Excerpt from CHAPTER EIGHT: ANOTHER CLOSE CALL

A Description of the Battle of Gaines Mill

Major Stone rallied his depleted regiment of 150 survivors. Yanking his revolver from its shiny leather holster, he charged forward to the center of the Union line. The Rebs now began a full-scale attack along the entire Yankee front, and the thunder of muskets and artillery became deafening. The Bucktails flopped into shallow rifle pits and banged away at an infantry regiment hidden is some woods that Keener judged to be 500 yards distant. A Rebel battery sat out in the open there, and Jack began picking off a cannon crew one-by-one until the artillerymen scrambled to roll their field guns out of range. The newly placed cannon bellowed only a couple more times before they learned the hard way that they hadnt moved far enough to escape Swifts lethal aim. They were forced twice more to relocate, chased by the lads deadly fire.

Thats showin im, Jackie boy! yelled Keener. Its a good thing ya aint fully rested, er there wouldnt be one o them cannoneers left standin! Are ya holdin up okay?

You bet, Joe. If my eyes dont glaze over, Ill be jess dandy.

The Bucktails kept at their deadly work until almost out of ammunition. When their shooting slowed, the Rebs poured out of the woods and rushed into rank to sweep the First Rifles from the field. Propelled forward by the rebel yell, they formed a seemingly endless wave of gray destruction.

Okay, steady, men, ordered Major Stone. Load. Fire!

The Bucktail rifles cracked in unison, and smoke and flames belched from their barrels. When the smoke had cleared, a great carnage had chewed up the Reb ranks. Dead lay sprawled on their faces up and down the line. The cries of the wounded replaced defiant howls. Before the enemy could recover, the Fifth Pennsylvania Reserves leaped from their entrenchments and sprinted to within a 150 yards of the reeling gray ranks to rake them with another potent volley.

Jacks shrill cheer accompanied the Rebels when they broke and ran back into the wooded swamp. He and Joe exchanged handshakes and then waved their hats jubilantly in the air. They continued to celebrate until a fresh mass of Confederates was seen pressing forward all along the front.

Aint there no end ta these Rebs? cried Swift.

Not with Stonewall Jackson joinin the party, groaned Keener. Aint that him jess over yonder bringin up more troops?

Joe and Jack crawled back into their rifle pits to watch the Union lines collapse around them. Bravely, the Bucktails continued to blast away at the advancing Rebs until a nasty barrage ripped up their right flank. Keener turned to find a hostile force in ragged butternut streaming to engulf them through a hole in the overrun Yankee position there.

To prevent another round of enfilading fire, Major Stone barked, Wheel, men, wheel! Load! Commence!

The Bucktail volley was delivered into the very face of the enemy, temporarily stemming the butternut tide. Before the Bucktails could reload, shells from their own artillery began raining around them sending up plumes of shattered earth.

Fall back! commanded Stone. Retreat!

The Bucktails threaded their way through a blue throng pushing toward the rear. They soon came to a shortened Union line held by Meaghers and Frenchs brigades. Without panic, they passed through these defenses and reformed behind a makeshift hospital.

The First Rifles, receiving permission to fall out of rank, slumped spent to the ground. With a low whistle, Keener pointed to a road leading from downriver to the bridges directly behind them. The road was completely jammed with a long line of supply wagons from White House Landing. The vehicles groaned beneath the weight of food, ammunition, and baggage. The mule drivers, frustrated by the bogged down traffic, filled the air with vile curses that made Jack cringe. Adding to the confusion on the road were stalled caissons, moan-filled ambulances, walking wounded, and stragglers from untold broken regiments.

Finally, Joe saw W. H. D. Hatton, the Bucktail chaplain, stride onto the road to direct traffic. With firm patience, he ordered the companies of lost, milling men to stand aside. Then, he discovered an overloaded wagon with a broken axle that he ordered some stragglers to unload and drag into a field. This opened a lane for the stalled ambulances to squeeze through. Once the ambulances no longer blocked the way, the wagons proceeded in an orderly fashion over the opened bridges.

If Hatton kin git a man inta heaven as easy as he done untangled that traffic, chortled Joe, then I want that fella near me when I catch a dang Reb bullet.

Thats nothin ta joke about, warned Jack, especially fer a whiskey swillin fella like you. I dont take much stock in all that fancy preachin stuff myself. I know God will take care o me as long as I lives like He wants me ta. I jess wish youd give up some o them bad ways o yers, Joe, cause there aint a fella Id rather enter them Pearly Gates with than you.

Thanks, laddie, but I reckon a spotted dog will carry them spots ta the grave no matter how often his master washes em.

Hey, enough of that sort of talk, growled Major Stone, overhearing the soldiers conversation. Time to move out.