CHAPTER 18:
THE BUCKTAILS’ LAST BATTLE

The Bucktails marched and maneuvered for the next several days without making further contact with General Lee’s forces. After splashing across the Pamunkey River, the riflemen proceeded south toward Richmond. On the Mechanicsville road they finally found the Rebels blocking their path, and a brisk fight ensued. With the First Rifles out ahead of the Pennsylvania Reserves as skirmishers, a large group of gray cavalry was pushed back.

As night fell, Jimmy Jewett said with a wide grin, “This is the 29^th of May. Tomorrow our term of service is up!”

“Tell them Rebs down yonder ta stop shootin’ at us, an’ I’ll stick a grin on my face, too,” replied Boone.

“Yes, we can’t quit in the middle o’ a gol-dang battle,” muttered Curtis. “If we leave, who’ll keep them boys in butternut an’ gray from snatchin’ the ci-gar right out o’ General Grant’s mouth?”

“Sorry, Jimmy,” said Culp. “This time I gotta side with Hosea an’ Boone.”

In the swirling morning mist, the Pennsylvania Reserves crossed the Totopotomy River, and the Bucktails were again deployed as scouts. Not far from the river they entered an eerie, fog-entangled wood where their vision was restricted to a few feet in any direction.

Finally, Hosea warned, “Keep yer eyes peeled, boys. We don’t want no bushwhackers endin’ our party this early in the mornin’.”

“Keep yer ears open, too,” chuckled Boone. “We sure can’t de-pend on Hosea ta hear them Rebs fer us.”

The Bucktails crept forward a step at a time until Bucky saw a vague motion in the undergrowth just ahead. He signaled for the others to stop and then concealed himself behind a tree. Several anxious moments passed before a line of Reb skirmishers floated like ghosts toward them. The First Rifles waited until the entire enemy force exposed itself. On Hartshorne’s command, they unleashed a telling volley that ripped through the gray ranks and stopped them cold. Howling with surprise and anger, the Rebs melted back into the fog as Bucky’s squad emptied their seven-shot magazines into them.

A spooky silence fell over the woods as Culp sweated and waited. His heart thudded hollowly in his chest, and he felt dizzy and very tired. His eyes, though, kept focused on the brush ahead, and his aim was true when the Rebels again surged forward.

Bucky lost track of the number of the times the pesky Confederates charged through the fog and powder smoke. Finally, Hartshorne spotted a party of gray-coated skirmishers slipping around their left flank. “Fall back, Bucktails,” directed the major. “Fall back before we’re cut off.”

Bucky’s squad retreated from tree to tree, stopping often to blaze away at the swelling battle lines that rushed yipping toward them. When they reached some half-finished rifle pits, they dove to the ground to renew their resistance.

“The way these Rebs is swarmin’, they must be part wasp,” yelped Boone.

“An’ we’s the ones done tramped on their nest!” cried Bucky.

“Even our Spencers don’t fend ’em off,” declared Curtis, watching an endless mob of Rebels rush toward them.

“Run, boys, run!” yelled Major Hartshorne. “There’s too damn many of them!”

The Bucktails leaped up and sprinted through the woods until they reached the main body of the Pennsylvania Reserves forming up near a country church. Bucky and his squad returned just in time to help the First Brigade in the center of line throw up some hasty earthworks. The Third Brigade was scrambling into position across a ravine to the right. To the left Culp saw Kitching’s brigade flag flapping in the afternoon breeze. On the ridge behind the Reserves, a Union battery was already booming defiantly at the Rebel horde surging toward them through the woods.

At six p.m. the first wave of Ewell’s Confederates spilled forward with muskets cracking. They unleashed one deadly volley after another until Union canister drove them back into the smoky pines.

Next, the Rebs made a mass charge. Drunk on battle lust, they waved swords and brandished their muskets and battle flags as they swept toward the Union lines. The howling gray throng advanced to within 150 yards before Hartshorne’s command to fire echoed through the Bucktail ranks.

Bucky was so intent on stopping the Rebs’ frenzied attack that he continued to squeeze the trigger even after his magazine was empty. He grinned sheepishly at Curtis when he realized his blunder and then stared off across the battlefield at the now retreating foe. Before him stretched a fearful sight. As far as Culp could see were wounded and dying soldiers that the Reserves’ horrific volleys had mowed down. In the middle of the blood-soaked ground lay the Confederate flag lost in the confusion of the Union’s unrelenting fire.

“That’s showing Johnny Reb!” screeched Jimmy, flushed with the Reserves’ success.

“But here they come again,” remarked Major Hartshorne. “Get ready, boys.”

This time Ewell’s regiments proceeded onto the field in parade formation. With drums keeping the cadence, the Confederates marched forward until Bucky could see their set jaws and sweating faces. When it seemed like the oncoming Rebs were about to collide with the Reserves, Hartshorne howled, “Fire!”

The Rebel lines reeled with the concussion of the point-blank volley. Before they could get off a shot, the Yankee battery raked them with canister and grape. The carnage became so fearful that the Bucktail major leaped up to shout, “Surrender! I beg you, surrender!”

Hundreds of stunned Rebs threw down their muskets at Hartshorne’s bidding, and the terrible barrage from the artillery ceased. Then, the Bucktails clambered from their earthworks to round up prisoners and collect two prize Reb battle flags from the ranks of the fallen dead. There were wounded to aid and graves to dig. It was well after dark before Bucky and Jimmy filed off the battlefield for the last time.

As they moved to the rear, Jewett hugged his friend and said, “It looks like we’re going out winners, Bucky. Praise God for His hedge of protection.”

“It seems jess like yestiddy that we was provin’ ourselves at Dranesville when you was the drummer boy and me a fresh fish. I reckon we passed every test.”

“Now, let’s go see that son of yours.”

“An’ wolf down some o’ Sarah’s pancakes.”

“And jam!” whooped Jewett gleefully.

“Yes, that always was yer fav-orite treat.”

“Bucky, isn’t it funny that our last battle was fought right next to a church? Do you know the name of it?”

“Bethesda Church,” said Sergeant Curtis, returning from grave digging duty with Boone to shake hands with Culp and Jewett. “It’s been mighty good servin’ with you boys. I mean, men!”

“What’s ya gonna do now, Hosea?” asked Bucky with an appreciative smile. “A handy fella like you is always welcome ta come work with me at the Pfaffs’.”

“No, me an’ Boone’s got unfinished business ta take care o’.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jewett.

“We’s fixin’ ta join Hartshorne’s 190^th Pennsylvany,” grinned Crossmire.

“Are you crazy?”

“No, Jimmy, we needs that bounty money ta send ta Zeke’s widow. Didn’t ya hear that they’s now payin’ a fella three hundred fifty greenbacks ta reenlist? Seven hundred dollars will keep Powers’ little gals in food an’ dresses fer a long time.”

“That’s awfully generous of you,” replied Jewett. “And here I was just thinking about how much jam I could eat.”

“Let’s git a big fire roarin’ an’ roast us a chicken that Crossmire an’ me found wanderin’ loose in the woods,” winked Curtis. “Ya might jess as well have a full belly when ya heads north.”

“Come on, tell ’em the truth, Hosea,” chuckled Boone. “That there rooster fell out o’ the sky on us. It plucked itself, too, jess be-fore it quit kickin’.”

“What’s ya gonna do when the war’s over, Boone?” laughed Bucky, slapping his friend on shoulder.

“I’ll go back ta trappin’ with my pap and brother. Anytime you’s in Smethport look me up, an’ we’ll go huntin’ tagether.”

“I’ll look forward ta it!”

“Hey, did I ever tell you boys ’bout the big twelve point I shot runnin’ at a thousand yards?” asked Boone, as he skewered the chicken on a spit.

“Oh, no, Crossmire, not another one o’ yer gol-dang stretchers. What are ya tryin’ ta do, ruin my appetite?”

“Go ahead and tell your story,” urged Jimmy with a snicker. “That’ll leave more chicken for the rest of us.”

“I also wants ta hear it,” agreed Bucky. “It may be awhile ’til I gits back ta Wildcat Country ta outhunt ya.”

“Outhunt me? That’ll be the day ya need snowshoes in hell!”

“Hey, before I fergits,” said Hosea, “give that wife an’ tad o’ yers a big hug fer me, Culp.”

“Give Sarah a hug fer me, too,” chortled Boone, “be-fore she chains ya ta a plow permanent like.”

“Speakin’ o’ Sarah,” said Bucky with a worried frown, “ya know, I ain’t heared from her in a long time.”

“Her letters must not have gotten through yet,” replied Jimmy. “You know how much we’ve moved around lately.”

“Culp, you’re an old married man,” kidded Hosea, “so ya best git used ta bein’ ignored. Sarah’ll be way too busy fussin’ over little Fred ta pay you much mind.”

“Yes, the only kisses you’ll be gettin’ from now on are them big, wet, sloppy ones from the Pfaffs’ sheep dog,” assured Boone with a gap-toothed grin.