It was the night of May 7, 1864. For many soldiers in the Army of the Potomac, it had been a relatively quiet day, a welcome change from the two days of bloody combat in the Wilderness, a battlefield that had been transformed from thickets and undergrowth into a blazing inferno that brought hell to earth, consuming the wounded as they screamed in agony, with the pop-pop-pop of ammunition exploding as the fires advanced across the forest floor.
It had been one year and a day since this army had withdrawn after battling just miles to the east. There was no reason to believe that this time would be different. Oh, sure, the Army of the Potomac could hold their own against Bobby Lee’s boys north of their namesake river, but in Virginia it seemed that the story was always the same: march forth with confidence, then retreat in sadness in the aftermath of battle. If the past several days had not quite been Fredericksburg with its futile assaults or Chancellorsville with its dazzling blows, still, the seesaw in the Wilderness had had its moments of near-disaster as well as near-success. It seemed as if nothing had changed. Continue reading