The History of the Twenty-ninth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry / in the Late War of the Rebellion

by William H. Osborne

The battle at the Cross Roads began about three o’clock in the afternoon. As the day closed, the firing at this point increased greatly. The Pennsylvania Reserves, under General McCall, had been driven from the field with great loss; and many had been taken prisoners, including the General himself and a number of his staff. One of our batteries, known as the “Dutch Battery,” had created a considerable panic by cutting their horses from the guns and posting pell-mell through the lines of our infantry. When matters had reached this pass, General Sumner sent for the Irish and French’s brigades at the creek. The march to the Cross Roads was performed at a rapid run; the men were already overheated and weary, and now they threw away even their blankets, having already parted with their knapsacks. As they neared the field, our retreating troops sent up a loud cheer, prolonged by “Tigers!” and “Here comes the Irish Brigade! Now we’ll have ‘em!” The brigades had come, indeed, just in season to enable General Sumner to maintain his position.[31] The arrival of fresh troops put a sudden termination to the battle. The enemy fell back to their side of the field, and from thence to the woods, the two brigades following them, exchanging a few shots and an occasional volley. It being nearly dark, but little was seen of the field by our men.

The Twenty-ninth was posted on the left, near a Virginia fence, where were a number of field-pieces with their carriages broken; and strewn about the ground, in great confusion, were knapsacks, clothing, and guns. The burial parties and surgeons had not even begun their sad labors, and it seemed doubtful whether they would that night, for the battle was no sooner over, than the army began to retreat towards Malvern Hill. That night’s march is memorable. The road ran through a thick forest, and was crowded with stragglers, who, having skulked in the woods all day, and aware of the fact that our army was retreating, were now hastening away to escape capture. These unfaithful soldiers were a sore trial to our more faithful officers and men. They were panicky to the last degree, and, like so many timid children, ran along beside our column, nearly crowding our men out of the ranks.

The Brigade reached Malvern Hill just before daylight, and lay down to rest. It halted on a long plain that runs parallel with the James River, where was also resting a large body of our infantry. The men had had little, if any, sleep since the 27th of June; they had been engaged in battle a considerable part of Friday, Sunday, and Monday preceding; had marched nearly the whole of the nights of each of those days, and of the night of Saturday the 28th. During this time the weather had been extremely hot, the mercury ranging all the way from 90° to 100°; and it therefore reflects no discredit upon the Twenty-ninth, that on this morning, after such unexampled hardships and sufferings, many of its most trusty officers and men failed to respond to the roll-call, and were reported “missing.” The ranks had been badly thinned by the causes recited, one company being without a single commissioned officer, and reporting only fifteen enlisted men present for duty.

The rest here obtained was very brief. As soon as it was fairly day, the men were aroused and started toward the front. The Brigade took up a position in a field near a road, where it supported several of our batteries. The enemy had already come up, and from a neighboring hill, a mile away, was throwing shell in the direction of our lines; and in the course of an hour the firing became quite brisk, several of the shell falling within a few yards of the Brigade, and in one instance striking a Virginia fence that intersected our line. The fence was pulled down to lessen the danger of the situation, and shortly afterward the Brigade was ordered to the rear, joining its division, which was stationed behind a range of high hills on the extreme right of the lines of our army. A meadow and wheat-field of several hundred acres stretched from the foot of this ridge toward the James River, bounded on the south by a pine forest, into which General Richardson threw a line of skirmishers.

There had been more or less firing at different points since sunrise, but it did not become general till about one o’clock. The regiment, within easy hearing distance of the battle, remained in this position till about five o’clock in the afternoon. A large herd of cattle was feeding upon the meadows; the soldiers being without rations, a detail was made from each brigade, soon after noon, to slaughter a sufficient number of these animals to supply the troops; and when this was done, the meat—scarcely cold—was served out by regiments. When the turn of the Twenty-ninth came to have a “bite,” it was late in the afternoon. The slaughtered animals lay upon the grass, and the men by scores swarmed around them, each soldier helping himself to a piece of such size and quality as his fancy dictated.

The meat having been cut, was placed upon the end of a sharp-pointed stick and thrust into the fire to broil. In the process of cooking, being very fresh, it swelled greatly, so that more than one soldier was astonished to find his small ration of meat suddenly grown to a ball of the size of his head. As the men stood about the fire gnawing their beef like so many half-famished dogs, the bugle sounded “fall in!” With his meat in one hand and his gun in the other, each soldier took his place in the ranks. It was amusing to look down the line and observe the disappointment marked upon the countenances of the men at being torn away from their rude but much-relished repast. Fault-finding and severe scolding—soldiers’ privileges—were freely indulged in; while some of the witty ones and wags gave the incident a laughable turn by sticking their half-cooked pieces of meat upon the points of their bayonets, declaring their intention of carrying their rations with them. At this moment, however, there was more serious work on hand than fault-finding or joking. The left of the Union line was being severely pressed by General D. H. Hill; and General Sumner—who was that day in command of the field—had sent for the Irish Brigade to re-enforce our troops. As at Charles City Cross Roads, the regiments were started off on a brisk run, hardly slacking their pace till they reached the front. Here was General Griffin’s artillery, of nearly one hundred pieces, on the side of a long hill, at the base of which was a cleared grass-field of several hundred acres, flanked on three sides by woods. When the Brigade arrived at this point, the noise of the battle was almost deafening. A thick cloud of smoke overhung the field. The Confederates had just made the last of a series of brave but desperate charges upon the artillery, and the remnant of the Ninth Massachusetts Regiment, which had been in support during the most of the day, was engaged in a severe struggle with the only partially-repulsed enemy. The Twenty-ninth was detached from the Brigade and ordered to move up, under this terrible fire, to the support of the brigade of regulars under Lieutenant-Colonel Buchanan, then on the advanced line supporting several batteries of artillery. The regiment moved briskly forward to the immediate rear of the regulars, where they were ordered to lie down.

Buchanan’s troops had suffered severely during the battle, and, with their greatly-lessened numbers, were in imminent danger of being at any moment swept away and captured. In less than an hour from this time it was pitchy dark, and the firing on both sides, save that of our gunboats, ceased. During the night the artillery hauled off, and all the troops except the regulars and the Twenty-ninth left this part of the field. After the regiment was detached from the Brigade and sent forward to this position, Colonel Barnes received no further orders; but later in the evening the indications were plain that his failure to receive orders to retire was probably due to some mistake on the part of his brigade commander; and these suspicions were more than confirmed upon holding a consultation with Colonel Buchanan, who stated that the brigade of regulars was not to leave the field till the next morning.

The position of Colonel Barnes was not an enviable one; while he received no order to withdraw, he was nevertheless in possession of information that caused him hardly to doubt that it was intended the regiment should join the Brigade; yet, should he retire, he might be censured for moving without orders, and should he remain till morning and hazard his whole command in attempting to retreat in the presence of the entire Confederate army, he might also be blamed severely. In reaching the conclusion he did, therefore, namely, to remain with the regulars and share with them the perils of the service assigned to them, he simply obeyed the instincts of a good soldier, and, as it will hereafter appear, his conduct was duly appreciated.

During the night, the enemy in large numbers, with lanterns and torches, were engaged in succoring their wounded, sometimes approaching almost to the muzzles of our guns, but not a shot was fired at them; their labor was one of love, and in this light our men regarded it. Toward midnight, Buchanan—who had expressed great gratification at having the regiment remain with him—became uneasy because of the wooded nature of the ground on his left, and after stating to Colonel Barnes that he could not spare any men from his attenuated line, intimated his desire that a reconnoissance should be made in that quarter. Thereupon Captain Clarke, with companies A, G, and K, was detailed to explore the aforesaid woods. It was a perilous service, as can readily be conceived, for no one knew, as he entered the dark and secluded spot, but that the next step would arouse thousands of the sleeping enemy. The woods were thoroughly scoured, however, without revealing the presence of the enemy, and, to the great relief of all, Clarke returned in due time, bringing this report.

A novel and yet a frightful feature of that night, was the shelling of the enemy’s lines by our gunboats. These, some five in number, lay about two miles in the rear of our army, in the James River. The shells, mostly of great size, plowed through the air with a loud roar, their pathway being marked by the burning fuse; “then, when they entered the forest, great trees were shivered into a thousand fragments, the branches were torn from others and tossed into the heavens, or thrown far into the deep shades, and when they burst, it was with an explosion that shook the earth for miles.”[32] A Confederate officer, with whom the author conversed after the battle, described the confusion in their army, produced by this fire, as being very great.