The next day, the 11th, was, for the most part, quiet and uneventful! The bloody and disastrous repulse of every effort of the enemy to force our line, had, as it well might, discouraged any further attempt along our front. From time to time we could hear the Federal artillery, on our front or other parts of the line, feeling our position, with an occasional reply from our guns.
The sharp-shooters of both sides were keeping up their own peculiar fun. At every point of vantage, on a hill, or behind a stump, or up a leafy tree, one of these marksmen was concealed, and would try his globe-sight rifle on any convenient mark, in the way of a man, which offered on the opposite line. Any fellow who exposed himself soon heard a bullet whistle past his ear, too close for comfort. Several of us had narrow escapes, but the only casualty we suffered was Cornelius Coyle. Coyle was from North Carolina and it seems that the jokes we were wont to indulge in at the expense of the “Tar Heels” had gotten him sore on the subject. In order to show us that a “Tar Heel” was as careless of danger as anybody else, he exposed himself, very unnecessarily, by standing on the works and on the guns, while the rest of us were “roosting low,” and about two o’clock he got a bullet in the thigh, which disabled him, I believe, for the rest of the war. It was bad judgment! The jokes on the “Tar Heels” were only meant in fun. Nobody ever doubted the courage and gallantry of the North Carolinians. They had proved it too often, and were proving it every day! It did not need for Coyle to expose himself to prove it to us, and by his mistake we lost a good soldier.
The coming of night found all quiet on the lines. In the late afternoon, and early night, we could plainly hear the sound of,—what we took to be,—wagon trains and artillery, over in the enemy’s lines, passing off to our right. We got therefrom the impression that the Federals were leaving our front and that by morning they would all be gone. So we were not surprised when a courier came with the orders from headquarters that we should get our guns out of the works, limber up, and be ready to move at daylight.
Having “A Cannon Handy”
We drew our gun from its place at the works, up the little incline we had made for its more easy running forward, hitched its trail to the pintle-hook of the limber, chocked the wheels, and left it there until we should move. The men picked out the least wet spots they could find, and lay down to sleep. Everybody was very tired, nearly worn out with the incessant work, and marching, and watching, and fighting, of the last seven or eight days and nights. This was the first really quiet night we had known for a week! The quiet and the assurance that the enemy was gone from our front, and that there was no need to bother about them, lulled the men into deep slumber. The infantry was all stretched out along the lines sleeping, and even the pickets out in front were, I am sure, sound asleep.
Every soul of our cannoneers was asleep, except Sergt. Dan. McCarthy, Beau Barnes, Jack Booker, and myself. We sat together, by the gun, talking and smoking until midnight. Then Jack said he would go to bed, and did. We three, McCarthy, Barnes and I, continued our conversation for some time longer, for no special reason, except perhaps, that we were too tired to move, and we sat there, in the dark, listening to the rumbling of heavy wheels over in the Federal lines, and talking about the events of the last few days, speculating about what was to come. Then our thoughts ran on other days, and scenes, and the folks at home, and we talked about these until we became quite sentimental.
Several times it was suggested that we had better go to sleep, but we talked ourselves wide awake. About two o’clock it was again suggested, but Dan said he did wish we had something to eat first. This was a most agreeable thought, and in discussing the same it was discovered that I had a corncake, Dan had some coffee, and Beau some sugar. So we resolved, before lying down, to go back under the hill, some fifty yards behind the works, where a fire was kept burning or smoldering all the time, and have a little supper of bread and coffee, which we proceeded to do. We made up the fire, got water from the branch, warmed our corncake, boiled the coffee, got out our tin cups, and sat around the fire having a fine time. It was now about time for daybreak, though still very dark. Dan proposed that we stroll up to the guns, and lie down awhile. We walked slowly up! When we got to the guns all was still, and quiet, as when we left, and I really believe we three were the only men awake on that part of the line.
Before lying down Dan and I stepped to where our gun had been, and stood a moment looking out through the dim light, which had hardly begun, of a dark cloudy morning.
We had no object in this outlook, it was the instinct of a soldier to look around him before going to sleep. It was, I think, the Providence of God to an important result. For most fortunate indeed was it that we took that glance out toward the front.
As our eye rested upon the edge of the wood out to our right front, we caught a vague glimpse of movement among the trees. We called Barnes, and stood together, watching keenly. Presently the air lightened a little, and we could discern the dim figures of men moving about, just within the woods. “Who are those men?” Dan asked. “Did either of you see any of the troops pass out of the lines during the night?” “No, we had not.” “Then,” he said, “I don’t like this. Who can they be?” Just then the cloud seemed to lift a little, more light shot into the landscape, and, to our dismay, we clearly saw a line of men. Yes! no doubt now! That was a battle line of Federals, formed there in the edge of the woods, and just beginning to advance,—as silently as so many ghosts. There they were, two hundred yards off marching swiftly for our line, and everybody fast asleep in that line!