“Great God!” exclaimed Kyle, stopping midway in the distribution of the letters, “is it possible that men can cheer in the face of such a fire as that?”
“Attention, battalion,” was now the sharp command from our Colonel, and moving rapidly by the right flank we were on our way—we knew not whither. Our route lay through dense woods for some distance, and from whence we suddenly came into a broad plain, and away to our left burst upon the view the two armies desperately contending. As we then moved by the left flank into line of battle the splendid brigade of Georgians under Lawton came up on the run, and moving in front of us led the way towards the scene of strife. Swiftly the two columns moved forward in the face of a terrible fire of musketry and artillery. Finding the fire too hot, Lawton soon ordered a halt, and his men lay down to shelter themselves from the flying bullets. But “Forward!” was the command of our Colonel, and onward through that storm of bullets moved the little First Maryland, which, as they passed over the prostrate bodies of the Georgians, were enthusiastically cheered. On, on, they moved through that vale of fire and death with the same precision as on battalion drill. Immediately in our front was a battery that had proved terribly destructive to our troops from the commencement of the battle. Again and again had it been charged, but without success. That battery Johnson was determined to assail, but our chances of success were slim, indeed.
Regiments broken and shattered were now met coming to the rear, and many of the men attached themselves to our command. One gallant fellow, the color bearer of Wright’s Legion, carried back some distance by the rush of his panic-stricken comrades, declared his flag should go no farther, and planting himself upon our left, rallied many of his companions. The First Maryland had thus been augmented to about four hundred men, and with these Johnson intended to charge the battery and its infantry supports.
Taking advantage of a rise in the ground, he halted the men under its shelter, and ordered them to rest preparatory to making the desperate assault. Scarcely had the command been given when Captain McHenry Howard, of General Charles Winder’s staff, galloped up with orders to remain where we were until that General could overtake us with the Stonewall Brigade. “The General has observed your movements, sir, and thinks the place too strong for you; we will, therefore, charge together.” In a few moments Jackson’s favorite brigade was with us, and, at the command of General Winder, we moved forward with irresistible impulse, and scrambling over the enemy’s breastwork of knapsacks, we swept everything before us.
The last charge had been made, and the last battery captured at Gaines’ Mills, and the right of McClellan’s army was seeking safety in flight.
Night was upon us, and completely exhausted, we threw ourselves upon the ground in the midst of the dead, wounded and dying, and despite the shrieks and cries and groans of anguish from hundreds around us, were soon wrapped in sleep.
The field next morning presented a ghastly spectacle, and the thousands of maimed and dismembered bodies attested the severity of the fight. Litter-bearers were moving in all directions, gathering the wounded, while burial parties were busily engaged with pick and spade digging the trenches in which were to rest those beyond all worldly cares and suffering. The camp-follower was also plying his avocation, and as he moved from one to another of his victims an expression of satisfaction or disappointment would escape him as he counted the yield of each. Some of the men, however, were in search of boots and shoes, which they so much needed, as thousands of Jackson’s command were barefooted, and had been for weeks.
As I walked over the field I observed one of them, a North Carolinian, with his foot upon the stomach of a dead man, tugging vigorously at a boot, which after a little while he succeeded in getting off. I stopped to see how he would get the other one, for the leg had been shattered to pieces just above the knee by a cannon ball, and hung but by a few shreds. A desperate effort separated the leg from the body, and the fellow was in a quandary. Looking around he espied me, when approaching, he extended the ghastly stump, and said, “Mister, will you please hold onter this tarnel thing ontil I git the boot off?” The assistance he asked for I declined to render, when shouldering his prize he started off muttering, “If you won’t, some of the boys will, that’s all.”
CHAPTER XI.
About ten o’clock on the morning of the 28th, Ewell’s division was ordered to move on the York River Railroad, and destroy it at Dispatch Station. As we advanced the enemy set fire to his stores to prevent them falling into our hands. Vast quantities were captured, however, and for many days we lived on desiccated vegetables, and indulged in an occasional cup of coffee. But little resistance was offered our advance, under General J. E. B. Stuart, and without the loss of a man we reached our destination about three o’clock in the afternoon. Working parties were at once detailed from the various regiments, and set to work tearing up the track.