Part 7 (1/2)
I have lingered at that farmhouse gate, at the top of the hill, in this story, very much longer than we did in reality. In fact we didn't linger there at all. Didn't have a chance! For, the moment we came in sight, at that gate leading into the farmhouse, an officer came das.h.i.+ng out from amongst the troops of cavalry, and galloped across the field toward us.
The instant this horseman got out of the crowd, we recognized him. That long waving feather, the long auburn beard, that easy, graceful seat on the swift horse,--that was ”J. E. B.” Stuart, and n.o.body else! He rode up to the foremost group of us, and pulled up his horse. With bright, pleasant, smiling face, he returned our hearty salute with a touch of his hat, and a cheerful, ”Good morning, boys! glad to see you. What troops are these?” ”Richmond Howitzers, Longstreet's Corps.” ”_Good!_ anybody else along?” ”Infantry close behind.” ”Good! Well, boys, I'm _very_ glad to see you. I've got a little job for you, right now, all waiting for you.” Just then the Captain rode up and saluted. ”Captain,”
said the General, saluting pleasantly, ”Draw our guns through the gate and stop. I'll want you in ten minutes.” And, away he galloped, back toward the cavalry. The guns pulled in through the gate and halted as they were, on the road leading to the house, close by the cavalry.
We seized this sudden chance to see our old friends among the troopers.
In every direction our fellows might be seen darting in among the horses, in search of our friends. Loud and hearty were the shouts of greeting as we recognized, or were seen by, those we sought or unexpectedly lighted on. Brothers, met and embraced. Friends greeted friends. Old schoolmates, who had, three years ago, parted at the schoolroom, locked eager, and loving hands, and asked after others, and told what they could. It was a delightful and touching scene, that meeting there on the edge of a b.l.o.o.d.y field! they coming out, we going in. There were jokes, and laughs, and cheerful words, but, the hand-clasps were very tight, the sudden uprising of tender feelings, at the sight of faces, and the sound of voices, we had not seen nor heard for years, and that we might see and hear no more. The memories of home, or school, and boyhood, suddenly brought back, by the faces linked with them, made the tears come, and the words very kind, and the tones very gentle.
I had several pleasant encounters. Among others, this: I heard a familiar voice sing out, ”William Dame, my dear boy, what on earth are you doing here?” I eagerly turned, and in the figure hasting toward me with outstretched hand,--as soon as I could read between the lines of mud on him,--I recognized my dear old teacher, Jesse Jones. I loved him like an older brother, and was delighted to meet him. I had parted from him, that sad day, three years ago, when our school scattered to the war. I had seen him last, the quiet gentleman, the thoughtful teacher, the pale student, the pink of neatness. Here I find him a das.h.i.+ng officer of the Third Virginia Cavalry, girt with saber and pistols, covered with mud from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, and just resting from the b.l.o.o.d.y work of the last two days.
Just here, I had the great pleasure of falling in with my kinsman, and almost brother, Lieut. Robert Page, of the Third Virginia Cavalry, the older brother of my two comrades, and messmates, Carter and John Page.
”Bob” was one of the ”true blues” who had followed Stuart's feather from the start, and was going to follow it to the bitter end. I remember how, at the very first, he rode off to the war, from his home, ”Locust Grove,” in c.u.mberland County, Virginia, on his horse, ”Goliath,” with his company, the c.u.mberland Troop. He had stuck to the front, been always up, and ever at his post, all the way through those three long, terrible years. He had deserved, and won his Lieutenancy, and commanded his regiment the last days of the war. He made an enviable record as a soldier for courage, faithfulness, and honor. None better! At Appomattox he was surrendered. And having been forced to cease making war on mankind with the saber, he mended his grip, and continued to make war, with a far deadlier weapon of destruction, the spatula.
All this was very pleasant, but it was very short. Time was up; ten minutes were out! We caught sight of General Stuart cantering across the field toward our guns, the bugle rang, and we tumbled out from amidst the cavalry, in short order, and took our posts around our respective guns.
=”Jeb” Stuart a.s.signs ”A Little Job”=
Stuart was in front of the column of guns talking to Captain McCarthy; next moment we moved. That is, the ”Left Section” moved, the two twelve-pounder bra.s.s ”Napoleons,” the ”Right Section” had two ten-pounder ”Parrott” guns and stayed still. We did not rejoin them for several days. It was our ”Napoleons” that moved off, we took note of that! Also, we took very scant gun detachments,--all our men, but just enough to work the guns, stayed behind,--we took note of _that_ too!
These two circ.u.mstances meant _business_ to old artillerymen. We _remarked_ as much, as we trotted beside the guns. ”The little job” that General Stuart had alluded to, with his bland and seductive smile, and the merry twinkle of his eye, was, plainly, a very _warm_ little job; however, away we went, ”J. E. B.” Stuart riding in front of the guns, with the Captain,--apparently enjoying himself; _we reserved our opinion_ as to the enjoyableness of the occasion, till we should _see more_ and be better able to judge. Two guns of ”Callaway's” and two of ”Carlton's” Batteries of our Battalion,--which had come up while we were disporting with our cavalry friends, back there,--had pulled in behind our two.
The six guns followed the road which turned around the farmhouse, and ran on down toward the back of the farm. There were pine woods about, in different directions, the fields lying between. We saw nothing as yet, and wondered where we were going. We soon found out! About half a mile from the house, the farm road, which here ran along with pine woods on the left and a stretch of open field on the right, turned out toward the open ground. As we pa.s.sed out from behind that point of woods, we saw ”the elephant!” There, about six hundred yards from us were the Federals, seeming to cover the fields. There were lines of infantry, batteries, wagons, ambulances, ordnance trains ma.s.sed all across the open ground. This was part of Warren's Corps, which had been pus.h.i.+ng for the Spottsylvania line. They thought they had left the ”Army of Northern Virginia” back yonder at the ”Wilderness,” and had nothing before them but cavalry, and they were halted, now, resting or eating, intending afterwards to advance, and occupy the line, which was back up behind us, where we had left the cavalry and our other guns. That line, so coveted, so important to them, that they had been marching, and fighting to gain, was not a mile off, in sight, in reach, _secure now_, as they thought. That thought was not only a _delusion_, it was a _snare_. They were never to reach it! and the ”snare,” I will explain very soon.
As we thus suddenly came upon that sight, we stopped to look at the spectacle. It looked very blue, and I dare say, we looked a shade ”blue”
ourselves; for we could not see a Confederate anywhere, and we supposed we had no support whatever, though we were better off in this particular than we knew. And the idea of pitching into that host, with six unsupported guns, was not calming to the mind. Coming out from cover of the pines, back of a slight ridge that ran through the field, with a few sa.s.safras bushes on it, we were not seen, and the Federals were in blissful ignorance of what was about to follow. We pulled diagonally across the field to a point, just back of the low ridge, and quietly went into position and unlimbered the guns. We pushed them, by hand, up so that the muzzles just looked clear over the ridge, which thus acted as a low work in our front, and proved a great protection. The field had been freshly plowed for corn, the wheels sunk into it, and the minute we tried to move the guns, by hand, with our small force, we saw what it was going to be, in action, with the sun blazing down.
When all was ready,--guns pointed, limber, and caisson chests opened,--General Stuart said, waving his hand toward that swarming field of Federals, ”Boys, I want you to knock that all to pieces for me. So go to work.” And this was the last time we ever saw the superb hero. He rode, right from our guns, to his death at ”Yellow Tavern” a day or two after. We have always remembered with the deepest interest, that the very last thing that glorious soldier, ”J. E. B.” Stuart, did in the Army of Northern Virginia was to put our guns into position, and give us orders; which _we obeyed_, to his entire satisfaction, I know, if he had seen it.
The minute General Stuart had given his order, and turned to ride away, Captain McCarthy, sitting on his horse, where he sat during the whole fight, looking as cool as the sun would let him, and far more unconcerned than if he had been going to dinner, sung out, ”Section ---- commence firing.” It was ours, the Fourth gun's turn to open the ball.
We were all waiting around the guns for the word.
The group, as it stood, is before my mind as vividly as then. Dan McCarthy, Sergt. Ned Stine, acting gunner (vice Tony Dibrell absent, sick, for some time past, who came tearing back, _still sick_, the moment he heard we were on the warpath) Ben Lambert, No. 1; Joe Bowen, No. 2; Beau Barnes, No. 3; W. M. Dame, No. 4; Bill Hardy, No. 5; Charlie Pleasants, No. 6; Sam Vaden, No. 7; Watt Dibbrell, No. 8! The three drivers of the limber, six yards back of the gun, dismounted, and holding their horses. Ellis, the lead driver, had scooped out the loose dirt, with his hands, and lay down, on his back, in the shallow hole, holding the reins with his upstretched hands.
The third gun was just to our right, the cannoneers grouped around the guns, each man at his post. Travis Moncure, Sergeant, known and loved and honored among us as ”Monkey,” always brave and true and smiling, even under fire, Harry Townsend, gunner; Cary Eggleston, No. 1; Pres Ellyson, No. 2; ---- Denman, No. 3; Charlie Kinsolving, No. 4; Charlie Harrington, No. 5; ----, No. 6; ----, No. 7; ----, No. 8; Captain McCarthy sitting his horse, just behind, and between the two guns. The other guns were a little to our left.
All was ready; guns loaded and pointed, carefully, every man at his post,--feeling right solemn too,--and a dead stillness reigned. The Captain's steady voice rang out! As an echo to it, Dan McCarthy sung out ”Fourth detachment commence firing, fire!” I gave the lanyard a jerk. A lurid spout of flame about ten feet long shot from the mouth of the old ”Napoleon,” then, in the dead silence, a ringing, cras.h.i.+ng roar, that sounded like the heavens were falling, and rolled a wrathful thunder far over the fields and echoing woods. Then became distinct, a savage, venomous scream, along the track of the sh.e.l.l. This grew fainter,--died on our ear! We eagerly watched! Suddenly, right over the heads of the enemy, a flash of fire, a puff of snow-white smoke, which hung like a little cloud! We gave a yell of delight; our sh.e.l.l had gone right into the midst of the Federals, and burst beautifully. The ball was open!
The instant our gun fired we could hear old Moncure sing out, ”Third detachment, commence firing, fire!” and the Third piece rang out. The guns on the left joined in, l.u.s.tily, and in a moment, those six guns were steadily roaring, and hurling a storm of sh.e.l.l upon the enemy.
And now the fun began, and soon ”grew fast and furious.” Over in the Federal lines, taken by surprise, all was confusion, worse confounded.
We could see men running wildly about, teamsters, jumping into the saddle, and frantically las.h.i.+ng their horses,--wagons, ambulances, ordnance carts, battery forges, tearing furiously, in every direction.
Several vehicles upset, and many teams, maddened by the lash, and the confusion, and bursting sh.e.l.ls, das.h.i.+ng away uncontrollable. We saw _one_ wagon, flying like the wind, strike a stump, and thrown, team and all, a perfect wreck, on top of a low rail fence, crus.h.i.+ng it down, and rolling over it.
This was the only time I ever saw a big army wagon, and team, thrown over a fence.
All that lively time they were having over among the enemy was very amusing to us; we were highly delighted, and enjoyed it very much.
Laughter, and jocular remarks on the scene were heard all about, as we worked the gun, and we did our best to keep up the show.
Meanwhile, we were not deceived for a moment. Wild and furious as was the confusion, and running, over the way, we knew, well, it was the wagoners and ”bomb-proof” people, who were doing the running, and stirring up the confusion. We knew they were not _all_ running away. We had seen a good deal of artillery in that field, and we knew that we should soon hear from them. And we were not mistaken!
In a few minutes the sound of our guns was suddenly varied by a sharp, venomous screech, clap of thunder, right over our heads, followed by a ripping, tearing, splitting crash, that filled the air; a regular blood freezer. We knew _that sound_! It was a bursting Parrott sh.e.l.l from a Federal gun! And they had the range.