Cheered by the news of Bucky’s newborn son, the Bucktails spent a less dreary night in the spooky woods of the Wilderness. The morning dawned clear, and after a hurried breakfast of hardtack, the riflemen were ordered to advance along a faint lane bordering Wilderness Run. Accompanied by the gurgle of the meandering stream, they proceeded cautiously through the undergrowth until they reached the Orange Plank Road. They had no sooner filtered out of the brush when behind them came the faint pop of musketry followed by the thunderous roar of a serious battle kicking into action.
“Listen ta them guns,” whistled Boone. “Even Hosea should have no trouble hearin’ that racket.”
“Yes, I hears it,” grunted Curtis. “Sounds like the Rebs is attackin’ down the Orange Turnpike. That’s the only place open enough fer an army ta move in this here tangle.”
“There’s some Rebs up ahead, too,” shouted Bucky, “slippin’ through the brush like a pack o’ wolves!”
“An’ they got our cavalry on the run!” yelled Zeke.
“Forward, Bucktails!” barked Major Hartshorne. “Before our boys are captured!”
The riflemen, firing as they advanced, rushed across a narrow meadow and into the forest beyond. There, they crashed head-on into a large contingent of Confederate infantry that swelled from the woods howling the rebel yell. There were so many of them, they had difficulty charging through the narrows gaps in the trees.
The Bucktails banged away with their Spencers until Crossmire yelped, “I jess knocked down seven Rebs with seven shots without havin’ ta re-load!”
“Yer gun’s empty now, ain’ it?” snarled Curtis. “Fill it with catridges an’ kill seven more.”
The Bucktails continued to shoot until the woods were littered with Rebel corpses. They had just begun to appreciate the firepower of their new rifles when they were ordered to withdraw.
“Dang! Why retreat when we’s givin’ ’em whatfor?” cried Zeke Powers, continuing to pepper the enemy as he moved backward toward the Orange Plank Road. “Can’t the brass make up their minds?”
“They’d have ta have minds, first,” growled Curtis.
The Bucktails rejoined the rest of the Pennsylvania Reserves now formed up along the Wilderness Trail, facing west. The battle to their right had become more intense as the morning wore on, but the thickness of the brush made it impossible to see anything in that direction.
Finally, around noon, Bucky watched McCandless’ First Brigade filter off into the jungle to help the beleaguered Union forces. “Looks like them boys’ll be the next ones in the soup,” he whispered to Jimmy.
“Better them than us.”
McCandless hadn’t been gone ten minutes when another round of serious gunfire erupted from the scrub brush. The Bucktails remained in line along the trail as the fight raged. Not long after, another furious battle was heard to the left. The riflemen suddenly found themselves sandwiched between two major conflicts.
“I feel like some hunters put on a drive, an’ the deer run by everybody but me,” grumbled Boone. “When’s we gonna git some shootin’?”
“Jess ’bout now,” answered Zeke.
Powers pointed to a small contingent of dismounted Union cavalry retreating down the opposite slope toward Wilderness Run. A yipping mob of Rebs was hard on their heels, attempting to capture the outnumbered Yanks.
Major Hartshorne ordered his men to spread out and take cover. The sharpshooters immediately concealed themselves behind logs and trees to allow the Confederates to come into range. The Union cavalry splashed across the stream and scrambled toward the hidden Bucktails, drawing the pursuing Rebs even closer. When the gray-clad infantry charged halfway up the rise, Bucky and his mates sprang from their places of ambush and poured one deadly volley after another into the surprised enemy. Their Spencers barked and spit fire as they mowed down rank after rank of confused, milling soldiers.
“We’s gettin’ off seven shots ta their one!” cried Zeke. “I hope they’s the ones who guarded me at Crew an’ Pemberton. I still owe ’em fer the misery o’ my prison stay.”
The Bucktails continued to blaze away until the Reb charge was stopped cold. It was then that their outraged captain was heard to bellow, “Get going, men! It’s only a handful of dismounted cavalry up there.”
“Cavalry, hell!” shrieked a retreating grayback. “Cavalry don’t carry knapsacks and wear buck tails.”
Zeke howled with laughter at the cowardly Reb’s reply before drilling the fleeing soldier through the neck.
“Nice shot!” applauded Bucky. “You musta got yer share o’ runnin’ deer in wildcat country.”
“Told ya I was the best marksman in my old outfit!” yelled Powers, flushed with battle fever.
“But I’ll still whip ya,” bragged Boone, blowing another sprinting Rebel off his feet. “Let’s see ya match that!”
Powers and Crossmire continued to knock down one retreating Reb after another until the infantry had swarmed out of sight up the opposite hillside. Afterward, they grinned at each other and shook hands. “You’re a mighty fine shot there, Boone,” admitted Zeke.
“An’ I’m sure glad ya joined our squad the way ya picked off old A.P. Hill’s boys.”
“Hey, ya better watch them two,” jeered Curtis, pointing to Zeke and Boone, “er they’ll be e-lopin’ the first chance they gits. Crossmire’s gonna need an extra thick veil ta cover up that mug durin’ the weddin’, though.”
“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” roared Major Hartshorne. “Pay attention! Don’t you see those Rebs creeping in on both flanks?”
Hartshorne ordered Lieutenant Bard to spread Companies E and K into skirmish formation and probe the woods to the left. The major deployed two other companies at a right angle on the other flank to form the third side of a square. His orders had just been carried out when an aide on horseback galloped up to sputter, “W-w-withdraw at once, Major, before you’re surrounded.”
Hartshorne immediately directed the companies to the right and center in motion toward the Union lines behind them. As Bucky and his squad began their retreat, they saw that Lieutenant Baird had gone too far to hear the order. A messenger got through to the lieutenant just as a large body of Rebels burst through an opening in the woods to cut him off. Bard closed up his ranks and sent them scrambling into a ravine to dodge the Rebs’ fire. Culp watched in awe as Companies E and K wormed through the vine-entangled gully as dirt from ricocheting bullets kicked up all around them.
When Bard’s boys clawed their way up a brushy incline to rejoin the regiment, Hosea howled, “They gol-dang made it. Hip! Hip! Hurrah!! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!!”
“Let’s dig in, men,” commanded Hartshorne after the cheers had died away. “We’re staying here tonight.”
When darkness finally fell, the Bucktails lay in fresh rifle pits, facing west. All had grown quiet across the vast Wilderness. Even the night creatures were silenced by the battles that had raged. Not one peeper, panther, or hoot owl disturbed the weary combatants.
“We were pretty lucky today,” reflected Jimmy, pulling his blanket up around his neck.
“Yes, we was trapped in the middle o’ some mighty heavy fightin’, but little o’ it spilled our way,” sighed Bucky.
“Now, I know why Grant never lost a battle,” grunted Curtis, chewing on the tobacco he had found on a dead soldier.
“Why’s that?” yawned Zeke.
“’Cause Grant’s too smart ta attack Bobby Lee at Mine Run where he’s dug in all cozy like. Instead, old U.S. is havin’ us cut south ta force the Gray Fox out o’ his lair. With Meade we went west, straight inta the teeth o’ Lee’s de-fenses. Can’t win that way no matter how many soldiers ya got.”
“General Grant’s going to take us a whole lot further than McClellan, Hooker, Burnside, and Meade put together,” Jimmy said.
“Hey, what’s that smell?” asked Boone, raising up to sniff the breeze wafting from the desolate land that separated the armies.
“Smoke!” replied Bucky. “Shootin’ off all that black powder musta ketched the woods on fire.”
“I’d recognize the stink o’ smolderin’ leaves any place,” said Zeke wearily. “I’m too tuckered out ta worry ’bout it.”
“But what’s that other smell?” wondered Jimmy. “I’ve burned lots of leaves for Father, and they sure don’t have that stench.”
“It’s roastin’ flesh,” muttered Hosea. “Some o’ the dead won’t need buryin’, after all.”
“But what about the wounded?” gasped Jewett.
“They’ll fry in Bobby Lee’s gol-dang little patch o’ hell!”
Curtis’ words haunted Bucky well into the night. He kept thinking about the son he still hadn’t seen and the dangers that might prevent him from ever meeting his boy. Finally, Bucky whispered, “Jimmy, are ya awake?”
“You bet.”
“I-I-I was jess wonderin’ if a fella will be with his kinfolk in that heaven you’re always blabberin’ ’bout?”
“Of course, Bucky. Why do you ask?”
“’Cause I figger I best en-list in that Christian army ta be with Sarah an’ my lad--ferever.”
“That’s the best choice you’ll ever make! It’ll bring you peace beyond understanding.”
“Well, what do I gotta do?”
“First, let me tell you about our Lord, Jesus Christ. That’s the place to start.”
Bucky listened for the rest of the night as Jimmy discussed the basics of Christianity. When summoned into rank the next morning, Culp no longer feared what lay ahead. He didn’t comprehend everything he had heard. All he knew is that it made him feel better. Jimmy told him what he needed to be saved was the faith of a little child. Bucky hoped he and his boy could learn the Bible stories together. . .
Culp’s reverie was broken by intense firing on the Union left. The Bucktails remained dug in in the center of the Federal line where the loudest noise was the cawing of a few disturbed crows. All the while, Hancock’s Second Corps was getting pummeled along the Orange Plank Road. Finally, an urgent message arrived for the Bucktails to rush to Hancock’s assistance. Major Hartshorne assembled his troops and double-timed them down the Wilderness Trail toward the middle of the artillery storm. In the half-hour it took them to reach action, Hancock’s men had already plugged the gap in their line. The Bucktails were sent back to rejoin the Pennsylvania Reserves.
“By thunder, it looks like we jess ain’t wanted at this little tea party,” mourned Hosea.
“All they do is run us ’round in circles,” groused Zeke.
“At least we’ll stay in walkin’ shape,” chuckled Boone, “’though they might have ta re-shoe us along with the army mules.”
The Bucktails returned to their rifle pits and wiled away the afternoon playing cards, swapping stories, and rereading old letters. They found themselves in the eye of the storm where the sun still shone and all remained calm. While the Yanks and Rebs exchanged death blows on all sides of them, the Pennsylvania Rifles enjoyed the warm sunshine and the camaraderie unique to brothers-in-arms.
Bucky thought the danger was over for the day when a dispatch from headquarters sent the Rifles scrambling into rank for another forced march, this time to the Union right flank. They rushed northward through the forest gloom to keep the Rebels from cutting the Federal supply line. Darkness had fallen by the time they arrived to help General Sedgwick. By then, the general had driven the Confederates back into the murky woods.
The Bucktails were ordered to the Lacy Farm to bivouac for the night. After all the miles of useless marching they had done, the men were too tired to grumble. Completely exhausted, they flopped into their old rifle pits and fell immediately into a deep sleep. Nor did they want to crawl from their blankets when summoned the following morning to join the Sixth Reserves for skirmish duty.
“Look alive, men,” commanded Major Hartshorne, barely awake himself. “Some scouts reported that the Rebs were pulling out. We’re to locate their rear guard.”
Fog and smoke swirled in the air as the First Rifles started down the Wilderness Trail to sniff for the Rebs one last time. The Bucktails threw out a double line of skirmishers in front of their main force. The Sixth Reserves slipped through the scrub oak and creeping vines on either side of the lane to protect the Bucktails’ flanks.
“Do you think Lee has really started his retreat?” asked Jimmy, marching with the main body of Bucktails.
“Sure,” affirmed Zeke. “Even the best boxers punch theirselves out after a while.”
“An’ you kin bet their rear guard won’t put up much o’ a fight,” added Boone confidently.
“We could whip ’em with our old Enfield muskets,” blustered Hosea, “let alone with these here Spencers.”
The Bucktails and the Sixth Reserves inched forward spoiling for a fight. They hadn’t gone more than a half-mile when they found what they were seeking in an opposing line of Reb skirmishers. Puffs of smoke rose from the Rebel muskets, and the whine of bullets zipped past the Bucktails’ forward ranks. While the graybacks worked furiously to reload their guns, their Union counterparts fired continuously, filling the woods with bumblebees. With half their force knocked down by the unceasing barrage, the Rebs turned and ran.
“Look at ’em go!” howled Curtis. “Jess like scared rabbits!”
“After them, men!” blared Hartshorne. “Charge!”
The Bucktails burst from the woods and sprinted full speed into a field. There, they encountered a second line of gray soldiers, who fired a fierce volley and then broke for their rifle pits on the opposite end of the open ground. Before the Bucktails could give further chase, a concealed Rebel battery unleashed a round of canister and grape that raked the exposed Reserves. Screams replaced triumphant cheers as cannon shot tore through men’s torsos and blew arms from shoulders and legs from knees.
Sergeant Culp watched in horror as over twenty Bucktails were blown from the ranks around him. With a determined scowl, he peered through the Reb artillery smoke but could not locate one gunner to shoot at. Before the Confederates could decimate his comrades with another salvo of cannon fire, he saw an orderly gallop onto the field and shriek to Major Hartshorne, “General Crawford wants your men to retreat, sir. Now!”
“Hosea, I thought ya said we could whip Lee’s rear guard with jess muskets,” chided Bucky as he helped a wounded rifleman limp back into the woods.
“I didn’t figger on gettin’ bushwhacked by no gol-dang cannoneers,” mumbled Curtis, spraying a tree trunk with tobacco juice.
The Bucktails returned to camp and spent most of the afternoon tending to their wounded. There were also two comrades to bury at the Lacy Farm. They had just finished their supper when they were summoned into marching formation. Once Boone realized they were heading south down the Brock Road instead of back to the Rapidan, he said, “Don’t Grant plan ta give us time ta rest an’ refit after all the fightin’ we done the past three days?”
“That’s not his way,” replied Jimmy. “He didn’t win all those battles out West by giving ground.”
“Then we’s all dead men,” grumbled Crossmire. “If a Reb bullet don’t git us, Grant’s gonna march us plum ta death.”
“Still better than rottin’ in a dang Reb prison!” cried Zeke. “Grant’s a reg’lar bulldog. Now, that he’s fetched hold o’ Bobby Lee’s leg, he ain’t gonna let go.”
