There
were
miles
upon
miles
of
gun
positions,
all
the
way from
the
Appomattox
to
the
works
near
Hatcher's
Run,
and from
every
weapon
in
this
crescent
there
came
the
most intense
and
sustained
volume
of
fire
the
gun
crews
could manage.
Never
before,
not
even
at
Gettysburg,
had
the
army fired
so
much
artillery
so
fast
and
so
long.
The
whole
sky pulsed
and
shuddered
with
great
sheets
of
light.
Jagged flames
lit
the
horizon
as
the
Confederate
guns
replied.
In
the blackness
overhead
the
battle
smoke
piled
up
in
monstrous thunderheads,
fitfully
visible
in
the
flash
of
exploding
shell.
A
gunner
wrote
proudly
of
"a
constant
stream
of
living fire"
pouring
from
the
flaming
gun
pits,
and
a
front-line infantryman
said
that
the
very
ground
shook
and
trembled with
the
concussion.
Miles
away
to
the
west,
men
in
the
V Corps
said
the
sky
was
lighted
up
as
if
by
aurora
borealis. How
long
it
all
lasted,
nobody
ever
knew.
After
a
time
men realized
that
the
Confederate
batteries
had
stopped
firing, and
then
the
crash
of
the
Union
guns
seemed
definitely
lighter —and
now,
as
the
bombardment
slowly
tapered
off,
staff officers
from
corps
headquarters
were
going
to
brigade
and regimental
commanders
asking
why
the
men
were
not
moving:
the
signal
gun
had
been
fired,
somewhere
in
the
midst of
all
of
this
uproar,
and
the
attack
should
have
been
made ten
minutes
ago.
18
Officers
prodded
men
to
their
feet,
and
the
smoky
sky began
to
turn
gray,
although
it
was
still
too
dark
to
see
anything
a
hundred
yards
away,
and
presently
the
whole
great wedge
of
infantry
was
moving.
And
then
the
guns
stopped altogether,
and
there
was
silence
on
the
battlefield,
and
in
this silence
an
officer
realized
that
there
was
a
mysterious,
pervasive
noise
that
seemed
to
be
the
sound
of
a
deep,
distant rustling,
"like
a
strong
breeze
blowing
through
the
swaying boughs
and
dense
foliage
of
some
great
forest."
He
realized at
last
that
this
was
the
noise
made
by
14,000
soldiers tramping
forward
over
soft
damp
ground.
19
Rebel
pickets
came
to
life
and
began
to
shoot,
and
then rolling
volleys
of
musketry
lit
the
main
line
of
Confederate works,
and
the
guns
opened
heavily.
The
VI
Corps
raised
a cheer
and
began
to
run
forward.
The
leading
brigade
lost sight
of
the
path
through
the
abatis,
but
the
whole
corps was
running
now,
details
with
axes
were
smashing
at
the
entanglements,
sheer
weight
of
numbers
was
breaking
a
dozen openings—and
the
tide
flowed
on,
past
the
abatis
and
into the
ditch,
with
the
black
loom
of
the
fortifications
rising
just ahead.
Far
to
the
rear,
on
the
parapet
of
a
Union
fort,
an
army surgeon
had
been
watching,
and
in
the
predawn
gloom
he could
see
a
twinkling,
flashing
line
of
fire
half
a
mile
wide— the
rim
of
the
Confederate
works,
lit
by
musketry.
As
he watched
he
saw
a
black
gap
in
the
center
of
this
sparkling line,
and
then
there
was
another
gap
a
little
to
one
side,
and then
a
third
one,
and
as
he
watched
these
gaps
widened
and ran
together,
and
suddenly
the
whole
chain
of
lights
was
out and
he
knew
that
the
line
had
been
captured.
It
was
not
done
easily,
for
if
the
defenders
were
few
they died
hard,
and
there
was
hand-to-hand
fighting
along
the works.
Storming
parties
got
over
in
squads,
stabbing
and clubbing
muskets.
There
was
no
cheering—everyone
was
too much
out
of
breath
for
that—but
the
men
coming
up
in
the support
brigades
realized
that
the
trenches
had
been
taken when
they
saw
Confederate
cannon
reversed,
firing
toward the
Confederate
rear.
In
some
cases
Union
infantry
refused
to wait
for
the
parties
of
artillerists
who
had
been
sent
over
to work
the
captured
guns,
and
tried
to
operate
them
themselves.
The
11th
Vermont
claimed
to
have
fired
twelve
rounds from
one
battery,
overcoming
the
want
of
primers
simply
by discharging
muskets
into
the
vents
of
the
loaded
pieces.
20
Dawn
came
at
last,
and
the
whole
line
of
works
was
black with
Union
soldiers.
Beyond
the
line
lay
the
Confederate camps,
with
eager
parties
of
VI
Corps
hot-shots
pushing
on through
them,
every
man
for
himself—some
of
them
running on
to
reach
the
unguarded
rear
areas,
some
looking
through tents
and
huts
for
loot,
some
just
going,
kept
moving
by
the excitement
of
victory.
Far
to
the
right,
the
IX
Corps
had stormed
the
whole
first
line
of
deadly
trenches
but
met
stubborn
resistance
on
the
second
line,
and
the
sound
of
artillery and
musketry
rolled
across
the
pine
flats.
On
the
left,
the entire
line
of
defense
had
dissolved.
Ord's
troops,
and
the II
Corps,
were
breaking
through
on
the
west,
cutting
the defenders'
organizations
into
fragments
and
driving
these broken
units
before
them.
By
twos
and
threes
and
by
disorganized
squads,
the
Federals
broke
clear
through
past
the railroad
to
the
edge
of
the
Appomattox.
In
a
chance
encounter by
a
bit
of
wood,
some
of
these
killed
the
famous
General A.
P.
Hill.