June 3. — We were held in reserve, and had to march and countermarch all day long. We were finally moved out to support Willcox, who was to make a charge. While we were lying here, a shell came along and grazed my coat sleeve. I had just changed my position, thereby saving my life, for the shell otherwise would have hit me in the back. We were finally moved to form a junction between Willcox and Potter. We did so, and after building rifle-pits retired to our old position, leaving the 39th to guard the pits. I was in command of the brigade part of the day as the general was sick.[1]
[Since this diary was written, I have found out that we formed the extreme right of the army, this right being refused so as to protect our rear. This brought us back to back with our troops right in front of us, our line being curved around like a fish-hook, and we forming the barb, as it were. It also turned us back to the enemy. There was a battery somewhere on our flank that was annoying us, and the rumor was that Willcox was to charge it and we were to support him. Anyway, the men were all lying down, and I was sitting with a cape of my coat thrown over my shoulder, leaning against the roots of an rooted pine tree. Shells and bullets would keep dropping every once in a while, but nothing hot or heavy. I finally got tired and threw my legs from one side of the trunk to the other. It was not more than five seconds after I had done this that a shell fired at our troops on the front of our line, along the long part of the fish-hook, as it were, came over them, and plunged through the roots of the pine tree, just grazing my shoulder and covering me all over with dirt. It dropped right at my feet. Had I not changed my position, I should have been taken square in the back and crushed to pieces. It made me very nervous about shells. Until then I had not minded them much. Sometimes they seem to burst in the air all around you and never do much harm, although occasionally one would be destructive. My men all jumped up, thinking I was killed ; but my usual luck attended me and I came out all right.]
[1] The fighting in these early days of June is known as the Battle of Cold Harbor.
