It was about half an hour after the above, that Captain George Williamson (Adjutant-General of the brigade, and one of the bravest men that ever trod a battle-field,) directed me to move my command by the left flank, file to the right at a given point, and form line of battle under cover of a woods, and as close as possible to its edge, without attracting the attention of the enemy, and that the rest of the brigade would form on my right and left.
I divined the object of the move instantly, and told the Captain “I considered it murder, and therefore would take my men in under protest.”
“The General has expressed the same opinion, sir; but the order comes from one higher than he, and is peremptory,” was his reply.
Sending for Captain Murray to join the command, the devoted little brigade—already reduced to about nine hundred men—made their way slowly, sometimes crawling, to the spot where they were to be senselessly slaughtered. Nine hundred brave men to storm a mountain, and upon whose sides bristled the bayonets of ten thousand foemen, and artillery innumerable. Some one’s hands are stained with the blood of these gallant men, and God will mete out fearful retribution in the world to come.
We were now within less than two hundred yards of the enemy, with an open field in front, over which we were to charge.
“Captain Murray, you will take command of the right,” were my last words to one of the noblest of men.
Slowly I moved down the column, with feelings I had never before experienced on the battle-field, for I felt I had but a minute more to live; and as I gazed into the faces of both officers and men, I could see the same feeling expressed, for all were alike aware of their danger. But no coward’s glance met mine. There was no craven in those ranks. They had sneaked to the rear the day before. But the compressed lip, the stern brow, the glittering eye, told that those before me would fight to the last. Reaching my post, I looked up the line, and there stood the brave Steuart, calmly waiting for the troops to get in position.
“Fix bayonets,” was the command, quietly given; and the last act in this bloody drama was about to be enacted. It was a dreadful moment. But one brief second of life yet left! The sword of the General is raised on high! “Forward, double-quick!” rings out in clarion tones, and the race to meet death commenced. The fated brigade emerged from the woods into the open plain, and here—oh God! what a fire greeted us, and the death-shriek rends the air on every side! But on the gallant survivors pressed, closing up the dreadful gaps as fast as they were made. At this moment I felt a violent shock, and found myself instantly stretched upon the ground. I had experienced the feeling before, and knew what it meant, but to save me I could not tell where I was struck. In the excitement I felt not the pain; and resting upon my elbow, anxiously watched that struggling column. Column, did I say? A column no longer, but the torn and shattered fragments of one. But flesh and blood could not live in such a fire; and a handful of survivors of what had been a little more than twelve hours before the pride and boast of the army, sought to reach the cover of the woods.
But that merciless storm of bullets pursued them, and many more were stricken down. Among those who escaped, with a slight wound, was Adjutant Winder Laird, who, as he passed where I lay, caught me up and carried me to the shelter of the woods.
Faint and sick from the loss of blood, I fell into a stupor, from which I was aroused by the voice of Lieutenant Thomas Tolson.