march toward Spottsylvania Court House. We passed Chancellorsville during the night and camped a little to the rear of Fredericksburg during the afternoon. We moved forward a little the 9th, and in the afternoon dug intrenchments along beside a small stream,—I think it was the Ny. It was all quiet along our front when we reached that position, but later there was a good deal of sharpshooting. We were within a few hundred yards of Spottsylvania Court House at that time, but neither Burnside or Grant knew it until we had been moved away to the right, and it was too late to profit by the advantage we had gained. We had got clear around on Lee’s right flank. The 10th, during the early morning, we moved around to the right into a large pasture partly grown up. Sharpshooters were very active all along our front. General Stevenson was killed by a sharpshooter at that time.
About daylight in the early morning of the 12th we were awakened by the bursting out of a fearful roar of infantry fire just to our right where the second corps was. We were moved along a little nearer to it, to the upper edge of a pasture next to some wood. While we were there a shell burst right among a half dozen of us, a piece of which struck Lawriston Barnes in the side, mortally wounding him. Augustus, his brother, stood near and caught him as he reeled to fall. Volunteers were called for to go up into the wood and make a reconnaissance. Tom Winn offered to go and went, and in a few minutes he returned, bringing with him a Johnny. A little later we moved up through the wood and made an attack on some Johnnies in an entrenched position in an open field, but we did not drive them out; they had the advantage of a strong position and our force was too small to make such an attack with any prospect of success. As we went up through the wood we passed a Johnny who was killed while aiming his gun. He was lying flat on the ground behind a stump. His head had dropped forward a little, but otherwise he was in the exact position of aiming his gun; he had been shot through the head and killed instantly. He was evidently one of the sharpshooters who had been annoying us that morning when we were in the edge of the pasture where Lawriston Barnes was killed.
That engagement of Hancock’s corps at the salient, called also the “bloody angle” has gone into history as one of the most desperate engagements of the Civil War. We remained in the immediate vicinity until the 19th, when we were moved away to the left, to the extreme left of the army, I think, and threw up a lot of earthworks. We lay quietly near our earthworks all day the 20th. The next day about the middle of the afternoon we started for the North Anna River, marching all night and all the next day through a most beautiful section of the country and camping at night near Bowling Green. The 23d we approached the North Anna River in the afternoon. The roar of the artillery just ahead of us steadily increased until it became perfectly terrific. It was the first time during the campaign the artillery of either army had had an opportunity to make itself heard. Again, the artillery of the two armies was separated from each other by a good-sized river; each thus felt perfectly safe, and they barked away to their hearts’ content. Just before we turned into the field to camp for the night, a cannon ball fired by the Johnnies at our artillery on the hill ahead of us, struck the hill, then bounded along down and finally rolled along the road among the feet of the horses of a regiment of cavalry that was passing us—we having moved to the side of the road to let them pass. The way those horses jumped around there indicated distinctly that they knew what it was, and that they did not like the looks of it a bit.
May 24. During the middle of the forenoon we were moved down on to an island in the river with another regiment, expecting to make a charge across that part of the river on the Johnnies’ works on the other side. We stayed there a few hours, then returned without attempting any advance. In the middle of the afternoon we moved up the river a little way and crossed at Quarles Ford.
May 25. On picket duty out on the bank of a small stream. Captured two Johnnies. I was on the picket line. We were placed quite a distance apart, so I was entirely alone. The bank of the stream was quite high, I being some twenty feet higher than the river and about ten or twelve yards from it. I saw the Johnnies approaching me on the other side of the river when some thirty or forty yards away. They were sauntering along, their right hands holding a number of canteens, their left hands their guns. I was lying behind the trunk of a fallen tree. I kept perfectly quiet until they were about twenty or thirty feet from the other side of the river, when I ordered them to throw down their guns. They dropped them instantly. Then I ordered them to come in, which they did without hesitation. They forded the stream, clambered up the bank, and as they reached the top, stood still and apparently took in the situation. They were men about thirty years old, one a medium-sized man, the other a large man, five feet, ten inches or six feet tall. I think they felt a little awkward as they discovered they had surrendered to a mere boy. The larger one took a fancy to my gun and stepped forward as if expecting me to hand it to him for examination. I brought my gun down to the charge, cocked it, and told him to keep his distance or I should shoot. The smaller man took hold of the other, pulled him back and said to him, “Don’t go near him, he’ll shoot you.” “You may be sure I shall,” said I. Then I started them to the rear, keeping about a rod and a half behind them. When I reached headquarters the colonel came out of his tent and came up to me and said, “What have you been up to, Mad?” An officer stuck his head out of a nearby tent and shouted, “Why didn’t you bring in the whole regiment while you were about it?” Another called out, “Tell us how you did it, Mad.” Another answered back, “Ah, he surrounded them.” And so they had quite a bit of good-natured fun at my expense. Well, a corporal and guard came and took charge of the Rebs and I went back to my place on the picket line again.
May 26. We recrossed to the north side of the river and went back to near Oxford and went into bivouac. The army was on the move and we were doing picket duty. I was way off in the wood, apparently all alone and there was not another picket within fifteen rods of me. I was lying down behind the trunk of a tree some twenty to twenty-four inches through at the base. All at once I saw a Johnny coming down through the wood. He was coming directly toward me, coming along quietly, glancing now to the right, then to the left. I let him approach to within about three or four rods of me when I ordered him to drop his gun. He dropped it and came in. He was a big six-footer with a big, black beard eight or ten inches long. I took him back to headquarters, turned him over to the officer of the day and went back to my post again. This was great luck for me. In two consecutive days I had, entirely alone and unaided, captured three Johnnies,—two at one time and one at the other; and they were the only men I captured unaided during the whole war.
May 27. Some of our boys had a little fun with some Johnnies that morning. The Johnnies shot across the river and killed a cow that belonged to a farmer living nearby. Then they stripped off their clothes and swam the river, intending to have a good cut of beef for dinner. As soon as they were over the river our boys appeared, took them prisoners and marched them off to headquarters just as they were. The armies had both gone. We were the pickets of the rear guard. We had been keeping very quiet in the wood, and the Johnnies probably thought we had all gone. Well, they did not have meat for dinner and we did. About noon we left the North Anna and followed on after the army. The 28th we marched all day and most of the night, but during the night the marching was less steady, the artillery that was ahead of us was obliged to repair the roads in two or three places which caused delays. During those halts the boys would, every one of them in two minutes after the halt was made, be lying beside the road fast asleep. On a long, hard march there is always more or less straggling and those fellows once behind may have quite a little trouble in finding their regiments again; but they go straggling along inquiring for their regiments, brigades or perhaps their army corps, etc. Well, that night as we were lying beside the road asleep, an officer came along—a very important and very arrogant fellow—he woke up Tom and asked what regiment that was. Tom rubbed his eyes, looked about and shouted loud enough to be heard a quarter of a mile, “The 279th Rhode Island.” A little way off another fellow piped up, “That is a blasted lie, this is the 119th Ireland;” the officer made no reply but moved on.
In this campaign there is firing going on somewhere along the line most of the time. For any one who has not been in a real hard campaign, it is impossible to imagine what life is like there—especially nights. If near the enemy thus being unable to have any fire with which to cook a cup of coffee, having nothing to drink but cold water and nothing to eat but hardtack with perhaps a slice of salt pork. A roar of musket fire along the picket line giving one a start and waking him up, stragglers tumbling over you or waking you up to inquire for their regiments, sleeping on the ground perhaps in a rain-storm are all in the regular order of experience. On the 30th of May we reached Cold Harbor, we were advanced into a position near Shady Grove and told to throw up some earthworks. The pickets seemed only a few steps in front of us and were firing away like mad; the bullets coming over where we were altogether too thick for comfort. May 31. We stayed in that position all day and that night I was detailed on picket. About midnight I went on duty, we went down across a large field and clear down on the farther side, relieved the pickets in little holes they had dug to conceal themselves in. There were spades there and before daylight we had increased the size of the holes so they were fair-sized rifle pits. When that line was established it was done just about as badly as it could be. It was placed clear on the farther edge of a large field about four or six rods from the edge of the wood, the Johnnies’ line of pickets being in the edge of the wood. About ten o’clock the officer of the day appeared about thirty or forty rods to the rear and signaled for me to go back and get orders. I was acting sergeant at the time and had command of the pickets of that part of the line. I went back to him, got my orders and returned to my post again. That was the most perilous duty that fell to me to perform all alone during my whole service. As I went back I was a single mark for from a dozen to fifteen Rebs for a run of fifteen rods, and on my return just the same again, and that time I was running directly toward them.
It was a common thing in those days to hear the bullets zip past one, but a thing occurred then that was new to me. It was a plowed field I was crossing and as the bullets struck the ground they would kick up a little dust. I remember distinctly seeing those miniature clouds of dust three or four times on those runs.
As near as I can judge I was fired at about twelve or fifteen times each way, but I escaped without a scratch. Had they had some decent shots there I would have been shot into mincemeat and why I was not is a thing I have never been able to understand. Some of our boys in the rifle pits declared they heard the Johnnies clap as I jumped down into the rifle pit on my return. Well, in the middle of the afternoon when I received the signal to fall back I gave the order, but not more than half the men struck out,—the remainder preferring to remain there and be taken prisoners rather than take the risk of that run across the field. When I got back fifteen or twenty rods I turned and looked back. The Rebs were taking those of our boys that remained, out of the rifle pits. We now formed a skirmish line and fell slowly back. The Confederates formed their skirmish line and began to follow us up. The retreat down to Bethseda Church, a distance of about three or four miles, was most exciting, the Johnnies following us up pretty closely. But once in a while we would make a stand. Then they would bring up their artillery, and lines of infantry would swing into place. Then we would quietly drop back again. When we reached the vicinity of Bethseda Church there were lines of battle everywhere. We were ordered back to the rear of the lines and were then sent to our regiments. The 21st was quite a little way off to the left. Emmons had just been killed when I found the regiment. Marcus Emmons was a Hardwick boy. He was an awkward, unsoldierly appearing man, but he was a man of considerable intellectual ability and a man of splendid character; and, so far as I ever saw, he was as brave as the bravest, without any show or parade, but always did his duty faithfully. Had he been possessed of a fine soldierly figure and bearing, he could just as well have held a commission as lieutenant-colonel or colonel as to have been a sergeant.