Gardner [Orrin S.] of my company—said to be part Indian and who looks it—was peekabooed and pestered by a couple of rebs in the cover of an old rifle pit, until he got out of all patience, gave a wild Indian war-whoop, and closed in like an express train and put a stop to any further foolishness.
Toward the last of the fight, though, we had all we could do to keep from being run over. From the way they swarmed in on our front it was very evident the rebels were being heavily reinforced. We were in a pretty solid line now, with stragglers from other regiments mixed in. But we were getting short of cartridges. Hooker, plastered with mud from head to foot, rode along the line and told us to hold that line fifteen minutes longer. Back in the woods we heard a band strike up and play “Yankee Doodle.” We were losing men rapidly. Captain Drown was killed and others killed or wounded. Then our reserves came up, paddling through the mud as fast as they possibly could, and we all went in together and won out.
It was pretty near night when the fight was over and the regiment got together, counted noses, and bivouacked a little ways back, in the woods. We began to realize then that we were mighty hungry. But luck came my way. Lym. Dickey brought in a prisoner that he got the drop on. Lym. and I hitched up together that night, made the best shelter we could with our pieces of tent, and took our rebel friend into the mess. Lym. and I had oceans of sugar and coffee, and that was about all. Our guest had a corn pone and a quantity of excellent bacon, but no coffee. So we pooled our issues, had a most enjoyable supper, and snuggled in together for a fairly comfortable night. In the morning we shook hands with him, said good bye, and Dickey turned him over as a prisoner.
The day after the fight I went out over the whole battlefield, and a dreadful sight it was. In an old Revolutionary rifle pit close to the edge of the timber, where our last rush struck the main line, it was a ghastly sight. In one spot seven bodies lay, literally, in a heap. They were apparently cut off from rapid retreat by the barracade of felled trees. Up half-way through the slashing I came into a path, hardly wide enough to be called a roadway, which had been opened up for some purpose. In this regiments of the Excelsior brigade had made their fight and had suffered heavy losses. In some spots I could have walked a considerable distance upon dead bodies. I followed this path out into the woods at the left, where the Jerseys fought; and beyond them, dead rebels scattered about. One of these had piled up a little cob-house screen of rails, which was about as much protection as a pasteboard box would have been. He was still there, prone on his breast, his gun thrust through between two rails, a finger on the trigger, and a little round hole in the top of his head.
The dead were lying in almost every conceivable position, sometimes absolutely grotesque if it were not so pitiful. Some apparently never changed the position of a muscle after they were struck—arms in position as if loading; some still clutching their piece in one hand and in the other the ramrod with the charge driven part way home. The rebels had some Indians in this fight—I saw at least two lying among the dead. The dead are not all buried yet, but are being covered up as fast as the details can get to them. I have quite a number of bullets I picked up, and buttons from the uniforms of dead rebels.
We will move on from here as soon as supplies come up, and will probably have more fighting before we reach Richmond. It was awfully rainy the day of the battle, but is sunny and beautiful now. I have tried to give you some idea of what a time we had. I had just time to write you the briefest sort of a note Wednesday morning. Did you get it? I begin to feel now as though we should get through before many months, for I know we are going to thrash them out before long.
LIV
Williamsburg, Va., May 11, 1862.
WE are now encamped on a large field just outside the city and close to William and Mary College. I have had a chance to look the city over a little, and find it a very homelike, cozy little burg. It is one of the oldest towns in the United States, with many nice buildings and ancient residences of the old Virginia gentry. The college is the oldest in America. Washington, Scott and many other famous men were educated here. On the college grounds is a rather badly-kept marble statue of Lord Berkley, one of the old colonial Governors of Virginia.