In The Ranks: From the Wilderness to Appomattox Court House / The War, as Seen and Experienced by a Private Soldier in the Army of the Potomac

by R. E. McBride

Up to this time I had not looked back. I supposed we had advanced about a thousand yards, and would soon encounter the main force of the enemy. As we reached the woods, I turned to see if the line of battle was yet in sight. My eyes fell upon the most stirring scene I ever witnessed. This was the grandeur, the sublimity of war. The corps was coming in order of battle, line after line sweeping on with steady step. Their front extended nearly a mile across the open ground, guns at a right-shoulder, glittering in the sunlight like silver, battle-flags fluttering in the air. In front, the skirmishers were fighting savagely; on the left a score of cannon were thundering, shells screaming out their horrid warning, as they leaped from the smoking guns. But this living avalanche swept on in stern silence, as if there breathed within it a great soul, which scorned to speak or strike but once. A single glance took in the inspiring scene. I gazed but a moment, and then hurried into the woods.

The ground here consisted of alternate ridges and depressions, covered with trees and bushes, with occasional open places. It was hard ground to fight over, every ridge serving as a rallying point, and affording a superior position for defense. Our advance was now a succession of charges. When the rebels were driven from one ridge, they rallied at the next. A short distance from the edge of the woods, where we first encountered them, was a little brook, running nearly east; along its banks were some large rocks, while a few rods nearer were piles of wood, logs, and other means of shelter. Quite a large group of rebels made a stand here. Sergeant Hasler, Crocket, one or two others and myself, centered our attention on these, and advanced upon them, at first taking what cover we could among the trees, firing rapidly as we went. As we were pressing forward, my foot tripped on something, and I came to the ground with stunning force. Crocket, who was a few yards to my right, hurried toward me, his face the very picture of anxious sympathy, and inquired if I was struck. Recovering my breath, in a moment I was on my feet again, and assured him I was all right.

We now rushed on them with a cheer, and they broke and fled. We were so close on them, that seven of their number took refuge behind a large rock, while three or four more fled across the brook, leaving one of their number wounded on its bank. The men behind the rock now waved hats past it in token of surrender, and soon they were marching toward the rear in charge of Crocket. The wounded rebel whom I had seen fall, lay about a rod to the left, shot through the thigh. I gave him a drink, filled my canteen, and went on.

We had now become scattered, and made our way onward without much regard to order or concert of action. For a while the two lines were mingled together in the underbrush, so that you scarcely knew which way to look for friend or foe. Sometimes I was with others, and again entirely alone. The woods resounded with the yells of the combatants and the crack of rifles, as the deadly fight raged along the line.

Passing through the corner of an open field, I noticed some rebels eight or ten hundred yards to the left and front in such a position that I could give them a flank fire, while just a short distance from me in the field was a stone pile. The temptation was too strong to be resisted. I repaired to the stone pile and opened on them. At the first shot they looked to see whence it came; the next, they dodged, and hugged close to their rifle-pit, and then discovering me, they returned the fire. Their first shots went wild, but they soon got the range, and began to strike the stone pile. I gave them a few parting shots from my Spencer, and went on into the woods.

The skirmishing continued at close range, as before. The rebels fought stubbornly from point to point. Their works seemed farther off than we expected, but the crisis must come soon. We had just passed over a ridge, and the rebels had made a stand among the timber beyond. A slight depression lay between us, down which a gully had been washed by the water. None of our men were in sight, but I could hear their firing in the brush, right and left.

Wishing to gain the timber beyond the gully, I started forward without waiting to recharge my rifle, which I had just fired. The trees which I wished to gain were not more than forty feet away, and the gully about half that distance. I had gone but a step or two when a rebel soldier rose to his feet in the gully, facing me, with rifle in hand. It was a groundhog case. As he rose, I rushed at him, aiming at his heart and calling on him to surrender. He instantly dropped his gun. It was all over in less time than it takes to pen this sentence. His gun was loaded and capped. We waited till the line of battle came up. As they pushed through the brush behind us, seeing a rebel soldier, a dozen rifles were leveled on us; but they saw how it was in time to withhold their fire. Leaving my prisoner with them, I started forward again.

We soon reached an abrupt rise of ground beyond which we could not advance. Before us was the left of the enemy's intrenched position. We had done our work. We had driven every thing before us, and others must face the storm now. Some kneeling, others lying flat on the ground, we continued to fire and waited for the line of battle. In a few minutes we could see them coming on through the woods. A short distance behind us was a small patch of swampy, boggy ground. As this was approached orders were given and executed as coolly as if on the parade ground. The portion of the line opposite the swamp folded back of the other toward the left, and when the ground was passed, went back to place again without the least delay or confusion.

As they moved up the bank upon which we were, a volley burst upon them before which they wavered and swerved backward a few paces, as here and there a man reeled and staggered or sank to the earth. There was no panic—not a back turned—only that instinctive shrinking which Life sometimes feels when Death unexpectedly thrusts out his ghastly face through the smoke of battle. A color-bearer sprang forward with the battle-flag. He halted beside me and rested the end of the flagstaff on the ground. He half-faced about toward the men. His voice rang out like a bugle blast, as he raised his arm and shouted:

"Here are your colors!"