We rode steadily forward all day, under fire twice, and once charging a battery.  All that opposed our advance however was a thin fringe of troops, intent merely upon causing delay, and making a brief stand, only to fall back promptly as soon as we flung forward any considerable body of men.  By night-fall we had attained a position well within the bend of the river, the centre and left wing had achieved a crossing, and our entire line had closed up so as to display a solid front.  The Ninth bivouacked in the hills, our rest undisturbed, except for the occasional firing of the pickets.  With dawn we were under arms, feeling our way forward, and, an hour later, the two armies were face to face.  Nearly evenly mated, fighting across a rough country, neither side could claim victory at the end of the day.  While we on the right forced our line forward for nearly five miles, leaving behind us a carpet of dead, the left and centre met with such desperate resistance as to barely retain their earlier position.  It required an hour of night fighting to close up the gap, and we slept on our arms, expecting an early morning assault.  Instead of attempting this the enemy fell back to their second line of intrenchments, and, after waiting a day to determine their movements and strengthen our own line, we again advanced, feeling our way slowly in, but finally meeting with a resistance which compelled a halt.

The details of this battle belong to history, not to these pages.  The Ninth bore no conspicuous part, hovering on the extreme right flank, engaged in continuous skirmishing, and scouting along miles of front.  The morning of the third day found the armies fronting each other, defiant yet equally afraid to join battle, both commanders seeking for some point of strategy which would yield advantage—­we of the North fearful of advancing against intrenchments, and those of the South not daring to come forth into the open.  For the moment it was a truce between us—­the truce of two exhausted bull-dogs, lying face to face with gleaming teeth, ready to spring at the first opening.

We of the Ninth were at the edge of an opening in the woods, with low hills on either hand, our pickets within easy musket-shot of the gray-clad videttes beyond the fringe of trees.  Knowing our own success we could not comprehend this inaction, or the desperate fighting which held back the troops to the east, and we were impatient to go in.  I was lying on my back in the shelter of a slight hollow, wondering at the surrounding stillness, wishing for anything to occur which would give action, when the major rode up, accompanied by another officer in an artillery uniform.  I was on my feet in an instant saluting.

“Lieutenant Galesworth, this is Captain Kent, an aide on General Sheridan’s staff.  He desires you to accompany him to headquarters.”