Chapter XVI.LAUREL HILL.
Through a vista bright of the years long fled,By the flag-decked graves of our comrades dead,By the tints of summer, and the winter’s white,By the sheen of noon, and the shades of night,There hangs a scene of the olden days,With a warp of blue, and a woof of gray.I will cut the web from out the loom,And place it today ’mid the May-day bloom.Three times amid the brake they form,Three times upon the guns they storm,Three times the army holds its breath,To see those charges grand of death.S. D. Richardson.
Through a vista bright of the years long fled,By the flag-decked graves of our comrades dead,By the tints of summer, and the winter’s white,By the sheen of noon, and the shades of night,There hangs a scene of the olden days,With a warp of blue, and a woof of gray.I will cut the web from out the loom,And place it today ’mid the May-day bloom.Three times amid the brake they form,Three times upon the guns they storm,Three times the army holds its breath,To see those charges grand of death.S. D. Richardson.
Through a vista bright of the years long fled,By the flag-decked graves of our comrades dead,By the tints of summer, and the winter’s white,By the sheen of noon, and the shades of night,There hangs a scene of the olden days,With a warp of blue, and a woof of gray.I will cut the web from out the loom,And place it today ’mid the May-day bloom.Three times amid the brake they form,Three times upon the guns they storm,Three times the army holds its breath,To see those charges grand of death.
Through a vista bright of the years long fled,
By the flag-decked graves of our comrades dead,
By the tints of summer, and the winter’s white,
By the sheen of noon, and the shades of night,
There hangs a scene of the olden days,
With a warp of blue, and a woof of gray.
I will cut the web from out the loom,
And place it today ’mid the May-day bloom.
Three times amid the brake they form,
Three times upon the guns they storm,
Three times the army holds its breath,
To see those charges grand of death.
S. D. Richardson.
S. D. Richardson.
For two or three days we remained on the skirmish line, digging rifle pits to protect ourselves from the fire of the enemy. These were holes in the ground deep enough for one or more men to stand in, and if we showed our heads we were pretty sure to draw their attention, so wekept out of sight as much as possible. But our greatest peril was from our own line, a quarter of a mile in the rear of us, for there were several pieces of artillery continually sending shells and solid shot over our heads into the enemy’s lines, and some of them were too near us for comfort and safety, for we were on slightly rising ground in front of them, and the gunners, to do more execution, depressed their pieces so much that every now and then a shot or shell would skim by, or over us, as we hugged the ground.
We would watch for the flash of the guns, and drop to the ground, so the shot generally went over us. In the rifle pit with me were two of my comrades, one of whom had taken off his haversack, and laid it near by. A shot from our line struck that haversack, and sent it flying in every direction.
Comrade Flint was fairly peppered with pieces of tin plate, cup, knife, fork and spoon, which wounded him severely in several places. He stood the pain as long as he could, and finally said he was going back to the lines; we advised him to wait until dark, but the pain was so great that he could not, and he started on the run across the open field, back to our main line. Instantlyhe was a target for the rebel sharpshooters. We watched him anxiously, and once saw him go down, but he was up and off in a moment, and reached our lines, where he went into the hospital.
He received a wound in the leg, from which he never fully recovered. The other wounds healed after a while, but left indelible scars.
Soon after, the firing ceased, and we felt better, when we were no longer in danger from our own artillery.
At last, on the morning of the 12th came the order to attack, and our gallant little brigade commanded by Colonel Prescott, dashed across the field as far as the foot of Laurel Hill. How our brave boys charged those works under that heavy shower of grape and canister, none who survived will ever forget!
But we could not take the works, and had to fall back, under a galling fire from their whole line. Oh! What a shower of death came down upon us! Before we got our colors back to our old position, the 32nd had lost five color bearers, and one hundred and three, out of one hundred and ninety men, killed or wounded. A numberof the boys of our company lay killed or wounded upon the field we had charged over, and the constant firing along the whole line of the enemy’s works, made it dangerous business going out to bring them in; but several of us determined to do so, in spite of the risk we incurred.
Before leaving home we had made a solemn promise to each other, that no man should be left unburied or uncared for on the field; that we would risk life and limbs that our wounded should be cared for, and our dead comrades tenderly laid in the bosom of mother earth. We usually waited until night before going out after our fallen comrades, but we could see the poor fellows lying there under the scorching sun, and felt that some of them would not hold out until night.
Taking a blanket for a stretcher, four of us started out on the run, drawing upon us a deadly fire from the enemy. One of our party fell, wounded in the leg, but the rest managed to take him along in our hasty retreat. Again and again we made the attempt, succeeding in getting most of our wounded under cover.
Night came, and we started out to bury our dead. Many a poor fellow lying upon hisface, did I turn over in my search for my comrades that night. Suddenly I came upon one of my company, still living, but mortally wounded. He had been shot through the spine, and could not be moved, so I made him as comfortable as possible by putting a blanket under his head, and giving him some water. His sufferings were terrible, but soon over; he knew his time had come, and gave me messages for his folks and friends at home.
I promised him that I would write and let them know how, and when he died, and that I would see that he was buried. I remained with him until death released him from his agony, then closed his eyes, and covered him with his blanket.
Sadly I left him, and moved on to where I could hear a well known voice calling for help. It was another of my company badly wounded, but able to be moved, so I hastily rolled him into a blanket, and we soon had him within our line.
Busy all night, when daylight came, we had buried our dead, and gathered in our wounded, thus fulfilling the compact that was never broken when it was possible for us to keep it.What a comfort it was to us, that solemn promise, for, far worse than death, was the thought of lying exposed and unburied on the battlefield. That night was a sad one, never to be forgotten by me, when we rolled our comrades up in their blankets, and laid them in graves that will forever remain unknown.