Most of the Infantry fighting of the Wilderness, as is well known, occurred on May 5th and 6th, 1864, in almost impenetrable thickets of tangled woodland growth, a growth facilitated by warmth of climate, by a multitude of streamlets and by areas of morass. The Infantry line of battle may have been from five to seven or eight miles in length. General Grant said in his "Personal Memoirs," written just before his death, "More desperate fighting has not been witnessed on this continent than that of the 5th and 6th of May, 1864." The bloodiest battlefields of those two days were those of Caton's Run of May 5th and of the thicket bordered by the Brock and the Orange Plank Roads on May 5th and 6th. During the battle I was pretty completely occupied with what was occurring close about me and I had little knowledge of what was occurring beyond my individual eyesight. Since the war I have been too completely occupied by daily duties to seriously search the records to ascertain the contribution which the Thirty-ninth Massachusetts made to the battle as a whole. Since I received your letter I have tried to ascertain where the Regiment was and what it did with relation to the battle as a whole on those two days. It participated in the Battle of Caton's Run on May 5th and in that of the Brock and Plank Roads on May 6th, but because I am not at leisure and my sources of information are limited, I shall attempt no account of either battle as a whole.

It is only recently that I have learned of the trap which the Confederates had deliberately set for us on the morning of the 5th of May in the gully of the unwooded valley of Caton's Run, where, ambushed in the woods on the western edge, they awaited May 5, '64 "with fingers on triggers" the initial charge of our brave men, under the orders of Grant and Meade and Warren, down the long unwooded slope, across the roughly shaped gully of a primeval forest stream and up the long and open slope beyond it; of the brutal and terrible carnage on the slopes and at and about the battery caught in the gully; and that here, where at about eight a. m. was killed Charles H. Wilson of Wrentham, Co. I, Eighteenth Massachusetts, the first Federal infantryman to fall in the campaign, were controlled and stayed the proud banners of 17,000 Confederates under Lee and Ewell, including those of Walker, commanding the famous Stonewall Brigade. The first assault in this murderous trap was made by Griffin's First Division of Warren's Fifth Corps, while our Brigade, the First of Robinson's Second Division of the Fifth Corps, was held in reserve in their rear.

What I remember of the Battle of the Wilderness after the lapse of almost fifty years is a story quickly told. Some of the things which I saw and experienced made an indelible impression upon my mind. Other events have been crowded out by intervening occurrences, and of them I have no memory.

I will now state all that I remember of what occurred within my own experience on the morning of May 5th, 1864. I suppose these things occurred during Griffin's assault through the gully, and while the Thirty-ninth was being held in reserve in Griffin's rear.

We were standing in line of battle in a grove of oaks, the largest of which were perhaps eight inches in diameter. I was in the front rank near the right of Company B. First Lieutenant Spear was in his usual place in the rear of the Company and a little to my left. Lieutenant Spear turned on his heel and momentarily vacated his place. Almost instantly a piece of a shell buried itself where he had stood. Occasional bullets passed over our heads and among the oaks. Captain W. W. Graham of Company B was at rest in front of the Company, leaning against an oak but not behind it. A raw recruit in the rear rank who had joined the Company at Mitchell's Station and who had not yet learned to await the word of command aimed his rifle at a venture and planted a bullet in Captain Graham's oak, close to his head. Orderly Sergeant Allison shook the recruit by the collar and threatened terrible things if he should fire again without orders.

I can not recall that I knew anything of Griffin's assault while it was in progress, or of the rout which followed it. I have since learned from General Robinson's report that at the close of Griffin's sanguinary assault, Griffin's Division was relieved by Robinson's First and Second Brigades, ours, the First, taking the line of battle.

I remember that the Regiment moved to a new position and that later in the day we were lying, faces down, on the grass covered slope of a ridge. Small pines branching from near the ground broke its surface. Erect, and close behind us, Lieutenant Colonel Peirson walked back and forth like a sentinel upon his beat, but with his eyes never off of his ready but prostrate men. Absolutely alert, in quiet and calm tones, he said to each restless one who sought a dangerous relief from his unbearable immobility, "That man in —— Company, lie down," or whatever would cause the man to safeguard himself. The minie balls continually showered the green pine needles and pitchy twigs upon us. No one was in such danger as the Lieutenant Colonel, but he ever walked back and forth, back and forth, speaking his words of friendly caution. Still later it was desired that we should lie nearer the top of the ridge. He said to Colonel Davis, "If you will stand here" (at the right of the line to be formed) "I will align the men on you." When we again stretched ourselves upon the slope our heads were close to its top. Later in the afternoon we were standing in line of battle on the top of the ridge. The line of battle of a Regiment on our left made an angle of less than 180 with our own. For a moment I had a clear, distinct view of its front brilliantly lighted by the rays of the declining sun. I saw Colonel "Dick" Coulter on his prancing horse in front of them. The vision though momentary was changeful, unsteady, as if the men were staggering, falling. Our Brigade charged down the western slope. A Battery was in the gully at the foot of the slope, and neither the Federals nor the Confederates could touch it. The Brigade did not reach the Battery but returned to the ridge. The cries of the wounded on the slope were heart breaking. They called for help, for water. I was told, "General Grant says, 'Let no well man risk himself for his companion. He will need the help of all well men to-morrow.'" There was a call for volunteers to act as skirmishers on the slope toward the battery. I volunteered without any personal request that I should do so. I was located some distance down the slope and walked back and forth upon a "beat," like a camp guard. Then I had a genuine surprise. While I walked and watched with fear in my heart, the sun not having yet gone down, Lieutenant Colonel Peirson came sauntering along the skirmish line as if he was enjoying a pleasurable stroll. He made some casual remark and, handing me his May 6, '64 field glass, asked if I would enjoy seeking the battery through it. He left me after I had had abundant time to look, but all of the fear had gone and did not return. When I next saw the glass it had been ruined, smashed by a shell which had nearly taken the life of the Lieutenant Colonel at Spottsylvania. All night I walked back and forth on the slope.

When we took our position upon the Brock Road, volunteer skirmishers were again called for and I responded as before. I was placed perhaps three hundred feet in front of the Regiment in a typical Wilderness forest tangle. Here were hardwood trees several inches in diameter, and in an almost impenetrable mass between them were quickly grown hardwood saplings of the diameter of one's finger and perhaps twenty feet in height. These were in the beautiful, tender green, full foliage of May and often woven all through between their interlacing branches were strong, green, horse-briar vines in so high and dense a hedge that had a line of battle been in your front not twenty feet away you probably could not have seen it. My part was to watch the thicket in front of my post and to give warning of the first appearance of the enemy. My fear of the day before did not return. I had excellent opportunity to hear the rapidly detonating musketry on my left and front, varied by the deep bass of occasional artillery. As the firing quickened I could no longer distinguish intervals between the sounds. I heard only one clear, loud, inspiring, uplifting, musical sound punctuated by artillery.

Suddenly, upon my left and behind me all was commotion. The Sixteenth Maine on our left fired volley after volley toward the front. My regiment, the Thirty-ninth Massachusetts, followed their lead. I threw myself upon my face until the fusilade had ceased. Then I lost no time in reaching the Regiment. I saw no wounded in our immediate front, but a number in butternut clothing crawled toward the Sixteenth Maine or lay prostrate in their front. One in particular, I remember, he was crawling upon his hands and knees toward the Sixteenth, while a large, red stream flowed from his throat as I had seen blood flow from the throat of a slaughtered pig.

I now saw that a wonderful change had occurred in front of the Thirty-ninth. A wide belt of the forest had disappeared. Three parallel lines of breastworks, with an abatis in their front, were undergoing construction along the Brock Road. Men without axes had felled large trees with hatchets, and saplings with knives. Bayonets instead of pickaxes had loosened the sun-baked Virginia clay and tin plates instead of shovels had transferred the soil. The trees, the saplings and the clay, under the direction of skilled mechanics and by the herculean efforts of determined and rapid workmen, had taken and were taking effective defensive shape. The moment the firing ceased the constructive, defensive work again began. I saw upon the Brock Road a mounted officer, riding and swinging his sword. I heard him say, "General Grant says, 'If you hold this place until night, the enemy must evacuate Petersburg and Richmond, is ours.'" I began to use my bayonet and tin plate with the rest in constructing breastworks, but the call for skirmishers soon came again and I went back to watch through the night and the following day for the first signs of another frontal attack, which happily did not come. Before we left this place I listened to the account of my messmate, George V. Shedd, who, as one of a squad, had passed on duty through a part of the woods where men wounded, dying and dead had been blistered, blackened and burned by ruthless forest fires.

I have learned since that on the morning of May 6th a Confederate engineer officer reported to General Longstreet that the extreme left of the Infantry of the Army and of the Second Corps was in the woods in front of the Brock Road and exposed. A flank attack by four Brigades was immediately made, following first the unfinished railroad bed where their march was practically unimpeded and then advancing north through the woods. Our men, who were cooking coffee, were completely surprised and routed, and this explains the confusion which prevailed along the Brock Road when we arrived a little later. The Brock Road was now almost in the grasp of Longstreet, who hoped to seize it and to "put the enemy back across the Rapidan before night." "Longstreet, followed by fresh Brigades at double-quick," began to follow up the victory when he and his staff were mistaken for Federal troops and fired upon by the Sixty-first Virginia of Mahone's Confederate Brigade. Longstreet was severely wounded. General Longstreet says, "I immediately made arrangements to follow up the successes gained and ordered an advance of all my troops for that purpose."

(Here the hand of our comrade ceased, for fatal illness came upon him ere his task was ended.—A. S. R.)

"Here comes the head of Warren's Corps with banners afloat. What calm serenity, what unquenchable spirit are in the battle-flags! On they go. Good-by, old fields, deep woods, and lonesome roads. And murmuring runs, Wilderness, and Caton, you too farewell. The head of Warren's column has reached the Brook Road and is turning South. At once the men catch what it means. Oh, the Old Army of the Potomac is not retreating, and, in the dusky light, as Grant and Meade pass by, they give them high, ringing cheers.

"Now we are passing Hancock's lines and never, never shall I forget the scene. Dimly visible, but almost within reach of our horses, the gallant men of the Second Corps are resting against the charred parapets, from which they hurled Field. Here and there is a weird little fire, groups of mounted officers stand undistinguishable in the darkness, and up in the towering tree tops of the thick woods beyond the intrenchments, tongues of yellow flame are pulsing from dead limbs, lapping the face of night. All, all is deathly still. We pass on, cross the unfinished railway, then Poplar Run and then up a shouldered hill. Our horses are walking slowly. We are in dismal pine woods, the habitation of thousands of whippoorwills uttering their desolate notes unceasingly. Now and then a sabre clanks and close behind us the men are toiling on.

"It is midnight. Tood's Tavern is two or three miles away. Deep, deep is the silence. Jehovah reigns; Spottsylvania and Cold Harbor are waiting for us and here The Wilderness ends."