Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 34.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

[252] canteens); and then on to the field at a double-quick through fields, woods, creeks, fences and most everything. I thought as we came out of a piece of woods to the field I saw General Jackson. I think the Tenth Georgia was on the right of our brigade (which was in echelon with Barksdale's Brigade), the Thirty-second next, the Fifteenth next, I think, and the Fifty-third Georgia on extreme left. As we emerged from the piece of woods, Colonel Montague gave command, ‘By company into line!’ as we were marching by the flank; but the regiment came into line at one movement and started across that terrible, bloody field. Looking to my right, I witnessed one of the most magnificent sights that I ever saw, or ever expect to see again. It was Barksdale's men driving the enemy up into and through a piece of woods in their front. Their fire was so steady and severe that it looked like a whirlwind was passing through the leaves on the ground and woods. I remarked to Captain Coke, on my left, ‘to look; was not that the grandest sight he ever saw.’ He said, ‘Yes, John, it is grand; but look in our front, my boy, and see what we have to face.’

At that time the field in our front was being literally plowed and torn up by shot, shell and minie balls. Colonel Montague gave command that captains take their positions in the centre and rear of their companies. Captain Coke said that he was going to stay by my side, on the right of his company. I said to him it was a very dangerous place, so near the colors. He said, ‘Yes, everywhere is dangerous here.’ In a few moments he was shot above the knee and fell. The ambulance corps took him off the field, and he recovered to join us again before we got to Fredericksburg, in December, 1862.

On we went until we reached a rocky knoll about, I should judge, seventy-five or one hundred yards from a stone fence, which the enemy were behind, pouring a shower of minies at us. At that point our loss was terrible. The ranks were so scattered, and the dead and wounded so thick, it seemed as if we could go no further. Our rear rank was ten or more paces in our rear, and we were in danger of being shot by our own men. Our flag was shot through seventeen times, and the staff cut in two. I don't think our color-bearer, Bob Forrest, was hurt. I was slightly wounded in the wrist and foot, and it seemed to me that most everybody near the flag was either killed or wounded. Both of my jacket sleeves were bespotted with blood and brains of my comrades near me.