{Excerpt from Chapter Two; “Fathers, Sons, and Brothers” Book Two} © 2003, by James “Gus” Filegar Which Way October, 1863 By mid October, the Twentieth and the rest of the Fifth Corps had moved twenty five miles to their south, to near Catlett Station. The weather had remained warm, comfortable for daytime, as was usual for this part of the country. The nights however brought cold temperatures, yet not many complained, except for the long marches in the heat of the day. Rain made itself the usual nuisance though, and when it did rain, it would be a downpour, usually steady, and continue for days at a time. The red clay in this part of Virginia seemed to become a glue like consistency, when soaked through after a long, hard shower. On more than one occasion, they tramped through inches of the muck, and occasionally had to help budge artillery axles through the muddy, trenched roads. They marched toward the Rappahannock River, just a couple of days after one of these downpours. When a day or so consisted of pure sunshine, the clay roads would become molded of whatever had passed through during the downpour, and leave behind a rutted, hard surface, not favorable to the feet of the soldiers on a march. At Catlett for just a night, the night echoed the moans of men as they doctored their sore feet. The commanding officers saw fit to send for a supply of new socks for the men, which arrived the following morning. There had not been much time here for the men. Orders soon arrived: they were to move out the morning of this day and advance toward Bristoe Station, where the Reb Cavalry had confronted a formidable force of Union horsemen. It was a sure sign Confederate infantry was close by. On the march, Nathan thought of Corporal Libbey. Malaria had put him in the field hospital near Manassas for a spell. Nathan missed his new found friend, worried of him. He had promised to keep out for him, and he couldn’t do it from afar. Though he had been through as much as any man, Nathan still looked to him as just a boy. Orders rang thorugh the ranks, "HALT!" The men hurrahed, and quickly set out for firewood, to boil water and make use of their coffe rations. Nathan helped his men build a quick fire, to prepare their long awaited meal. It had been two days since they had last cooked even coffee. The men had become a force of grumblers through this morning’s march, and they were grateful for the break. He walked over to a man at the fire, “Hey boyo. Would ya put me boiler on? I’ll be back to throw the bag in, in jus’ a few.” “Sure Sarge.” As he walked to the tree where he had hung his haversack, a thunder raked through the air. He stopped, then heard that horrible sound. The high pitch of shell in the air. As he looked around the area, it seemed the whole regiment had froze, as if posed for a snapshot in front of a box camera. Then the earth erupted all around as the shells hit. The ground seemed to come alive in places as it shook and heaved in great clumps. Nathan ran to the tree, with his gun in tow, then dove to the ground and kept his face down in the Virginia sod. Two hit about five rods from where he was at, showered him with what seemed like a ton of dirt and debris. He lifted his head, watched as horses spooked and ran in every direction in chaotic retreat from the sight. He got up, brushed the dirt from his frock, then trained his eyes on the woods, just west of the railroad tracks. Four separate puffs of smoke pushed away from the edge of the woods, and within seconds, more shells ripped the ground, as if done by a tine behind a mule. The new captain came over to him, “Sergeant. Quickly lad. We are to deploy skirmishers. How many men do we have in H?” “Sir. I have twenty one men, ready and willin’, plus meself.” “Very well then. See to it Sergeant Clark. MOVE!” Nathan held his rifle straight in the air, “Company H. FALL IN ON ME!” The men scrambled to their ranks in quick fashion, and proceeded out onto the field past the tracks, and deployed a skirmish line, as ordered. Two of the cannon continued to fire into the camp, while the other two began to raise havoc with H. Nathan hollered, “Keep your paces men, to the left and right. They can’t get us all from here. Make sure you keep your paces! MOVE” They had moved about fifty rods to their front, then they stopped. Nathan screamed, “On my command, from the front rank, fire. Then hold for the rear to advance. READY! . . . AIM! . . . FIRE!” Ten rifles fired their lead toward the gray lines that had started their advance, then the rear rank moved up as the first shooters reloaded. The men in the rear then hollered ready, and Nathan gave the command again to the new front rank. Their volley reached their mark as about six of the gray line fell. Then the rear rank fired immediately and caught a few more as they advanced. “In retreat . . . FALL BAAACK! Firing on the retreat! AT WILL!” As they moved back to the camp area, Nathan turned around and saw the regiment had formed in column, ready to march. Just as he turned back toward the Rebels, they let out their first volley. Balls fired from muskets zipped and whined through the air, while canister shot from the cannon made their horrible whizzing sound, and echoed their rapture on the tree stumps and flesh . . . crackety-crack – thud. One man in front had just turned to fall back, then without a word, he fell to his knees. Blood splattered the man beside him, as if a watermelon had exploded. The cannon had found the range on their front, and left its mark on the unlucky soldier, what remained of him. Nathan stared for a moment at the man, his right arm laying a few rods from the rest of his mangled remains. Then he turned, just as another shell churned up yet more earth. The howl of cannon and high pitch tone of muskets as they popped, filled the air. Not fully recovered from his last bout of sickness, Nathan felt out of breath. As he labored to catch more air in his lungs, Nathan turned to his men, said, “Fall Back! Move to the Colors if they be marchin’ when ya get there. Hurry up men! We’ve done all we can here. Lets be getting on, ‘fore the devil himself arrives!” He knelt to one knee, as he watched the Rebel line come ever closer. He closed his eyes, and prayed, ‘Lord, if ya see fit, let me catch me breath, so I can get back to the Company’. As quickly as he said it, the pain in his lungs left. He quickly got up and ran back to the regiment. He made it just as they started to march out of the camp. He looked back, then heard two more shells as they whistled in, and took the ground where he was at just moments before. He turned immediately front, and tried not to think of that sight. The Twentieth, along with the rest of the Corps marched toward Manassas, where they formed into line of battle. When they arrived there, Colonel Chamberlain rode by his old regiment on his gray horse and waved his cap at the men. They rejoiced and cheered him on as he galloped by them. A few weeks before he had left the Regiment, and taken command of the Third Brigade.