Some time during the day, we had halted by the road, and, as our rest was quite prolonged, some of the men had fallen asleep. Among others, Captain Birkman was sleeping soundly, perhaps dreaming of the peace that was now almost conquered. The woods were burning, a few rods on our right. The fire at last reached a lot of shells, which had been thrown from the wagons, to keep them from falling into the hands of the Yankees. They went off with a frightful clatter. The captain bounced from the ground as if a hornet had lifted him. "Fall in!" he shouted, grasping his sword. Of course, all who were awake comprehended the situation, and prudently lay still, to avoid the flying fragments. As the truth dawned upon him, the captain at first looked "sold" and disgusted, and then joined in the general laughter.
We halted that night near Prince Edward's Court-house, after a march of eighteen miles. Here we rejoined the brigade.
April 8th we made the most trying march of all. We lost some time by going out of the way, and made frequent halts during the forenoon, as if uncertain of the direction, or suspicious of the movement of the enemy. About noon we reached Prospect Station, thirteen miles from Farmville. In the afternoon we settled down to hard marching. We did not halt for supper. The sun went down, night came on, and still we marched on. By nine o'clock conversation had ceased—no breath could be wasted in words. Even "Sport" could no longer muster spirit to crack a joke on any body. You could only hear the "tramp, tramp" of feet, and the occasional clatter of a saber. But there was no grumbling. We knew this was the last forced march. One more blow, and treason would be crushed in the dust. As the column, from time to time, became clogged by some obstruction ahead, and halted for a moment, the men would sink down on the ground, most of them just where they stopped, to catch brief rest for their aching limbs. At such times I would be sound asleep in a moment, and more than once the column was marching on and myself with it when I awoke.
Midnight came, and still we pressed on relentlessly. About one in the morning we saw lights ahead, which indicated that a halt had been made. Never did rest and sleep seem sweeter, nor a mile seem longer. It required a distinct effort of the will to compel each single step. But at last the task was accomplished. We had marched forty-two miles since sunrise, and lay within striking distance of the enemy.
The company was represented by Dunn, Bovard, Mike Coleman, Sergeant Hasler, and myself. The rest had broken down under the terrible strain and fallen behind. Without removing any thing, I threw myself on the ground, and knew no more until I was aroused at daylight to go on.
Just after sunrise we halted—for breakfast, they said. It was rather a grim sort of a joke. Scarcely one in fifty had any thing to eat. A few had coffee, and fires were made, and we went through the regulation motions of getting breakfast. This done, we started on again.
It soon became evident that the enemy had been brought to bay. The confused noise of battle rang through the air. We had halted in the woods, and stood in the road waiting, sure that the end had come.
Colonel Pattee was on his horse, half faced about toward his men, evidently impatient and eager. An aid gallops up with orders. Colonel Pattee looks happy. He gives his old horse an extra jerk:
"Forward! Double Quick! March!"
On we go toward the scene of conflict.