There
could be no doubt about it: the line had given way somewhere on the
right, and the enemy was following up. It was not long before stray
bullets were singing behind and among us, flying in a direction parallel
to our line. Then, all in a moment, a battery far to the right and rear
opened a rapid fire, and some of its shells came shrieking into the rear
of Palmer's and Johnson's divisions. Meanwhile, the crash and roar of
battle came nearer and nearer, until the attack struck Reynolds on the
flank and in rear. But he had been forewarned, and his line was swung
backward, at right angles with his original position, to face the attack
from the new direction. Even then he was forced backward until his men
were stretched across the open field in rear of Palmer's division, and
the battle was going on directly behind us. Something--a shell
perhaps--set fire to a log house at the upper end of this field, not
three hundred yards from our brigade. This house had been taken for a
hospital the night before. It was filled with wounded men, too badly
hurt to be taken farther away in the ambulances, and the regular
hospital flag floated above it. This unfortunate house, with its maimed
occupants, was brought between Reynolds's men and the attacking enemy
when the former were driven into the open field; and, despite the
non-combatant flag flying from the gable, it was riddled with shells
from the Southern batteries. I do not charge upon those gunners a
knowledge of the facts here given: their batteries were some distance
away through the forest.
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