INTO THE FIGHT AT DOUBLE-QUICK
General Longstreet, with his staff about him, was sitting on his horse in the road close by, looking intently in the direction of the firing. I don't remember how long after the firing began, half an hour or perhaps more (time seems to move slow on such occasions), it was not long, however, before the brigade was ordered to go to the front in double-quick time, and down the road we went in a run. About the time the woods were reached, the wounded men began to appear in large numbers going to the rear, some on foot, some on stretchers, and some in ambulances; some limping along, shot in their feet or legs; some holding a wounded hand or arm; all bleeding and bedraggled, having charged through a swamp; some groaning and moaning, lamenting their sad fate, in utter despair and helplessness; others, in grim and heroic silence, bearing the pain and shock of their wounds in silence, with fortitude and bravery.
One man I remember, who was completely demoralized, called out as we passed him, making his way to the rear, "Oh, men," he wailed, "don't go down there, you will all be killed; they are killing our men, they have wounded me. It is no use to go; don't go." A little further on, came another man, shot in the head or face, bleeding profusely, bareheaded, swinging his arms and shouting at the top of his voice, "Go in, boys, and give 'em hell. They have shot me, but I gave them the devil first; go in, boys, and give it to 'em." These two incidents illustrate how some men are affected in battle. The one was completely undone, perhaps he had no relish for the fight in the start, and was probably what was called in the army, "a whiner"; always low spirited and complaining of everything that happened. The other brave and resolute, who took things as they came, making the best of everything. Of such were a large majority of Confederate soldiers—this last class.
On, the brigade went still at a run, the Eleventh Regiment leading, Company C in front. Capt. J. Lawrence Meem, of Lynchburg, who, until Garland's promotion was adjutant of the Eleventh Regiment, and was now General Garland's chief of staff, met us with word from the front to "hurry." By this time all were well out of breath, but rushed on at increased speed through mud and water almost knee-deep in some places. Again a messenger is sent from Gen. D. H. Hill to "hurry, it is a critical time at the front; the enemy has been driven from his breastworks and camps, but there are not enough men of the assaulting column left to occupy and hold the works. The men are doing all that mortal men can do, some are falling by the wayside from sheer exhaustion, nothing but the excitement keeps any on their feet." General Kemper said to the messenger, "Tell General Hill I am left in front and would like to change." The messenger replied, "No time to change now, hurry on." Soon the brigade emerged from the woods into the open field, on the farther side of which the Yankee breastworks and camps were located, but not a living soldier, Yankee or Confederate, was in sight. I have said "living soldier," because as we rushed along by the edge of this field, over which the Confederates had charged, the ground was thickly strewn with dead Confederates close up to the Yankee breastworks and redoubts, where stood their abandoned cannon. Passing beyond these works, Generals Hill and Garland, with their staff officers, were seen waiting, behind a big pile of cord wood, the coming of the brigade, which was directed to file to the right through the Yankee camp, with their small fly-tents still standing, where, facing towards the enemy, the rear rank was in front, but this made little or no difference. Like the English "Fore and Aft," the men fight from front or rear rank just the same. As the brigade filed out through the camp, a terrific fire was opened by the Yankees, who had rallied or been reënforced by fresh troops, a hundred or two yards beyond their camp. The Yankee lines could not be seen on account of the smoke and fog, but the balls flew thick through the air, killing and wounding many. The men lying flat on the ground, returned the fire as best they could. In a short time some one gave the order to fall back to the abandoned Yankee breastworks, some forty or fifty yards in the rear, which afforded protection from the enemy's shots. This order was obeyed in double-quick time, all hurrying over the breastworks, getting on the reverse side, into the ditch half filled with water, preferring the cold water to hot lead. I did not hear the order to fall back, and the others got the start of me. I think I was the last man to go over the works, and was sure a Yankee bullet would hit me as I did so. I expect it was here that one or more of the bullets passed through my clothes. I thought about being shot in the back, of which I always had a dread, but did not take time to turn around, face the enemy and go over backwards, making all haste possible to get out of danger. From the breastworks the fire was kept up for some time, until General Kemper sent a detachment around on the enemy's left flank, when the firing ceased.
INCIDENTS OF THE BATTLE
The brigade lost a good many men in this fight, Colonel Funston and Lieutenant-Colonel Langhorne, of the Eleventh Regiment both being badly wounded and permanently disabled. Company C lost three men killed, namely: James Wood, Silas Barber, and James Terrell, all recruits, and several wounded. Terrell was in the Mexican War. Capt. Lawrence Meem, Garland's chief of staff, was killed dead on the field, shot through the head; a fine soldier he was too, brave, handsome and accomplished. Capt. Henry Fulks, of Company F, was killed in a few feet of me. He had rushed into the Yankee camp exhausted from the double-quicking, sat down on a Yankee fly-tent, which sank to the ground with his weight, and had just raised his head to look to the front when a ball struck him about the head or face, when he sank back and was dead in a few minutes. I heard the whack of the ball as it struck him and saw the blood trickling down his neck. About this time Color-Bearer Hickok, of the Eleventh Regiment, who was standing close by with his flag in hand, and who was about the only man or officer I saw on his feet, was shot down, badly wounded, when Color-Guard Jim Haynes, of Company F, seized the colors and rushed to Captain Foulks, taking him in his arms, but still holding the flag aloft, and cried out, "Oh, my poor captain is killed; my poor captain is killed." So Captain Foulks died with the Confederate battle-flag waving over him, its folds partly enveloping his body.
I must again refer to Daniel Pillow, of Company C, who was so cool and deliberate and fought with such deadly intent at Williamsburg. When the troops fell back to the breastworks, Pillow, instead of getting down in the ditch as the others did, took his seat on the parapet while several comrades behind him loaded guns which he fired at the enemy with deliberate aim. At one time the order was given to cease firing; it was thought some Confederates were in front between the lines. Pillow paid no heed to the order. Colonel Corse, of the Seventeenth Regiment, came along the lines, and said to Pillow, "My man, cease firing, our men are over there." Pillow turned towards the Colonel and said with determination and sternness: "Don't I see the Stars and Stripes? I am going to shoot"; and continued firing as before. Colonel Corse stooping down, looked under the smoke and fog, and seeing the Yankee flag, said, "Well, fire away then."
Daniel Pillow was an humble private, an "overseer" at the beginning of the war, without education or pretensions, but he was a soldier, every inch of him. He was always at his post, ever ready for any duty. Being six feet or more tall, he marched at the head of the company, being always near me on the march and in battle; never grumbled or whined, and was one of the bravest of the brave. He was reported missing at Gettysburg, and never heard of again. I have no doubt that he fell with his face to the foe in that desperate charge in which Pickett's Division was immortalized, and that he sleeps in an unknown soldier's grave. All honor to his memory.
Walter Rosser, Jim Cocke, Sam Franklin, and Daniel Pillow were the big, or rather the tall, four of Company C, being over six feet high; were always at the head of the company, and all good fighters, too.
There was no more fighting on this part of the line. The Confederates had driven the Yankees from their works and camp, capturing all their camp equipage and stores, several pieces of cannon, 7,000 muskets, and about 350 prisoners. Longstreet's and D. H. Hill's divisions had soundly thrashed a Yankee corps under General Keys.