Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 12.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

[293] be once more united to its old command. On arriving there the fog still hung pall-like over everything—objects could clearly be seen only a few feet in advance, adding much to the confusion. The road being filled with a motley crowd of cavalrymen, ambulances, wagons, infantry; men enquiring for their commands, all asking questions, but no one seemingly able to give the desired answer. We called a halt until I could find a courier or staff officer to show us our position in line, which was accomplished after much trouble. In the meanwhile, the men were making the usual complimentary and appropriate remarks about the Commissary Department, no rations being in sight, an aching void within, and so far nothing but cold fog to fill the vacuum. I promised that once in position the rations should soon follow. Under the guidance of the courier we started for our place in line. On arriving at the top of a hill, where the balls from the enemy's sharpshooters dropped in a most uncomfortable manner, we halted. The regiment was then formed in line of battle, and we moved forward in quick time for the position assigned us. Just then one of the most weird and singular sights caught my eye. On our left a long line of troops were moving into the works in line of battle, and as they moved up the hill the fog lifted and this long line of legs were to be seen moving in perfect unison, the fog obscuring the men from their waist-belts up, making a most phantom-like picture. My attention was soon called to our own surroundings; for as the mist rose in our front it brought us in view of the enemy's sharpshooters, and before reaching the trenches we lost several men. We had hardly settled in line and taken in the bearings of our new position, and given the men, in camp parlance, time to ‘look into their haversacks and grow fat,’ before orders were brought by a dismounted courier (as no man could have lived a minute mounted), to fall in, and be ready to charge the enemy's works when the signal was given. ‘Here's your rations, boys,’ the men called to each other. Fighting rations, they meant, which they thought were given without stint, and wanted to be a little sarcastic to the Colonel. But every man drew his waist belt a little tighter, drew down his hat closer over his eyes, looked once more to his accoutrements, and waited with bated breath the order to clear our works and charge the enemy. Just here let me add that the fire from the enemy's picket line by sharpshooters had been so severe that a hat elevated above the works would be perforated by bullets in a few moments, and the order to prepare to charge meant that some who mounted that parapet would look their last of earth from its summit. Want of stick upon the part of the enemy alone was the cause of our