Several days had now passed in the usual preliminaries to a battle. Hooker had succeeded in drawing the main force of the rebels from their works in the rear of Fredericksburg, and was himself well intrenched in the dense woods skirting the plank road, and most appropriately called the Wilderness. The line of battle of the Union forces formed a broad wedge, whose base rested on the Rappahannock, the apex terminating at the extreme front beyond the Chancellor House. The Eleventh Corps held the extreme right, and next in order were the Third, Twelfth, and Second, while the Fifth occupied the left.
Lee is said to have issued orders to his troops to break this line, at all hazards. A brief calm followed the desultory movements of the day. The men stood in their places behind the breastworks, gazing into the woods in front, eagerly listening to hear the first sound which should tell where the rebel blow would strike. At four o’clock in the afternoon, the enemy advanced in heavy force down the plank road, and began the attack in the neighborhood of the intrenchments we had thrown up the night before. The rapid fire of musketry on our right indicated a serious attempt to pierce the centre of the Union line. Under cover of this movement, the indomitable Jackson advanced his hordes through the woods, and hurled their solid array on Hooker’s right wing, directly in rear of our present position. Let the Eleventh Corps stand firm, and victory will rest on our banners ere the close of day. The current history of the hour tells us how the crisis was met. But more expressive than history itself was the wild shout of triumph that burst from one end of the rebel line to the other, as it swept over the earthworks, and saw the panic-stricken corps dashing madly to the rear. Who can describe the almost breathless interest with which we listened to the fluctuations of the conflict? Now the avalanche of the enemy is stayed a moment in its course; then nearer and nearer approaches the sound of battle, and it seems as if the next instant the foe will dash in upon our rear. A portion of the Second Corps hurries away to the scene of strife, and General Hancock, every nerve strung to the highest pitch of excitement, rides up to inform the Colonel that probably we should not be called into action, but were to hold our position, and that in case of necessity we could fight on either side of our breastworks, plainly pointing to the possibility that the enemy may attack in the rear. Through the woods behind us we can see batteries of artillery rushing into position near Hooker’s headquarters, and in a few moments the forest trembles with the terrific cannonade, vying with the thunders of heaven in the compass of its sound. In the distance the deep, prolonged boom of a hundred-pounder swells the bass notes of the chorus. Double-shotted with grape and canister, the field-pieces sweep the rebel line with murderous effect. At length darkness put an end to this sublime exhibition of human power. The frightened whippoorwills ceased their plaintive cries; the quiet moon rose over the bloody field, and Nature sank into a silence fairly oppressive. We remained under arms most of the night, frequently changing our position as the emergency required.
At eleven o’clock occurred one of those episodes of warfare which, in startling grandeur and terrible magnificence, well-nigh border on the supernatural. The forces of Hooker and Lee were resting on their arms, renewing their energies with an hour of broken slumber, and ready to rush to battle at the first flash of dawn. The air was perfectly still and serene, transmitting the rays of the moon with unusual brilliancy. Scarcely a sound disturbed the painful silence of the almost interminable woods. All at once the artillery, massed on the ridge hardly half a mile behind us, with one tremendous crash poured in its fire upon the enemy’s position, covering the charge of a division of infantry. The thunder of musketry and artillery reverberated through the forest with an effect inconceivably grand.
At the earliest moment on Sabbath morning, May third, the battle was renewed, but apparently with less vigor than on the preceding day, and yet, as brigade after brigade became engaged, and the almost unexampled roar of musketry rolled along the line, it was evident that the enemy were about to follow up, with even greater desperation, the advantage already gained. Immediately after breakfast, the Twenty-seventh, with the exception of two companies—D and F, engaged in other duty—was ordered down into the intrenchments we had thrown up, near the apex of the wedge, the Friday night previous. These works now formed a part of the picket-line of the army, and from the nature of the position and its relation to the movements of the enemy, a large force was required in order to hold it. As is usual in such cases, when a picket in force is ordered, the colors did not accompany the column. As the regiment advanced, at double-quick, down the hill into the ravine, it was met by a heavy fire of musketry. A number were wounded, and several shot through the head, just as they entered the breastworks. One or two regiments whose ammunition was exhausted, were gradually drawn off in small squads. Not succeeding in their first attempt, the rebels made no further attack in force upon our part of the line, but, concealed in the thick woods, continually annoyed us with a scattering fire. The men replied as they had opportunity, and with considerable effect, as the rebels themselves afterward acknowledged. Colonel Bostwick was particularly noticeable for the almost reckless exposure of himself to the enemy’s fire, while attending to his duties at different points in the line. Lieutenant-Colonel Merwin reminded him several times of the great danger he incurred, as he stood on a slightly rising ground to the rear of the rifle-pits, a conspicuous object for some rebel bullet.
While the conflict was culminating in other parts of the field, the enemy in our immediate front were not so idle as appearances indicated. Looking through the woods, we could indistinctly see a large body of infantry making a wide circuit to the right, seemingly with a view to attack some remote part of the line. A similar movement took place also to the left. “Look out on the right!” “Look out on the left!” passed up and down the line, and every man was on the alert, ready to meet them should they attempt to carry our intrenchments.
Suddenly, from unseen batteries behind us, comes a deep roar, and the next moment shell after shell shrieks through the trees and bursts almost in the rifle-pits. The thought flashes upon us that the rebels are in our rear, but is dismissed with the reflection that it is only a Union battery firing too low, and will soon correct its false range. Meanwhile our little band had been reduced to less than four hundred men, embracing two hundred and seventy of the Twenty-seventh, with small portions of the One Hundred and Forty-fifth Pennsylvania and Second Delaware; and this force being entirely inadequate to hold the extended line, Colonel Bostwick dispatched Major Coburn to General Hancock for reënforcements. In a few moments the shelling ceased, and far up the road in front appeared a rebel officer waving a flag of truce, and slowly advancing, waiting for a recognition. The men stopped firing in the immediate vicinity of the road, while for a moment the musketry became more brisk on the left flank. At length the rebel officer arrived within a few paces of the works, where he was halted, to await the presence of Colonel Morris, of the Sixty-sixth New-York, commanding the whole line. This officer was not to be found, and the responsibility of receiving the communication from the flag of truce devolved upon Colonel Bostwick, of the Twenty-seventh. The rebel—a tall, rough specimen, and yet with the manner of a gentleman—announced himself as Lieutenant Bailey, of a Georgia regiment; that he had been sent to inform us that we were entirely surrounded; that there was no possible avenue of escape, and therefore he summoned us to surrender, and thus avoid the loss of life which would inevitably follow any resistance to the overwhelming force in front and rear. The Colonel replied that he did not “see” it, and proceeded to investigate the actual state of affairs. Meanwhile Lieutenant-Colonel Merwin went up through the woods in the rear only to find it too true that the rebels were posted in strong force, to bar any escape in that direction. Masses of the enemy pouring in on the right and left, revealed at once the desperate position in which we were placed, while the singing bullets from the woods behind as well as in front, indicated that the foe were closing in upon us. The first impulse among officers and men was to attempt to force our way through. But it was evident that such a course would result in the destruction of more than half our number, while the remainder would inevitably fall into the hands of the enemy. After a hurried consultation among the officers, a surrender was agreed upon, and the formality had hardly been completed, when a heavy line of rebel skirmishers swept out of the woods behind. Only five minutes before, the men stood at their posts undisturbed by even a doubt of their security; now, astonished at the sudden denouement, we found ourselves about to enter upon the terrible uncertainties of rebel captivity. And this surprise and mortification was increased by the conviction that serious disaster must have overtaken the Union army. The history of the day establishes the fact, that Saturday’s misfortune, and the subsequent operations of Sunday morning, compelled the formation of a new line of battle. The surging conflict had gradually crowded Hooker back, and late in the afternoon the army retired, by his order, to a position some distance in rear of the Chancellor House. As General Hancock afterward stated, orders were sent down to the Twenty-seventh to fall back at the same time, but they failed to reach us; and while the rest of the army had retreated to the new line, the Twenty-seventh still remained at the extreme front of the old, entirely unconscious of this change of position. Our situation in a ravine, surrounded by dense woods, rendered it impossible to observe the movements going on in other parts of the extended field. The enemy, already aware of Hooker’s withdrawal, immediately planted a battery behind us, supported, as one of the rebels afterward said, by two brigades of infantry.
The experience of Major Coburn immediately after the shelling, while en route to deliver the Colonel’s request to General Hancock, more than confirms this statement. On his way to the rear he was accompanied by one of our sergeants, severely wounded in the early part of the action. They had passed hardly half a mile through the woods when they were taken prisoners, and the Major was conducted into the road, where he found a large part of Stonewall Jackson’s corps, under command of Major-General Anderson. Already they had formed their skirmish line and were crowding forward with all possible speed, certain of their prey. Outnumbered on every hand, and with batteries in front and rear, it would have been madness to have attempted to force our way through in the face of such odds. The gallant Brooke, with characteristic bravery, when he heard the firing, volunteered to charge down with his brigade to our relief, but General Hancock refused permission, for fear of bringing on a general engagement while the army was changing its position.