July 18th
Archy W------, a corporal of my company, happening
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to be on guard at the house, made an engagement for me to visit
Miss C------in the afternoon at four o'clock; but at the appointed hour
Rodes' division was hurriedly ordered out to meet the enemy, who had crossed the
Shenandoah at Snicker's Gap, under
General Crook; and in an incredible short space of time we were hotly engaged in battle.
The fight lasted over two hours, and was quite warmly contested.
The Yankee force was three times greater than ours.
Private Eberheart, of my company, was instantly killed.
We had driven the enemy to the banks of and in the river, and, having halted on a little eminence, were peppering them with bullets as they rushed into and attempted to cross the river.
They replied as best they could, but under great disadvantage.
A large number remained concealed near the river at the foot of the hill, and did some execution, firing at our men as they exposed themselves.
They escaped under cover of darkness.
When
Eberheart was killed,
Private Tom K------called me earnestly to him, and, amid a heavy shower of bullets, I went to him, and inquired what he wanted.
“Nothing,” he replied, “I just thought you would like to see
Eberheart after he was dead.”
A rather poor reason, I thought, for causing a man to unnecessarily expose himself to hundreds of death-dealing missiles.
I took care of his pocket-book, his wife's ambrotype and bible, and will send them to her at
Fredonia, Alabama, the first opportunity.
E---was a brave, uncomplaining, good soldier, sent to my company as a conscript.
Private G. A. Ware was severely wounded in the leg.
Lieutenant Majors, of Company “E,” and two others of the regiment were killed, and ten or fifteen wounded.
Lieutenant Majors and I were running near each other in quick pursuit of the enemy, when he exclaimed that he was shot, but continued to run for some distance, and then suddenly fell.
I stopped by his side, and offered him some water from my canteen, which he hastily drank, and then sank down and instantly expired.
A minnie ball had cut an artery in his leg, but such was his determined courage and eagerness in following the fleeing foe, that he ran on, his life blood all the time gushing from his wound, and stopped only when sheer exhaustion and faintness from such great and rapid loss of blood compelled him, and the grim monster Death claimed him for his own.
Majors had been but recently promoted, and was an officer of decided promise.
In this action
Colonel Pickens commanded our brigade and
Lieutenant-Colonel Goodgame the regiment.
While the routed and demoralized Yankees were crossing the river, I caused my
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company and those adjoining it to fire by rank and by command, as in ordinary manual drill, the only instance of such an event, in my knowledge, during the war. I gave the words of command at request of
Colonel Goodgame, and confess I took much pleasure in it. While we were engaged burying our dead comrades under a large tree, near where they fell,
General Early and staff rode by, and the old hero spoke to us gently, and kindly suggested that we “dig the graves deep enough.”
A brave North Carolinian had somehow and somewhere come in possession of a silk ( “stove pipe” ) hat, and had made himself conspicuous by persisting in wearing it, despite the advice and warnings of his companions, and indeed of the whole division, as the men used frequently to tell him, as he passed by, to “come down out of that hat,” “I see your feet hanging down from that stove pipe,” etc.--all of which he heard with imperturbable good humor, generally making some witty reply.
In walking over the battle-field I was pained to see the well-known tall hat, and upon nearing it, to recognize the handsome, good-natured face and manly form of the gallant wearer lying cold in death.
He had been shot in the head.
His reckless daring reminded me of the hardihood shown, during the
battle of Gaines' Mill in 1862, by
Captain L'Etoudal, of Company “A,” the French company from
Mobile.
The day was intensely hot, and
L'Etoudal was very fat, weighing at least 250 pounds. He got hold of an umbrella, and while we were exposed to a heavy fire, and even while marching preparatory to charging the enemy, he kept the conspicuous article boldly and recklessly elevated over his head, and to repeated cries from the men ordering him to “put down that umbrella, you are attracting the enemy's fire to us,” which was really true, he coolly replied, “I won't, it is too much hot,” and the brave
Frenchman absolutely refused to lower or close it and continued to shield his huge body from the sun's scorching rays, preferring to risk the bullets to the terrible heat.
The company laughed at and approved their captain's daring conduct, and did not join in the almost universal request to “haul down that umbrella.”
The poor fellow died soon after, a victim to disease.
He always reminded me of
Lieutenant Porgy, a racy character in
Wm. Gilmore Simms' interesting novel, “The partisan.”
We slept in line of battle, on our arms, ready for action, near the battle-field.
Privates W. A. Moore and
T. M. Kimbrough came in from hospital to-day.