The pond is still there, and has a fence around it, with a tablet giving its name, “Bloody Pond,” and captured cannon surround it.
The Union forces that were left were now concentrated in a much shorter line, with no gaps susceptible to a flank movement of the enemy.
As the sun went down in the west I noticed it looked as red as blood, indicative of the bloody work we had been doing on that holy Sabbath day. Night again brooded o’er us.
With the awful carnage of blood and destruction strewn over two miles, with thousands of killed and wounded on both sides, no doubt both armies were glad that darkness closed the terrible struggle, for the day at least. Our Orderly Sergeant of our company called the roll and out of 55 that started in the morning, 31 answered “here,” and with the exception of two or three, the rest had been killed or wounded.
We bivouacked on the firing line, the rain coming down during the night wetting us through and through. Our company was with others detailed for picket duty that night between 10 and 12 o’clock, and stationed about two hundred yards in front of our line.
Will was posted near a big tree. The night was pitch dark, and having had nothing to eat since morning he was tired and sleepy. But, realizing the duty of a soldier never to fall asleep on the picket line, he tried in every way to keep awake. In telling his experience afterwards to Jim, he said: “I never worked harder. I pulled my hair and bit my lips to keep awake. About 11 o’clock I heard the cracking of twigs in front of me. The darkness was intense. I could see nothing, but sleepiness was gone then. I listened intently. On it came, something, somebody making straight for me. I waited, with musket ready to fire, until I thought it time to make the challenge, and then cried out: ‘Halt; Who goes there?’ He halted, and out of the darkness came a voice saying:
“‘I am wounded and want to get to a surgeon.’ I was not satisfied with this. He might be an enemy trying to capture the sentinels, and the enemy then would make a night attack on our sleeping army in the rear. So I plied him with questions as to his regiment, brigade and division, to which he answered in such a manner that he convinced me he was telling the truth, and I told him to advance. He came hobbling along with a broken ramrod of a cannon for a crutch, shot through the leg. I called the Sergeant of the Guard: ‘Sergeant of the Guard, Post No. 6,’ and the next sentinel took up the cry and pretty soon the Sergeant came and I turned the poor fellow over to be taken to the Surgeon.”
All things have an end. Twelve o’clock came, and, being relieved, we returned to the sleeping line, and, throwing ourselves on the ground, we at once fell asleep. All night the surly gunboats kept up a deadly fire on the enemy in front of our left.
Twice during the night I awoke, and could hear the groans and cries of the wounded lying out there on that bloody field. Some cried for water, others for some one to come and help them. Many years have passed since that terrible day and night, yet when my mind reverts to that time, I can hear those poor fellows crying for water. God heard them, for the heavens were opened and the rain came.