“Finally,” he says, “the column (Warren’s) emerged from the woods into a clearing, two miles north of Spottsylvania Court House. Forming in line, Robinson’s Division advanced over the plain. Thus far, only Stuart’s dismounted troops had been encountered, and no other opposition was anticipated; but when half way across the field, and on the point of rising the crest, the troops were met by a savage musketry fire from infantry. Owing to their severe experience in the Wilderness, and the night march, without rest, the men were in an excited, and almost frightened, condition, and the tendency to stampede was so great that General Warren had been compelled to go in front of the leading Brigade. When, therefore, they received a fire in front, from the redoubtable foe they had left in the Wilderness, the line wavered, and fell back in some confusion. General Robinson was at the same time severely wounded, which left the troops without their commander at a critical moment, and they were with some difficulty rallied and reformed in the woods back of the open plain. Griffin’s Division, which advanced on the right of Robinson, soon afterward received the same fire with a like result.”
It seems then, that it was Robinson’s Division that the little Mississippi Brigade sent to the right about, and it was Griffin’s Division, who scared themselves nearly into fits, by flushing Kershaw’s “rice-birds,” in the pines. It was a little hard on these “excited and almost frightened” men of Warren’s. The memory of the fearful shaking up they had got, day before yesterday, was so fresh in their minds that “General Warren himself, the Corps Commander, had to go in front of the leading Brigade” to quiet their nerves, even when they thought they were advancing upon a few dismounted troops. They thought,—a little comfort in this,—that, at least, all those terrible fellows of the Army of Northern Virginia were far behind them. And—to meet them here, still, in front! It must be confessed it was hard! It was a very sad surprise.
It is said that General Grant’s strained relations with General Warren came of Warren’s conduct of this move, to seize the Spottsylvania line. He found great fault with his failure. But, perhaps he was a little hard on Warren. What could Warren do? His men were demoralized, “excited, almost frightened, tending to stampede, needing the Corps General to go in front,” and stopping to dine, instead of pushing on to seize the line. They had to meet men who were not particularly excited, were not at all frightened and had not the least tendency to stampede; in fact, were in the best of spirits, perfectly confident of victory, and did not need a corporal to go in front of them, gaunt, hungry, cool fellows, who never counted noses—in a fight!
It was too much to expect Warren, with men like his, to go anywhere, or take anything, when men like these others were in the way. Grant was too hard on Warren! If it took a Corps Commander, going in front, to encourage them along to advance upon a few troopers. I hardly think that Generals Grant and Meade, and President Lincoln, and Secretary Stanton, all together,—going in front, could have got them up, if they had known who was actually ahead.
However that may be, the object of our rapid all-night march, and of our venturesome stand, out here, in front of the Spottsylvania line, was accomplished! The stir up we gave them with that long artillery fire, and the savage and bloody repulses of two of their divisions made them more nervous than they were before. They spent some time considering who it could be in their front, and considering what to do. Later on, two more Divisions advanced, and our two Brigades and our guns retired.
Our work was done! While we had been out in front amusing the enemy, and keeping them easy, the Brigades of Longstreet’s Corps had been rapidly coming up, and taking position on the all-important line. We now had a sure enough line of battle holding it. And night was falling; the enemy out in front had stopped, and gone to intrenching, instead of pushing on. We knew that during that night our people, Ewell and Hill, would be up. All were safe! We slept the sleep of the weary. So ended the 8th of May. It was a pretty full day for us!
I don’t remember anything at all about the early morning of the next day, the 9th. We were dreadfully tired, and I suppose we slept late, and then lounged about, with nothing to do, yet, in a listless, stupid state. Everything was quiet around us, and nothing to attract attention, or fix it in mind. About mid-day, I recollect noticing bodies of troops, a regiment, a brigade, or two, moving about, here and there, in various directions. We heard that Ewell’s and Hill’s Corps had come up, and these troops we saw, were taking their way leisurely, along, to the various position on the line of battle.
In the afternoon, about four or five o’clock, our guns, the “Napoleon” Section, moved off to take our destined position on the line. We followed a farm road, off toward the left, and presently came down into quite a decided hollow, through which ran a little stream of water. Here we halted! The ground before us rose into a low short hill. Along the ridge of that hill ran the proposed line of battle, and there was the position for which we were making. There was quite a lively picket fire going on, in different directions, and right over the hill, behind which we were, an occasional shell could be heard screeching about, here and there. Several passed over us, high above our heads, and away to the rear. Federal Artillery lazily feeling about to provoke a reply, and find out where somebody was. They felt lonesome, perhaps! It was a calm, sweet sunlit May evening.
Feeling Pulses
In order not to expose us longer than necessary to this fire of the pickets, Lieutenant Anderson, commanding this “Section,” went up on the hill, to select exact position for the guns, so that they might be promptly placed, when we went up. While he was up there reconnoitering, we lay down on the ground, and waited, and talked. The bullets dropped over, near, and among us, now and then, and we knew, that the moment we went up a few steps, on the hill, we would be a mark for sharp-shooters, a particularly unpleasant situation for artillery. But we tried to forget all this, and be as happy and seem as careless as we could. And we would have gotten along very well if let alone. But, there was a dreadful, dirty, snuffy, spectacled old Irishman, named Robert Close, a driver, who took this interval to amuse himself. He would ask us “how we felt,” and he came around to most of us, young fellows, and asked us to let him feel our pulse, and see if we were at all excited, or scared; and he would put his hand on our hearts, to see if they were beating regularly enough. And he would call out the result of his investigation in each case,—the other fellows all sitting around, and eagerly waiting his report. Nobody can tell what a dreadful trial this simple thing was! When just going under fire—and indeed already under some fire—to have your heart and your pulse felt, and reported on to a waiting crowd of comrades! But, all of us youngsters had to undergo it! That cruel, old scoundrel went round to every one of the youngsters. It was an unspeakable humiliation for a cannoneer to be thus fingered by a driver, but what could we do? Not a thing!