The fellows instantly scattered, every man to his quarters, and for a few minutes nothing could be seen but the getting down and rolling up of “flys” from over the log pens they had covered, rolling up blankets, getting together of each man’s traps where he could put his hands on them. The drivers took their teams up on the hill to bring down the guns from their positions. All was quickly ready, and then we waited for orders to move.
It was with a feeling of sadness we thought of leaving this spot! It had been our home for several months; it was painful to see it dismantled, and to think that the place, every part of which had some pleasant association with it, would be left silent and lonely, and that we should see it no more.
While we waited, after each had bidden a sad “good-bye” to his house, and its endeared surroundings, it was suggested that we gather once more, for a last meeting in our log church. All felt that this was a fitting farewell to the place. To many of us this little log church was a sacred place, many a hearty prayer meeting had been held there; many a rousing hymn, that almost raised the roof, many a good sermon and many a stirring talk had we heard; many a manly confession had been declared, many a hearty, impressive service in the solemn Litany of the Church, read by us, young Churchmen, in turn. To all the Christians of the Battery (they now numbered a large majority) this church was sacred. To some, it was very, very sacred, for in it they had been born again unto God. Here they had been led to find Christ, and in the assemblies of their comrades gathered here, they had, one after another, stood up and, simply, bravely, and clearly, witnessed a “good confession” of their Lord, and of their faith.
So, we all instantly seized on the motion, to gather in the church. A hymn was sung, a prayer offered for God’s protection in the perils we well knew, we were about to meet. That He would help us to be brave men, and faithful unto death, as Southern soldiers; that He would give victory to our arms, and peace to our Country. A Scripture passage, the 91st Psalm, declaring God’s defense of those who trust Him, was read. And then, our “talk meeting.” It was resolved that “during the coming campaign, every evening, about sunset, whenever it was at all possible, we would keep up our custom, and such of us as could get together, wherever we might be, should gather for prayer.”
And, in passing, I may remark, as a notable fact, that this resolution was carried out almost literally. Sometimes, a few of the fellows would gather in prayer, while the rest of us fought the guns. Several times, to my very lively recollection we met under fire. Once, I remember, a shell burst right by us, and covered us with dust; and, once, I recall with very particular distinctness, a Minie bullet slapped into a hickory sapling, against which I was sitting, not an inch above my head. Scripture was being read at the time, and the fellows were sitting around with their eyes open. I had to look as if I had as lieve be there, as anywhere else; but I hadn’t, by a large majority. I could not dodge, as I was sitting down, but felt like drawing in my back-bone until it telescoped.
But, however circumstanced, in battle, on the battle line, in interims of quiet, or otherwise, we held that prayer hour nearly every day, at sunset, during the entire campaign. And some of us thought, and think that the strange exemption our Battery experienced, our little loss, in the midst of unnumbered perils, and incessant service, during that awful campaign, was, that, in answer to our prayers, “the God of battles covered our heads in the day of battle” and was merciful to us, because we “called upon Him.” If any think this a “fond fancy” we don’t.
Well! to get back! After another hymn, and a closing prayer, we all shook hands, and then, we took a regretful leave of our dear little Church, and wended our way, quiet and thoughtful, to the road where we found the guns standing, all ready to go. Pretty soon the command—“Forward!” rang from the head of the line. We fell in alongside our respective guns, and with a ringing cheer of hearty farewell to the old Camp, we briskly took the road,—to meet, and to do, what was before us.
We tramped along cheerily until about dark, when we bivouacked on the side of the road, with orders to start at daylight next morning. As we pushed along the road,—what road! gracious only knows, but a country road bearing south toward Verdiersville,—brigades, and batteries joined our march, from other country roads, by which we found that all our people were rapidly pushing in from the camps and positions they had occupied during the winter, and the army was swiftly concentrating.
It was very pleasant to us to get into the stir of the moving army again, as we had been off, quite by ourselves, during the winter, and the greetings and recognitions that flew back and forth as we passed, or were passed by, well known brigades or batteries, were hearty and vociferous. Such jokes and “chaffing” as went on! As usual, every fellow had his remark upon everything and everybody he passed. Any peculiarity of dress or appearance marked out a certain victim to the witty gibes of the men, which had to be escaped from, or the victim had to “grin and bear it.” If “Puck” or “Punch” could have marched with a Confederate column once, they might have laid in a stock of jokes and witticisms,—and first-class ones, too,—for use the rest of their lives.
Next morning, at daylight,—the 5th of May,—we promptly pulled out, and soon struck the highway, leading from Orange Court House to Fredericksburg, turned to the left and went sweeping on toward “The Wilderness.”