Approaching the sufferer we were shocked to behold the familiar features of the chivalrous Captain Wm. Brown, of the Chesapeake Artillery. His face was pale as death, and although both legs had been horribly shattered by a cannon ball, he smiled as he recognized us. Turning to Captain Torsch, he said in a weak voice:
“Captain, if you should get home, tell my poor old father I died endeavoring to do my duty.”
“We are making out badly up there,” said one of the litter bearers. “Major Latimer has been carried from the field mortally wounded; and if kept on that hill much longer more of us will be likely to follow him!”
For at least two hours this awful fire continued without a moment’s cessation, when aids were seen dashing furiously down the long line of infantry on our right, who spring to their feet as they pass, and were at once in motion.
“Mount your horse quickly,” said the Colonel, “for we are going in;” and the next instant, in a clear, distinct voice, heard even above the din of battle, he gave the command, “Forward, guide centre!” and the gallant sons of Maryland commenced their march to defeat and death.
Preceded by a cloud of skirmishers, steadily the long line in grey advanced across the Hanover road, and entered the woods before them. We found the ground here very uneven, and covered with immense rocks, which necessitated the dismounting of field and staff officers, and the horses were sent to the rear. We passed over more than a mile of this country before our skirmishers encountered those of the enemy upon the banks of Rock creek. A sharp fight ensued, but our gallant fellows dashed across the creek, which was waist deep, and put them to flight. The order was then given by some one for the skirmishers to join the main body. The disastrous consequences that followed this order will be presently seen.
We were rapidly approaching Culp’s Hill through one of the densest woods I ever passed. Darkness was upon us, and nothing could be seen save the flash of an occasional musket in our front. More and more difficult became the ascent, but over every obstacle pressed the devoted division. Not a shot was now heard, and the woods seemed inhabited but by ourselves. What has become of the enemy? In an instant the question is answered, as the heavens are lighted up by the flash of thousands of muskets, and the deadly Minnie tear and rend our ranks fearfully. The column reeled and staggered like a drunken man. To add to the horrors of the situation, a fire was also opened upon us in rear by a body of our own troops, who receiving some of the bullets that escaped us mistook us for the enemy. Men fell like autumn leaves; but the brave fellows disdained to retreat. The enemy’s fire was returned, though with little effect, as they were protected by their breastworks. No command could be heard above the infernal din. What was to be done? To stand there was certain death, and therefore, why not sell our lives dearly as possible? At this moment the heroic Walton approached me and asked “what on earth shall we do?”
“As I am not in command of the battalion, I can do nothing,” was my reply.
“Well, I shan’t wait for orders any longer, but will charge the works if I lose every man in my regiment. Take the responsibility and charge with your left at the same time.”
“I’ll do it,” was my response, and hastily detaching the companies of Captains Torsch, Stewart and Crane, with Walton, dashed at the breastworks, cleared them in a moment, with the loss of but three men, and instantly wheeling to the right opened a destructive, enfilading fire upon the enemy who still remained in the breastworks, which compelled them to fall back to Culp’s Hill.