"Thus are poor servitors,While others sleep upon their quiet beds,Constrained to watch in darkness, rain, and cold."--Shakespeare.
"Thus are poor servitors,While others sleep upon their quiet beds,Constrained to watch in darkness, rain, and cold."--Shakespeare.
When I lay down I was warm from walking, and went to sleep quickly. When I awoke I was cold; in fact, the cold woke me.
I crept to the door of the stable and looked out; at my left the sky was reddening. I aroused Nick, who might have slept on for hours had he been alone.
The sun would soon warm us; but what were we to do for food? Useless to search the house or kitchen or garden; everything was bare. I asked Nick if he could manage in any way to get something to eat. He could not; we must starve unless accident should throw food in our way.
A flock of wild geese, going north, passed high. "Dey'll go a long ways to-day," said Nick; "ain't got to stop to take on no wood nor no water."
We bent our way toward the Warwick road. At the point where we reached it, the ground was low and wet, but farther on we could see dryer ground. We crossed the road and went to the low hills. From a tree I could see the village of Warwick about a mile or so to the west, with the road, in places, running east. There seemed to be no movement going on. Nick was lying on the ground, moody and silent. I had no more tobacco.
I came down from the tree and told Nick to lead the way through the woods until we could get near the rebel pickets where their line crossed the road.
About nine o'clock we were lying in the bushes near the edge of felled timber, through an opening in which, ran the road at our left. At long intervals a man would pass across the road where it struck the picket-line.
Both from the map and from Nick's imperfect delivery of his topographical knowledge I was convinced that the main rebel line was behind the Warwick River, and that here was nothing but an outpost; and I was considering whether it would not be best to turn this position on the north, reach the river as rapidly as possible, and make for Lee's Mill, which I understood was the rebel salient, and see what was above that point, when I heard galloping in the road behind us. Nick had heard the noise before it reached my ears.
A rebel horseman dashed by; at the picket-line he stopped, and remained a few moments without dismounting; then went on up the road toward Warwick Court-House.
At once there was great commotion on the picket-line. We crept up as near as we dared; men were hurrying about, getting their knapsacks and falling into ranks. Now came a squadron of cavalry from down the road; they passed through the picket-line, and were soon lost to sight. Then the picket marched off up the road. Ten minutes more and half a dozen cavalrymen came--the rear-guard of all, I was hoping--and passed on.
The picket post now seemed deserted. Partly with the intention of getting nearer the river, but more, I confess, with the hope of appeasing hunger, Nick and I now cautiously approached the abandoned line. We were afraid to show ourselves in the road, so we crawled through the felled timber.
The camp was entirely deserted. Scattered here and there over the ground were the remains of straw beds; some brush arbours--improvised shelters--were standing; we found enough broken pieces of hardtack to relieve our most pressing want.
I followed the line of felled timber to the north; it ended within two hundred yards of the road.
"Nick," said I; "what is between us and the river in this direction?" pointing northwest.
"Noth'n' but woods tell you git down in de bottom," said Nick.
"And the bottom, is it cultivated? Is it a field?"
"Yassa; some of it is, but mos' of it ain't."
"Are there any more soldiers on this side of the river?"
"You mean 'long here?"
"Yes."
"Well, I dunno ezackly; I reckon dey is all gone now; but dey is some mo' up on dis side, up higher, up on de upper head o' de riber, whah Lee's Mill is."
"How far is it to Lee's Mill?"
"Hit's mos' fo' mile."
"How deep is the river above Lee's Mill?"
"Riber is deep down below de mill."
"Is the river deep here?" pointing west.
"Yassa; de tide comes up to Lee's Mill."
"Are there no Southern soldiers below Lee's Mill?"
"Dey goes down dat-away sometimes."
"Are there any breastworks below Lee's Mill?"
"Down at de mill de breswucks straks off to de Jim Riber up at de Pint."
"Up at what Point?"
"Up at de Mulberry Pint."
"And right across the river here, there are no breastworks?"
"No, sa'; dey ain't no use to have 'em dah."
Feeling confident that the movements I had seen indicated the withdrawal of at least some of the rebel outposts to their main line beyond the Warwick, and that I could easily and alone reach the river and follow it up--since the rebel line was on its other bank or beyond--I decided to let Nick go.
"Nick," said I; "I don't believe I shall need you any more now."
"You not a-gwine to gimme dat yudda dolla'?"
"Oh, yes; of course I shall pay you, especially if you will attend closely to what I tell you; you are to serve me till night, are you not?"
"Yassa."
"Well, I want you to go to the Union army at Newport News for me. Will you do it?"
"Yassa."
"Now, Nick, you must look sharp on the road and not let the rebels catch you."
"I sho' look sharp," said Nick.
"And look sharp for the Union army, too; I hope you will meet some Union soldiers; then you will be safe."
"I sho' look sharp," said Nick.
"I want you to carry a note for me to the Union soldiers."
"Yassa."
I wrote one word on a scrap of paper that I had picked up in the rebel camp. I gave the paper to Nick.
"Throw this paper away if you meet any rebels; understand?"
"Yassa."
"When you meet Union soldiers, you must give this paper to the captain."
"Yassa."
"The captain will ask you what this paper means, and you must tell him that the Southern soldiers are leaving Warwick Court-House, and that the paper is to let him know it."
"Yassa; I sho' do it; I won't do noth'n' but look sharp, en' I won't do noth'n' but give dis paper to de cap'n."
"Then here is your other dollar, Nick. Good-by and good luck to you."
Nick started off at once, and I was alone again.
My next objective was Lee's Mill, which I knew was on the Warwick River some three miles above. Without Nick to help my wits, my cautiousness increased, although I expected to find no enemy until I was near the mill. I went first as nearly westward as I could know; my purposes were to reach the river and roughly ascertain its width and depth; if it should be, as Nick had declared, unfordable in these parts, its depth would be sufficient protection to the rebels behind it, and I would waste no time in examining its course here. Through the undergrowth I crept, sometimes on my hands and knees, and whenever I saw an opening in the woods before me, I paused long and looked well before either crossing or flanking it. After a while I reached heavy timber in the low ground, which I supposed lay along the river. At my left was a cleared field, unplanted as yet, and in the middle of the field a dwelling with outhouses. I approached the house, screening myself behind a rail fence. The house was deserted. I passed through the yard. There was no sign of any living thing, except a pig which scampered away with a loud snort of disapproval. The house was open, but I did not enter it; the windows were broken, and a mere glance showed me that the place had been stripped.
Again I plunged into the woods, and went rapidly toward the river, for I began to fear that I had been rash in coming through the open. Soon I struck the river, which here bent in a long curve across the line of my march. The river was wide and deep.
At once I felt confidence in Nick's declarations. There could be little need for Confederate fortifications upon the other side of this unfordable stream.
It must have been about noon; I thought I heard firing far to my rear, and wondered what could be going on back there.
Leaving the river, I directed my steps toward the northeast. So long as I was in the woods I went as rapidly as I could walk, and the country, even away from the river, was much wooded. My knowledge of the map placed Lee's Mill northeast of Warwick, and northeast I went, but for fully three hours I kept on and found no river again. I felt sure that I had leaned too far to the east, and was about to turn square to my left and seek the river, when I saw before me a smaller stream flowing westward. I did not understand. I knew that I had come a much greater distance than three miles; I had crossed two large roads running north; this stream was not down on the map. Suddenly the truth was seen; this stream was the Warwick itself, and above Lee's Mill; here it was small, as Nick had intimated.
I turned westward; I had come too far; there must be a great angle in the river below me, and that angle must be at Lee's Mill.
Not more than a hunched yards down the stream there was a dam, seemingly a new dam made of logs and earth. At the time I could not understand why it was there. On the other side of the water, which seemed to be deep, though narrow; I could hear a drum beating. A road, a narrow country road, ran seemingly straight into the water. Only a few steps to my left there was an elbow of the road, I moved to this elbow, keeping in the bushes, and looked down on the water. There was no sign of a ferry; I could see the road where it left the water on the other side, and I could see men passing back and forth across the road some two or three hundred yards away.
For a long time I racked my brains before I understood the meaning of this road's going into deep water. What could it mean? Certainly there was a reason for it, and a strong reason. The ordinary needs of the country would require a ferry, and there was no ferry. I had looked long and closely, and was sure there was no ferry, and was almost as sure that there never had been one. The road before my eyes was untravelled; the ruts were weeks old, without the sign of a fresh track since the last rains; the road was not now used, that was a certainty.
When was this road used? ... The whole situation became clear; the road had been a good road before the rebels came; when they fortified their lines they rendered the road useless. They destroyed the ford by building the dam below.
I made my way down the stream, little elated at my solution of what at first had seemed a mystery, for I felt that Nick would have told me offhand all about it.
In less than a mile I came to another road running into deep water. Now, thought I, if my solution is correct, we shall shortly see another dam, and it was not five minutes before I came in sight of the second dam.
I climbed a tree near by; I could see portions of a line of earthworks on the other side of the river. The line of works seemed nearly straight, at least much more nearly so than the river was. To attack the Confederate lines here would be absurd, unless our troops could first destroy the dams and find an easy crossing.
By this time the middle of the afternoon had passed, and I was famishing. I believed it impossible that I should be able to get any food, and the thought made me still hungrier; yet I cast about me to see if there was any way to get relief. I blamed myself for not having brought food from camp. I had made up my mind to remain this night near the river, as I could not get back to camp, seeing that my work was not yet done, until the next day; so I must expect many hours of sharp hunger unless I could find food.
I now felt convinced that on the rebel left there was a continuous line of works behind the Warwick, from Lee's Mill up to Yorktown, and all I cared to prove was whether that line had its angle at the former place, as Nick had declared, and as seemed reasonable to me from every consideration. I would, then, make my way carefully down the river to Lee's Mill, and if possible finish my work before sunset; but my hunger was so great that I thought it advisable to first seek food. So, deferring my further progress down the stream, I set out in an easterly direction by the road which had crossed previously above the second dam, in the hope that this road would lead me to some house where help could be found, for I was now getting where risks must be run; food was my first need.
However, I did not expose myself, but kept out of the road, walking through this woods. My road was soon enlarged by another road joining it, coming in from the north and seeming well worn from recent use. I had been walking for nearly a mile when I heard a noise behind me--clearly the noise of horses coming. I lay flat behind a bush which grew by a fallen tree. Three horsemen--rebels--passed, going southward. They passed at a walk, and were talking, but their words could not be distinguished. The middle man was riding a gray horse.
About half a mile, or perhaps less, farther on, the woods became less dense, and soon I came to a clearing; in this clearing was what the Southern people call a settlement, which consisted of a small farmhouse with, a few necessary outbuildings.
Hitched to the straight rail fence that separated, the house yard from the road, were three horses, one of them gray, with saddles on their backs. I was not more than fifty yards distant from the horses, and could plainly see a holster in front of one of the saddles.
No sound came from the house. I lay down and watched and listened. The evening was fast drawing on, and there were clouds in the west, but the sun had not yet gone down, and there would yet be an hour or two of daylight. I feared that my approach to Lee's Mill must be put off till the morrow.
A woman came out of the house and drew a bucket of water at the well in the yard. She then returned into the house, with her pail of water. Now the sound of men's voices could be heard, and the stamping of heavy foot within the house; a moment afterward three men came out and approached the horses.
The woman was standing at the door; one of the men shaded his eyes with his hand and looked toward the west, where a dazzling cloud-edge barely hid the sun from view. He was looking directly over my head; dropping his hand he said, "An hour high, yit." This man was nearer to me than the others were. I could less distinctly hear the words of the others, but when this one got near their horses a conversation was held with the woman standing in the doorway, and the voices on both sides were raised.
"Yes," said one of the men, preparing to mount the gray horse, "yes, I reckin this is the last time we'll trouble you any more."
"Your room's better'n your company," said the woman, whose words, by reason of her shrill voice, as well as because she was talking toward me, were more distinctly heard than the man's.
"Now don't be ungrateful," said the man, who by this time was astride his horse; "you've not lost anything by me. If the Yanks treat you as well as us, you may thank your God."
"Self-praise is half scandal," said the woman; "I'm willin' to risk 'em if God sends 'em."
The man, turning his horse and riding after his two companions, shouted back: "Hit's not God as is a sendin' 'em; hit's somebody else!"
"You seem to be mighty well acquainted!" fired the woman, as a parting shot.
When the man had overtaken his comrades at the turning of the road, I had but little reluctance in going into the house. The woman stared at me. My gray civilian clothes caught her eye; evidently she did not know what to think of me. She said nothing, and stood her ground in the middle of the floor.
I first asked for a drink of water; she pointed to the bucket, in which there was a common gourd for a dipper. I quenched my thirst; then I said; "Madam, I will pay you well if you will let me have what cold food you have in the house."
"Did you see them men a-ridin' away from here jest now?" she asked.
"I heard some voices," said I; "who were they?"
"They was some of our men; three of 'em; they et up most ev'ything I had, so I hain't got much."
"See what there is," said I, "and please be as quick as you can."
She went into another room, and speedily returned with a "pone" of corn-bread.
"This is all they is," she said.
"Have you no potatoes? no bacon?"
"I've got some bacon," she said; "but it ain't cooked."
"Let me have a pound or two, anyway," said I.
She brought out a large piece of bacon. "My ole man's gone down to Worrick to-day," she said, "an' won't be back tell night; an' you soldiers, a-leavin' the country all at oncet, hit makes me feel kinder skittish."
"Yes," said I; "I don't wonder at your alarm, for they say the Yankees are coming. I don't suppose they will be here before to-morrow, though--maybe not till the day after."
"Them other men said they was the last to go," she replied; "but I reckin they didn't know you was a-comin' on behind 'em."
"No," said I; "if they had known I was coming, they wouldn't have run off and left me so; I might have ridden behind one of them. I don't suppose I can overtake them now, unless they stop again."
"That you can't," said she; "they won't have no call to stop tell they git to the camp, an' hit's jest this side of the mill."
"How far is it to Lee's Mill?" I asked,
She looked at me suspiciously, and I feared that I had made a mistake.
"Hit's not fur," she replied; "hain't you never been thar?"
"Not by this road," I answered. "How much shall I pay you?"
"Well, Mister, I don't know; set your own price."
I handed her a silver half-dollar. Her eyes fastened on me. I had made another mistake.
"If that is not enough," said I, "you shall have more," showing her a one-dollar Confederate note.
"Oh, this is a plenty," she replied; "but I was a-wonderin' to see silver agin."
"I have kept a little for hard times," I said.
"You have? Well, the sight of it is cert'n'y good for sore eyes."
"Can I reach Lee's Mill before dark?" I asked.
"Well, I reckin you kin, ef you walk fast enough," she said; "anyhow, you kin git to the camp on this side."
"Well, good day, madam; I wish you well," said I.
"Good-by, Mister," she said.
I had already opened the gate, when I heard her come to the door; she raised her voice a little, and said,--
"When you git to the big road, you'll be in a mile o' the mill."
So long as I was in sight of the house I kept in the road, but as soon as I got through the clearing, I struck off to the right through the woods. I was seeking some hiding place where I could eat and sleep.
When, early in the morning, I had seen the pickets retire from the post near Warwick, I had thought that the rebels were all withdrawing to their main lines; this thought had received some corroboration from the firing heard in my rear later in the day; I had believed the Union troops advancing behind me; but afterward I had seen other rebels at the woman's house, and I now doubted what I had before believed. Besides, it was clear from the woman's words that there was a rebel post this side of Lee's Mill, and I was yet in danger.
The woods wore dense. Soon I saw before me a large road running west, the big road of which the woman had spoken, no doubt. I crept up to it, and, seeing no one in either direction, ran across it, and into the woods beyond. I went for half a mile or more, in a southwest course, and found a spot where I thought I could spend the night in safety. For fear of being detected I dug a hole, with my knife, in the earth, and piled the loose earth around the hole; then I lighted a fire of dry sticks at the bottom. Night had not yet come, but it was very gloomy in this dense thicket surrounded by woods; I had little fear that any reflection or smoke would betray me, for the thicket was impenetrable to the view of any one who should not come within two rods. I broiled my bacon and toasted my bread, and though I fared very well, yet after eating I wanted water and chose to remain thirsty rather than in the darkness to search for a spring or a stream in the woods.
I quenched the fire with the loose earth; I raked up leaves with my hands and made a bed. I had no covering, but the night was not cold, threatening rain, and the thicket sheltered me from the wind.
Some time in the night I awoke to find that I had dreamed of lying in a mountain brook with my mouth up stream and the water running through my whole body. My mouth was parched. I must have water at any risk.
I set out in I know not what direction. I had put the remains of my supper into my coat pocket, for my judgment told me that in all likelihood I could never return to the spot I was leaving.
Before I had been walking ten minutes, I knew that I was completely lost; I went through thickets and briers, over logs and gullies, round and round, I suspect, for hour in and hour out, until just before day I saw the reflection of fire through the woods, and at the same time almost fell into a small pool. It was the reflection of the light by the pool which at once showed me the water and saved me from finding it with a sense other than sight.
I drank and drank again; then I wondered what the fire meant. Although it seemed far off, I was afraid of it; likely enough it was some rebel camp-fire; I had no idea whither I had wandered, I turned my back on the light, and walked until I could see it no more; then I stretched myself under a tree, but could not sleep. Day was coming.
After a while it began to rain, and I had a most uncomfortable time of it. It required considerable effort of will on my part to determine to move, for I did not know which way to start. I set out, however, and had gone a short distance, when I noticed the green moss at the root of a large tree, and I remembered that I had read in stories of Indians and hunters that such moss always grows on the north side of the trees. So I then turned westward, for I knew that I had crossed no road in my wanderings of the night, and I also knew that the main road from Warwick Court-House to Lee's Mill was at the west. A little at my left I saw a great tree with a sloping trunk, and I went to it for shelter; it was raining harder. When I reached the tree I saw a road just beyond. I sat under the tree, the inclined trunk giving me shelter from the rain and hiding me from the road. While eating the remains of my supper, I heard the tramp of horses, and looking out cautiously, saw a company of rebel cavalry going northward at a trot. At the same time I could distinctly hear skirmish firing behind me, not half a mile off, seemingly. The rain still fell and I held my place.
All at once I saw two men in the road; they were Union soldiers--infantry--skirmishers.
Before I could speak to them I was aware of the fact that an advancing line of our skirmishers was on either side of me.
"Hello, here!" cried one of them; "who areyou?"
"Keep your place in line, Private Lewis," said an officer, coming up, "I'll attend to that man."
"Privates Jones and George, halt! Skirmishers, fill intervals to the right!"
Two men came to the lieutenant.
"Whoareyou, sir?" asked the lieutenant.
"Private Berwick, Eleventh Massachusetts," said I.
"Do you know anything of the enemy? Speak quick!"
"They are this side of Lee's Mill, Lieutenant, but I got lost in the night, and I don't even know where I am now. About fifty of their cavalry went by ten minutes ago."
The line went on in the rain.
The lieutenant placed me in charge of the two men, ordering them to take me at once to the rear, and to report to General Davidson. I have never learned the name of that lieutenant; he had some good qualities.
Meanwhile a sharp skirmish was going on in front, and our line did not seem to advance. A section of artillery dashed by. I began to understand that, if I had gone on a few hundred yards, I should have run upon the enemy in force.
I was brought before General Davidson. He was on horse, at the head of his brigade. He asked me my name.
"Jones Berwick, General," said I.
"What is your business?"
"I am a private, sir, in the Eleventh Massachusetts."
He smiled at this; then he asked, still smiling, "Where is your regiment?"
"It is in camp below Washington, General, I suppose; at least, it had not reached Newport News on the evening of the day before yesterday."
"How is it that you are here while your regiment is still near Washington?"
"I had surgeon's leave to precede my regiment on account of my health, General."
"And this is the way you take care of your health, is it, by lying out in the woods in the rain?"
"It was a month ago, General, that the surgeon dismissed me, and I am now fully recovered."
General Davidson looked serious. "You were at Newport News on day before yesterday?"
"I was near Newport News, sir, at the Sanitary camp. General McClellan had just arrived at Fortress Monroe; so I heard before I left."
"And what are you doing here? I think you have the Southern accent."
"I have been told so before, General; but I am not a Southerner; I came out to observe the rebel lines."
"By whose authority?"
Now, I could have told General Davidson that I had had a pass, signed by such an officer; but I feared to do so, lest some complication should arise which would give trouble to such an officer, for Dr. Khayme had not fully informed me about my privileges.
"It was only a private enterprise, General."
"Tell me all about it," he said.
I said briefly that, on the day before, I had passed up the Warwick River; and that the main line of the enemy lay behind it; that the fords had been destroyed by dams, and that there were no rebels on this side of the river now, in my opinion, except pickets, and possibly a force just in front of Lee's Mill.
"But do you not hear the rebel artillery now?" he asked.
"I think, General, that the rebel artillery is firing from the other side of the river, but I admit that I am not sure of it. Night came on me yesterday before I could reach Lee's Mill, and I have nothing but hearsay in regard to that place."
"What have you heard?"
I told him what the woman had said.
"What proof can you give me that you are not deceiving me?" he asked sternly.
"I do not know, General," said I, "that I can give you any proof; I wish I could; perhaps you can so question me as to satisfy you."
The general sent a courier to the front. He then wrote a line on a piece of paper, and handed the note to another courier, who rushed off to the rear. In a few minutes an officer rode up from the rear; he saluted General Davidson, who spoke earnestly to him in a low tone. I could easily guess that he was speaking of me.
Then, the officer approached me, and asked many questions about my service:--where I was from--where was my regiment from--who was its colonel--who was my captain--how I had come to the army ahead of my regiment, etc. To all these questions I gave brief and quick replies. Then the officer asked for a detailed account of my scout, which I gave him in as few words as I knew how to use. When I spoke of Nick, his eye brightened; when I spoke of giving Nick a note, he nodded his head. Then he asked, "What did you write?"
"The wordgoing," I said.
"Have you a pencil?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Here, take this, and write the wordgoing," he said, handing me a small blank-book.
On a leaf of the book I wrote the word, and my signature below.
Then the officer took another book from his pocket, and looked attentively at both books.
Then he said: "General, I think there is something in what he says. Better be careful of your advance."
And to me, "You must need rest and food; come with me, Mr. Berwick."
That night I slept in Dr. Khayme's tent.
"This is the sergeant,Who like a bold and hardy soldier fought."--SHAKESPEARE.
"This is the sergeant,Who like a bold and hardy soldier fought."--SHAKESPEARE.
After having been well treated at General Keyes's headquarters, I had been given a seat in an ambulance going back to Newport News. The officer who had questioned me proved to be one of the general's aides. The negro Nick had succeeded in avoiding the rebels, and had delivered my message, with which my handwriting showed identity; moreover, General Keyes, when the matter was brought to his attention, immediately declared with a laugh that his friend Khayme's protégé was a "brick."
The physical and mental tension to which I had been continuously subjected for more than two days was followed by a reaction which, though natural enough, surprised me by its degree. I lay on a camp-bed after supper, utterly done. The Doctor and Lydia sat near me, and questioned me on my adventures, as they ware pleased to term my escapade. Lydia was greatly interested in my account of my visit to the woman's house; the Doctor's chief interest was centred on Nick.
"Jones," said he, "you were right from a purely prudential point of view in testing the negro well; but in your place I should have trusted him the instant I learned that he was a slave."
"But, Father," said Lydia; "you surely don't think that all the slaves wish to be free."
"No, I don't; but I believe that every man slave, who has independence of character sufficient to cause him to be alone at night between two hostile armies, wishes to be free."
"You are right, Doctor," said I; "but you must admit, I think, that at the time I could hardly reason so clearly as you can now."
This must have been said very sleepily, for Lydia exclaimed, "Father, Mr. Berwick needs rest."
"Yes, madam; he needs rest, but not such as you are thinking of. Let me fully unburden himself in a mild and gentlemanly way; then he can sleep the sleep of the just."
"Oh, Father, your words sound like a funeral service."
"I am alive, Miss Lydia; and you know the Doctor believes that the just live forever."
"The just? I believe everybody lives forever, and always did live."
"Even, the rebels?" then I thought that I should have said "slaveholders."
"Rebels will live forever, but they will cease to be rebels, that is, after they have accomplished their purposes, and rebellion becomes unnecessary."
"Then, you admit at last that rebellion, and consequently war, are necessary?"
"No, I don't see how you can draw such an inference," said the Doctor; "rebellion cannot make war necessary, and hostility to usurped authority is always right."
"How can there be such without war as a consequence?" I asked languidly.
"Father," said Lydia, "please let Mr. Berwick rest."
"Madam, you are keeping him from going to sleep; I am only making him sleepy."
Lydia retired.
I wondered if the Doctor knew to the full what he was saying. He continued: "Well, Jones, I'll let you off now on that subject; but I warn you that it is the first paper on the programme for to-morrow. By the way, you will have but a few days' rest now; your regiment is expected on the tenth."
"Glad to hear it, Doctor."
"So you think the Confederate lines are very strong?"
"Yes, they are certainly very strong, at least that part of them that I saw. What they are near Yorktown, I cannot say, of course."
"I can see one thing," said the Doctor.
"What is that?"
"The map we have is incorrect."
"How so?"
"It makes the Warwick creek too short and too straight."
"I found it very long," said I; "and it is wide, and it is deep, and it cannot be turned on the James River side except by the fleet."
"The fleet is not going to turn that line; the fleet is doing nothing, and probably will do nothing until theMerrimacis disposed of."
"Doctor, how in the world do you get all your information?"
"By this and that," said the Doctor.
"How we are to get at the rebels I can't see," said I.
"On the Yorktown end of their line," replied the Doctor.
"It seems to me a singular coincidence," said I, "that our troops should have been advancing behind me all day yesterday."
"Do you object?" he asked.
"Not at all; I was about used up when they found me. What I should have done I don't well see."
"You would have been compelled to start back," he said.
"Yes," said I, "and I had no food, and should have been compelled to wait till night to make a start."
Dr. Khayme was exceedingly cheerful; he smoked incessantly and faster than he usually smoked. The last thing I can remember before sleep overcame my senses was the thought that the idol's head looked alive, and that the smoke-clouds which rose above it and half hid the Doctor's face were not mere forms that would dissipate and be no more; they seemed living beings--servants attendant on their master's will.
The next day was cold and damp. I went out but little. I wrote some letters, and rested comfortably. The Doctor gave me the news that Yorktown had been invested, and that there was promise of a siege instead of a battle.
"They have found the Confederate lines too strong to be taken by assault," said he; "and while McClellan waits for reënforcements, there will be nothing to prevent the Confederates from being reënforced; so mote it be."
"What! You are not impatient?"
"Certainly not."
"And you are willing for the enemy to be reënforced?"
"Oh, yes; I know that the more costly the war the sooner it will end."
"I think McClellan ought to have advanced before," said I; "he is likely to lose much time now."
"He has plenty of time; he has all the time there is."
"All the time there is! that means eternity."
"Of course; he has eternity, no more and no less."
"That is a long time," said I, thinking aloud.
"And as broad as it is long," said the Doctor; "everything will happen in that time."
"To McClellan?"
"Why not to McClellan? To all."
"Everything is a big word, Doctor."
"No bigger than eternity."
"And McClellan will win and will lose?"
"Yes."
"I hardly understand, Doctor, what you mean by saying that everything will happen."
"I mean," said he, "that change and eternity are all the conditions necessary to cause everything to come to pass."
"The rebels will win and the North will win?"
"Yes; both of these seemingly contradictory events will happen."
"You surely are a strange puzzle."
"I give myself enough time, do I not?"
"But time can never reconcile a contradiction."
"The contradiction is only seeming."
"Did both Confederates and Union troops win the battle of Bull Run?"
"The Confederates defeated the Federals," said the Doctor; "but the defeat will prove profitable to the defeated. What I mean by saying both North and South will win, you surely know; it is that the divine purpose, working in all the nations, will find its end and accomplishment, and this purpose is not limited, in the present wicked strife, to either of the combatants. What the heart of the people of both sections wants will come; what they want they fight for; but it would have come without war, as I was about to tell you last night, when you interrupted me by going to sleep."
"Yes," said I, laughing, "you were going to tell me how rebellion could exist and not bring war."
"And Mr. Berwick made his escape," said Lydia.
"But you promised to give it to me to-day, Doctor."
"Give it to me! That is an expression which I have heard used in two senses," said the Doctor.
"Well, you were giving it to me last night; now be so good as to give it."
"Better feel Mr. Berwick's pulse first, Father."
"You people are leagued against me," said he; "and I shall proceed to punish you."
"By refusing me?"
"No; by giving it to you. I said, did I not, that rebellion does not necessarily bring war?"
"That is the postulate," I replied.
"Then, first, what is rebellion?"
"Rebellion," said I, "rebellion--rebellion," seeking a definition, "rebellion is armed hostility, within a nation or state, to the legalized government of the nation or state."
"I am willing to accept that," said the Doctor; "now let us see if there have not been cases of rebellion without war. What do you say of Jeroboam and the ten tribes?"
"I say that there was about to be war, and the Almighty put a stop to it."
"That is all I pray for," said the Doctor; "then, what do you say of Monk?"
"What Monk?"
"The general of the commonwealth, who restored Charles the Second."
"Monk simply decided a dilemma," said I. "I don't count that a rebellion; the people were glad to settle matters."
"Well, we won't count Monk; what do you say--"
"No more, Doctor," I interrupted; "I admit that rebellion does not bring war when, the other party won't fight."
"But it is wrong to fight," he said.
"Then every rebellion ought to succeed," said I.
"Certainly it ought, at least for a time. What I am contending is that every revolution should be peaceable. Would not England have been wiser if she had not endeavoured to subdue the colonies? Suppose the principle of peace were cherished: the ideas that would otherwise cause rebellion would be patiently tested; the men of new or opposite ideas would no longer be rebels; they would be statesmen; a rebellion would be accepted, tried, and defeated by a counter rebellion, both peaceable. It is simply leaving things to the will of the majority. Right ideas will win, no matter what the opposition to them. Better change the arena of conflict. A single champion of an idea would once challenge a doubter and prove his hypothesis by the blood of the disputant; you do the same thing on a great scale. The Southern people--very good people as you and I have cause to know--think the constitution gives them the right, or rather cannot take away the right, to withdraw from the Union; you Northern people think they deserve death for so thinking, and you proceed to kill them off; you intend keeping it up until too few of them are left to think fatally; but theywillthink, and your killing them will not prove your ideas right."
"And so you would settle it by letting them alone? Yes, I know that is what you think should be done. But how about slavery?" I asked, thinking to touch a tender spot.
"The North should have rebelled peaceably against slavery; many a Southern man would have joined this peaceable rebellion; the idea would have won, not at once, neither will this war be won at once; but the idea would have won, and under such conditions, I mean with the South knowing that the peaceable extension of knowledge concerning principle was involved, instead of massacre according to the John Brown idiocy, a great amelioration in the condition of the slave would have begun immediately. The South, would have gradually liberated the slaves."
"Doctor, you are saying only that we are far from perfection."
"No; I am saying more than that; I am saying that we ought to have ideals, and strive to reach them."
On the 12th we learned that Hooker's division had landed at Ship Point, and had formed part of the lines investing Yorktown. On the next day I rejoined my company. Willis gave a yell when he saw me coming. The good fellow was the same old Willis--strong, brave, and generous. We soon went off for a private chat.
"What have you been doing with, yourself all this time?" he asked.
"I've been with. Dr. Khayme--at Newport News, you know. Our camp was never moved once; what have you been doing?"
"Same old thing--camp guard, and drill, and waiting our turn to come. Say, Berwick, do you know the new drill?"
"What new drill?"
"Hardee."
"You don't say!"
"Fact. Whole division."
"Do you like it better?"
"Believe I do."
"We'll have no time to drill here," said I; "we'll have enough to do of another sort."
Yet I was compelled to make the change, which referred to the manual of arms, Hardee's tactics, in which system the piece is carried in the right hand at shoulder arms, having been substituted for Scott's, which provides for the shoulder on the left side. There was no actual drill, however, and my clumsy performance--clumsy compared with that of the other men of the company who had become accustomed to the change--was limited to but little exercise, and was condoned by the sergeants because of my inexperience.
I noticed that Willis did not mention Lydia's name. I did not expect him to mention it, though. I knew he was wanting to hear of her; and I did not feel that I ought to volunteer in giving him information concerning the young lady. He asked me about Dr. Khayme, however, and thus gave me the chance to let him know that the Doctor himself would move his quarters to the rear of our lines, but that his daughter would remain at the hospital at Newport News until the army should advance beyond Yorktown.
And now, for almost a full month, we fronted the rebel lines of Yorktown. Our regiment was in the trenches much of the time, and frequently in the rifle-pits. The weather was bad; rain fell almost every other day, and at night we suffered from cold, especially on the picket-lines, where no fires were allowed. I suppose I stood the hardships as well as most of the men, but I could not have endured much more. Willis's programme of the campaign had been completely upset; he had said that we should take Yorktown in a week and pursue the routed rebels into Richmond, and now we were doing but little--so far as we could see--to bring matters to a conclusion. The artillery of the rebels played on our lines; and our guns replied; the pickets, too, were frequently busy popping away at each other, and occasionally hitting their marks. Ever since the siege of Yorktown, where I saw that great quantities of lead and iron were wasted, and but few men hurt,--though Dr. Khayme maintained that the waste became a crime when men were killed,--I have had a feeling of disgust whenever I have read the words "unerring rifles." More lies have been told about wars and battles, and about the courage of men, and patriotism, and so forth, than could be set down in a column of figures as long as the equator. From April 13 to May 4 the casualties of the Army of the Potomac before Yorktown did not reach half of one per cent. The men learned speedily to dodge shells, and I remember hearing one man say that he dodged a bullet. He saw a black spot seemingly stationary, and knew at once that the thing was coming in a straight line for his eye. The story was swallowed, but I think nobody believed it, except the hero thereof, who was a good soldier, however, and ordinarily truthful. How can you expect a man, who is supremely interested in a small incident, to think it small? For my part, it was a rarity to see even a big shell, unless it was a tired one. I dodged per order, mostly. Of course, when I saw the smoke of a cannon, and knew that the cannon was looking toward me, I got under cover without waiting for the long roll; but it was amusing sometimes to hear fellows cry out, "I see a shell coming this way," at the smoke of a gun, and have everybody seeking shelter, when no sound of a shell would follow, the missile having gone into the woods half a mile to our right or left.
I grew more attached to Willis. If the Army of the Potomac had in its ranks any better soldier than this big red-headed sergeant, I never saw him. He was ready for any duty, no matter what: to lead a picket squad into its pits under fire; to serve all night on the skirmish detail in place of a sick friend; to dig and shoot and laugh, and swear, in everything he was simply superb. That I do not quote his cuss-words must not be taken as an indication, that they were commonplace. Everything he did he did with his might, almost violently. He was a good shot, too, within the range of the smooth-bore. The rebel pickets--most of them--seemed to be better armed than we were; it was said that they had received some cargoes of long Enfields--nine hundred yards' range, according to the marked sights, and no telling how far beyond--by blockade-runners. They could keep us down behind the pits while they would walk about as they chose, unless a shell from one of our batteries was flung at them, in which case they showed that they, too, had been studying the dodging lesson. Willis was greatly disgruntled over the fact that the rebels were the better armed, and frequently his temper got the upper hand of him. A bullet went through his hat one day when he was trying vainly to pick off a man in a rifle-pit; Willis's bullet would cut the dirt a hundred yards too short; the Enfield Minié ball would go a-kiting over our heads and making men far to our rear look out. Sometimes Willis was very gloomy, and I attributed this condition to his passion for Lydia, though, on such a subject he never opened his mouth to me.
One dark rainy night, about the 21st, I believe, Willis and I were both on the picket detail. It came my time for vedette duty, and Willis was the sergeant to do the escort act. There had been skirmishing on this part of the line the preceding day, but at sunset, or the hour for sunset if the weather had been fair, the firing had ceased as we marched up and relieved the old pickets. We were in the woods, the most of us, but just here, on the right of our own detail, there were a few rifle-pits in the open, the opposing skirmish, lines being perhaps four hundred yards apart, and our vedette posts--we maintained them only at night--being about sixty yards in advance of our pits, and always composed of three men for each post. We found our three men numb with, cold, two lying near the edge o£ the woods, in a big hole made by a shell, while the other stood guard. They had seen nothing and heard nothing except the ordinary sounds of the night. The clouds reflected the peculiar glow of many fires in front. It was not long till day. The two men, my companions on post, whispered together, and then proposed that I should take the first watch. Willis had returned to the line with the relieved vedettes. I had no objection to taking the first watch, yet I hesitated, simply because the two men had whispered. I fancied there was some reason for the request, and I asked bluntly why they had decided it was my turn without giving me a voice in the matter. You know it is the custom to decide such affairs by lot, unless some man volunteers for the worst place. They replied that they were old friends, and that as I was a stranger to them, the detail being made up from various companies, they preferred lying together.
This explanation did not seem very satisfactory, for the reason that in two hours we should all be relieved; yet I consented, and they lay down in the hole, which was little more than a mud-puddle, for fear of some sudden volley from the rebels.
The position of the man on watch at this point was just at the left oblique from the other men, say about ten paces, and very near to a tree which stood apart from the rest of the forest, a scraggy pine of second growth, not very tall, but thick and heavy, with its limbs starting from the trunk as low as eight feet from the ground. I stood near this tree, within reach of it by a leap. Our nearest vedette posts, right and left, were a hundred yards from me--the one on the left being in the woods, that on the right in the open. The country called the Peninsula is low and flat and very swampy in many parts, and the great quantity of rain that had now fallen for days and days had rendered the whole land a loblolly, to use a common figure. I saw that just in front of me, about thirty yards, there was a shallow ravine, and I began to think that it was possible for an enterprising squad of rebels to sneak through this ravine and get very near us before we knew it, and perhaps capture us; such things had been done, if the truth was told, not only by the rebels, but by many other people at war.
Beyond the ravine were the Confederates, their skirmish line about three hundred yards beyond it, and their nightly vedette posts nobody knew where, for they used similar economy to ours in withdrawing their vedettes in the day. The Doctor's talks, many of which I can but barely mention, had opened my eyes a little to the possibility of accurate inferences, that is to say, his philosophy of cause and effect, or purpose, as he liked better to call it, had been urged upon me so frequently and so profoundly that I had become more observant; he had made me think of the relations of things. Philosophy, he had said, should be carried into everyday life and into the smallest matters; that was what made a good fisherman, a good farmer, a good merchant, and a good soldier, provided, he had added, there could be such a thing. This ravine, then, had attracted me from the first. I saw that it presented opportunity. A few rebels might creep along it, get into the woods, make prisoners of the vedettes on several posts, and then there would be a gap through which our skirmish line might be surprised.
I went quietly forward in the edge of the woods until I stood near the ravine, and examined it as well as I could for the darkness. It did not extend into the forest, for the roots of the trees there protected the soil from washing away. The undergrowth at my left was not very dense; I judged that in daylight one could see into the forest a hundred yards or more. At my right, the gully began and seemed to widen and deepen as it went, but nothing definite could I make out; all was lost in the night.
My examination of the spot had been made very quickly, for I was really transgressing rule in leaving my post, even for a more forward place but thirty yards away, and I was back at my tree in less than a minute.
The two men were yet lying in the hole; they had not observed my short absence, I was glad to see. I did not know these men, and I would not like them to know that I had left my post. Yet I felt that I had done right in leaving it; I had deserted it, technically speaking, but only to take a proper precaution, in regard to the post itself. Then, what is a man's post? Merely the ground with which the soles of his feet are in touch? If he may move an inch, how far may he move? Yet I was glad that the men had not seen me move and come back, and I was glad, too, that they had made the proposal that I should take the first watch, for I had discovered danger that must be remedied at once. It was almost time now for one of these men to take my place.
My fear increased. The motionless men at my right, unconscious of any new element of danger, added to my nervousness. I must do something.
I walked to the men and spoke in a low tone.
"Who stands watch next?"
"Me. But it's not time yet."
"Not quite," I said; "but it will be soon. I want you to go back to the line and tell Sergeant Willis that I'd like to see him a minute."
"Go yourself," he said; "I'm not under your orders."
"If you will do what I ask, I'll take your watch for you," said I.
The tempting offer was accepted at once; the man rose and said, "What is it you say I'm to tell him?"
The other man also had risen.
"Only that I want to see him."
"Anything wrong?"
"No; tell him I want to see him for a moment out here; that is all."
The man went; his companion remained standing--he had become alarmed, perhaps.
When Willis came I was under the tree.
"What's up, Jones?"
"I want to know what that dark line means there in front."
"It's a gully," says he.
"I wish you would go out there and look about you; I think our post ought to be where we can see into it."
"All right," said he; "I'll go and look at it."
I remained on post. It would not do, I thought, to give any intimation to the men that I had been to the ravine; they were standing near me.
In two minutes Willis returned.
"Jones," says he; "move your post up here. You men stay where you are."
We went out together, Willis and I, to the edge of the ravine.
"You're right, Jones," he says, in a whisper; "the post ought to be here."
"Yes; it would be easy for those fellows over yonder to surprise us. This ravine ought to be watched in the day even."
The sergeant showed no intention of leaving me; he seemed to be thinking. Suddenly he gave his thigh, a resounding slap.
"There!" says he, "now I've done it--but maybe they won't know what that noise means. Say, Jones, I've got an idea."
"Let's have it."
"We can get lots of fun out here."
"I don't understand. What are you driving at?"
"Well," says he, "you just leave it all to me. Don't you say a word to them fellows. I'll fix it up and let you in, too. Just be mum now, old man."
"Tell me what you mean."
But he had already started back.
It ought to be showing signs of day behind me, I was thinking; yet the weather was bad, and, although it had stopped raining, I knew that in all likelihood we should have a thick fog which would prolong the duty of the vedettes and make another relief necessary.
When Willis appeared again, three other men were following--good men of Company D. I could hear him say to my two fellows; "Go on back to the line; your time's not up, but you are relieved."
When he reached me, he put Thompson in my place, and led the way back a short distance and into the edge of the woods.
"Now, men," says he; "we're going to make a fort of that ravine. We want to fill these sand-bags, and we want some straw or something to screen them. Jones, you must go twenty yards or so beyond the gully till I whistle for you, or call you. The rest of us will do the work while you watch."
The sergeant's little scheme for having his fun was now clear enough. One of the party had brought a spade, and I noticed that others seemed to have come up in no light marching order. Willis meant to occupy the ravine and remain for the day, if possible, in this advanced post, so near the rebels that his bullets would not fall short. It was all clear enough.
The party had begun work before I went forward. Passing Thompson, I skirted the edge of the woods, and went some thirty or forty yards to my right oblique in the open, and then lay flat, with my eyes to the front. Soon I heard muffled sounds behind me; the men were filling the sand-bags. My position cramped me, my neck became stiff. No sound reached me from the front; I supposed that the nearest rebel vedette was not nearer than two hundred yards, unless at a point more advanced from his lines there was some natural protection for him. But what prevented my being surprised from the woods on my left? I lay flat and stiffened my neck; light was beginning to show.
At length I heard Willis call me, and I didn't make him call twice. The ravine, as the light became greater, showed itself almost impregnable against an equal force of skirmishers. Just where an angle in the western edge presented a flank of wall toward the north, Willis and his gang had cut away the earth into a shelf some three feet beneath the top. Ten sand-bags filled with earth surmounted the summit, with open spaces between, in order that a musket might be fired through, these handy port-holes, and the sand-bags were covered with sedge from the open field. I congratulated our commander on his engineering feat.
The sun had risen, perhaps, but the fog had not lifted; we could yet see neither enemy nor friend. Willis put me on the right, and reserved the centre for his own piece; the centre happened to be about two feet nearer the enemy. From left to right the line was manned by Freeman, Holt, Willis, Thompson, Berwick.
"Men, attention!" says Willis.
"Take the caps off of your pieces!"
The order was obeyed, the men looking puzzled. Willis condescended to explain that we must fire a volley into a crowd as Act First; that any man who should yield to the temptation to fire without orders, was to be sent back to the line at once.
Slowly the fog began to break; the day would be fair. Suddenly a bullet whistled overhead; then the report came from the rebel side.
"Be quiet, men!" says Willis.
Everybody had rushed to his place.
"Eat your breakfast," says Willis.
We had no coffee; otherwise we fared as usual.
"The rebels have no coffee, neither," says Willis.
The breakfast was being rapidly swallowed.
"Hello, there!" shouts Willis, and springs for the spade.
Another bullet had whistled above us, this one from our own line in the rear.
The spade was wielded vigorously by willing hands, passing from one to another, until a low rampart, but thick, would protect our heads from the fire of our skirmish line. Meantime the fusillade from both sides continued.
Willis was at the parapet.
"Look out!" he cries.
A shell passed just above us, and at once a shower of bullets from the rebels.
"Here, men, quick!" says Willis.
We sprang to the embrasures. The rebels were plainly visible three hundred yards away, their heads distinct above their pits. Our skirmish line behind us seemed gone; the shell had been fired not at us but at our skirmishers, and the volley we had heard had been but the supplement of the artillery fire--all for the purpose of getting full command of our line, on which not a man now dared to show his head, for a dozen Minié balls would go for it at the moment. Unquestionably the rebels had not detected our little squad.
"Prime, men!" says Willis.
The guns were capped.
"Now, hold your fire till the word!"
Very few shots were now coming. The rebels were having it all their own way, nobody replying to them. Their bodies to their waists could be seen; some of them began to walk about a little, for they were not in any sort of danger, that is, from our line. They were firing with a system: pit No. 1 would send a ball, then in ten seconds, pit No. 2, and so on down their line, merely to keep the advantage they had gained. At irregular intervals two or three shots would be sent at some dummy--a hat or coat held up by the bayonets of men behind the pits in our rear.
"Ready!" says Willis.
Three men were in a group between two of the pits. Another joined them.
"Aim! Fire!"
Five triggers were pulled.
"Two down, by the--!" roared Willis, with, a more remarkable oath, than any I ever saw in print.
The wind was from the southeast, and the smoke had rolled my way; I had been unable to see the result. In fact, I could hardly see anything. Put yourself in a hole, and raise your head until your eyes are an inch, or two above the surface of ground almost level--what can you see? But for a slight depression between us and the rebels, the position would have been worthless; yet every evil, according to Dr. Khayme, has its use, or good side--our fortress was hidden from the enemy, who would mistake it, if they saw it at all, for one of the pits in our rear, perspective mingling our small elevation with the greater ones beyond.
We had leaped back into the ravine, which, here was fully eight feet deep and roomy, and were ramming cartridges. All at once a rattle of firearms was heard at the rear. Our skirmish-line had taken advantage of the diversion brought, and had turned the tables; not a shot was coming from the front.
Freeman looked through an embrasure. "Not a dam one in sight," he said.
Time was passing; the fire of our skirmishers continued; we were doing nothing, and were nervously expectant.
Holt wished for a pack of cards.
A council of war was held. Thompson was fearful of our left; a gang of rebels might creep through the woods and take us; we were but sixty yards from the woods. Willis had confidence that our line could protect us from such a dash; "they would kill every man of 'em before they could git to us." To this Thompson replied that if the rebels should again get the upper hand, and make our men afraid to show their heads, the rebels could come on us from the woods without great danger. Willis admitted that Thompson had reason, but did not think the rebels had yet found us out; at any rate, they would be afraid to come so near our strong skirmish-line; so for his part, he wasn't thinkin' of the left; the right was the place of danger--what was down this gully nobody knew; the rebels might sand a force up it, but not yet, for they didn't know we were here.
Again a rebel shell howled above, and again a volley from the front was heard as bullets sang over us, and our men behind us became silent.
We sprang to place, every eye on watch, every musket in its port-hole.
"Don't waste a shot, men," says Willis; "we're not goin' to have another chance like that. Take it in order from right to left. Berwick first. Wait till a man's body shows; don't shoot at a head--"
I had fired--Thompson fired immediately after. He had seen that my shot missed. Again the musketry opened behind us, and both sides pegged away for a while. Thompson claimed that he had hit his man.
Suddenly a loud rap was heard on one of the sand-bags,--one of the bags between Willis and Holt,--a bullet had gone through and into the wall of the ravine behind us. Willis fired.
"Damnation!" says he, "I believe they see us."
Yet it was possible that this was an accident; Holt fired, and then Freeman, and it became my turn again.
That bullet which had become entirely through the sand-bag and buried itself deeply in the ground, gave me trouble. I did not believe that an ordinary musket had such force, and I doubted whether an Enfield had it. The rebels were getting good arms from England. It might be that some man over there had a Whitworth telescope rifle; if so he had detected us perhaps--a telescope would enable him to do it. I said nothing of this speculation, but watched. Rebel bullets continued to fly over. I saw a man as low as his waist and fired; almost at the same moment my sand-bag was struck--the second one on my right, which protected that flank, and which the bullet, coming from the left oblique, struck endwise; the bullet passed through, the length, of the bag and went on into the wall of the gully. I sprang back and caught up the spade.
"What's up, Jones?" asked Willis.
"I'll report directly, Sergeant."
I dug at least two feet before I found the bullet; it was a long, leaden cylinder, with, a rounded point--not bigger than calibre 45 I guessed. This was no Enfield bullet. I handed it to Willis; he understood.
"Can't be helped," says he; "they know we're here, boys."
The danger had become great; perhaps there was but one Whitworth over there, but the marksman would at once tell the skirmishers where we were posted; then we should be a target for their whole line, and at three hundred yards their Enfields could riddle our sand-bags and make us lie low.
Rap, rap, rap! Three sand-bags were hit, and Holt was scratched on the cheek. The bullets struck the wall behind; one penetrated, the others fell into the ravine--they were Enfield bullets.
Holt's face was bleeding. The men looked gloomy; we had had our fun.
Willis called another council. His speech was to the effect that we had done more damage than we had received, and should receive; that all we had to do was to stay in the ravine until the storm should pass; the rebels would think that we were gone and would cease wasting their ammunition; then we could have more fun.
Holt said bravely that he was not willing to give it up yet; so said Thompson, and so said Freeman.
My vote was given to remain and wait for developments. At this moment retreat could not be considered; we could not reach the edge of the woods under sixty yards; somebody would be struck if not killed; it was doubtful that any could escape sound and whole, for the rebels, if they had any sense, were prepared to see us run out, and would throw a hundred shots at us. If our line could ever again get the upper hand of the rebels, then we could get out easily; if not, we must stay here till night. We had done all that could be done--had done well, and we must not risk loss without a purpose; we must protect ourselves; let the rebels waste their powder--the more they wasted, the better. The only real danger was that the rebels might advance; but even if they did, they could not get at us without coming to blows with our line--the ravine protected our line from their charge. It was our business to stay where we were and to keep a sharp lookout.
So it was ordered by Willis that while the storm was raging we should keep one man on watch, and that the others should stay at the bottom of the ravine. Holt boldly claimed first watch.