The camp of the Purcell Battery was then on the Mechanicsville Turnpike, as well as I remember; and it was a day or two after my arrival that the Confederate battle flags were first distributed to the Army of Northern Virginia. I remember, as though it were yesterday, the return of Willie Pegram from head-quarters, with the battle flag for our battery. It was only a square of coarse cloth with a blue field and a red cross dotted with stars. But to the soldiers of the Confederate armies it was then the emblem of all that we fought for, as it is now the token of what the Confederate soldiers endured, and of what our people lost.

At the time of the battles around Richmond the Artillery had not been formed into battalions, as was done later in the war; and to each brigade was attached one field-battery. The Purcell Battery was attached to Field’s Brigade, of A. P. Hill’s Division.

Early in the afternoon of Thursday, June 26th, 1862, the head of General Hill’s column crossed the Chickahominy, and moved towards Mechanicsville. It was the first time I had seen the Confederate troops marching to meet the enemy; and the gleaming bayonets, and waving flags, the rumbling of the artillery, and the steady tramp of the men, were both exhilarating and imposing. One of Field’s regiments led the advance, with two guns from our battery. We neared a narrow road between two steep banks, and were confident that we should feel the enemy there. There was a puff of smoke and the sharp crack of a rifle; the skirmishers advanced, and we threw some shells into the woods. The skirmishers kept steadily forward. They entered the woods and were lost to sight. Soon they reached the enemy’s line, and the engagement began. We had now reached a point near Ellyson’s Mill, at Mechanicsville, which had been strongly fortified by the enemy. They had a battery in position, and amused themselves by taking pot-shots at us. Willie Pegram, however, remained motionless in his saddle, no more concerned at the shells which were ploughing up the dust about him than if he had been lounging on the porch in Franklin Street, this beautiful evening. An officer rode hurriedly up, and then the order rang out: “Attention, Battery! Forward! Trot! March!” and with a cheer we rattled along the road and came into battery in an open field, in full view of the enemy. The guns were instantly loaded, and the firing began. The Yankees were not idle; and a shower of shot and shell enveloped us. I had not been assigned, as yet, to any particular duty in the battery, and looked on as an interested observer until accident should make a vacancy that I might fill. I tied my horse behind a corn crib, near by, and awaited developments, walking up and down in the rear of the guns to see what was going on. It was not an agreeable situation, as there was nothing to divert my attention from the manifold unpleasantnesses of the terrific fire which the enemy concentrated upon us. They had twenty-four guns in position against our single battery, and were able to enfilade our line, as well as to pound us by their direct fire. It was one of the greatest errors of the early days of the Confederacy that batteries were allowed to be knocked to pieces in detail, when, by massing a dozen batteries, the enemy could have been knocked quickly out of time and many lives saved. A solid shot bowled past me, killed one of our men, tore a leg and arm from another, and threw three horses into a bloody, struggling heap. This was my chance, and I stepped to the gun and worked away as though existence depended on my labors. For the great part of the time I acted as Number 5, bringing the ammunition from the limber to Number 2 at the piece. I felt for the first time the fierce excitement of battle. There was no thought of danger, though the men were falling rapidly on every side.

So the battle continued until about six o’clock, the men cheering wildly whenever there was any sign of weakening on the part of the enemy. I did not know what hurt me; but I found myself on the ground, hearing, as I fell, a man near me say: “That Britisher has gone up at last.” In a few moments I recovered my senses, and found that I was not dead, and that no bones appeared to be broken. The warm blood was pouring down my left leg, and on examination I saw that a piece of shell had scooped out five or six inches of the flesh below the knee, and near the femoral artery, making an ugly wound. I did not feel that I was disabled, however, and, tying a handkerchief as tightly as I could around my leg, I went back to my post, and there remained until the battery was withdrawn after sunset. Towards the end of the engagement only three men were left at the gun at which I was serving. At a second gun only four men were left. Another battery relieved us, and drew some of the enemy’s fire. But I think it must have been nine o’clock when we finally left the field. The official list of casualties in our battery showed four killed and forty-three wounded, out of about seventy-five who went into the engagement. Among the killed was Lieutenant Elphinstone.

The battle-field was several miles from Richmond, and the problem was, how to get back there. I hobbled a part of the way as well as I could, and was then put into an ambulance with two wounded men, one of whom died before we reached Richmond. I stopped at a Field Hospital for a minute to get some morphine for my wounded comrade, and then had my first experience of scientific butchering. A rough table, consisting of two or three planks, was used for the operations; and there the surgeons were hard at work, their sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, their arms and hands besmeared with blood, cutting deep with their knives into the quivering flesh, or sawing with a harsh grating sound through the bones of the insensible soldier. Under the table lay arms, hands, feet, and legs, thrown promiscuously in a heap, like the refuse of a slaughter house.

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