Late in the afternoon our column was halted on the turnpike.  Our backs were toward the sunset.  Two other divisions were in line of battle in our front.  We moved along the road at supporting distance.

Shots rang out in the woods in front, and in another instant the roar of the charging yell mingled with the crash of continuous musketry.  There was no pause in the advance.  Both lines ahead of us had swept on.  We followed, still in column of fours upon the road, which was almost blocked by a battery of artillery.

Soon we found the road full of the signs of battle.  On our right was open ground—­to the south; facing this open space was a breastwork from which the enemy had just been driven, leaving wounded and dead, their muskets, accoutrements, cooking utensils yet upon the fires, blankets, knapsacks—­everything.

We continued to advance.  Our first and second lines having become intermingled, needed time to restore their ranks.  Hill’s division now formed the first line of battle.

It was now dark, and no enemy could be seen.  Their guns in the distance told us, however, that they had made a stand.  We again went forward.  Near the enemy’s second line of intrenchments we were halted in the thick woods.

The battle seemed to have ended for the night.  In our front rose a moon, the like of which was never seen.  Almost completely full and in a cloudless sky, she shown calmly down on the men of two armies yet lingering in the last struggles of life and death.  Here and there a gun broke the silence, as if to warn us that all was not peace; now and then a film of cannon smoke drifted across the moon, which seemed to become piteous then.  There was silence in the ranks.

The line was lying down, ready, however, and alert.  At about nine o’clock a sharp rattle of rifles was heard at our left—­about where Lane’s brigade was posted, as we thought—­and soon a mournful group of men passed by us, bearing the outstretched form of one whom we knew to be some high officer.  Jackson had been shot dangerously by one of Lane’s regiments—­the Eighteenth North Carolina.

General A.P.  Hill now commanded the corps.  Again all was silent, and the line lay down, as it hoped, for the night.  All at once there came the noise of a gun, and another, and of a whole battery, and many batteries, and fields and woods were alive with shells and canister.  More than forty pieces of cannon had been massed in our front.  We lay and endured the fire.  General Hill was wounded, and at midnight General Stuart of the cavalry took command of the corps.  At last the cannon hushed.  The terrible night passed away without sleep.

At eight o’clock on Sunday morning the Light Division, under command of General Pender, assaulted the intrenchments of the enemy.  Our brigade succeeded in getting into the works; but on our right the enemy’s line still held, and as it curved far to the west it had us in flank and rear.  A new attack at this moment by the troops on our right would have carried the line; the attack was not made.  We were compelled to abandon the breastworks and run for the woods, where we formed again at once.