Introduction...........................at the battle of Fredericksburg, Virginia, Confederate General Robert E. Lee withdrew from the town and set up a line of defense in the hills west of Fredericksburg. Union General Ambrose E. Burnside, moved his troops across the Rappahannock River and attacked Lee. This scene is set late in the day, December 13, 1862, as General Daniel E. Butterfield’s Division makes a final attempt to capture Marye’s Heights, but has to withdraw leaving over 5,000 men, dead or wounded on the field for the day. Logan, in the 222nd Pennsylvania Volunteers Regiment, Company K, see’s they cannot make the stone wall:

Logan saw other regiments pulling back. We’ll be the only troops left on the hillside, he thought, and we’ll draw all the fire. Captain Bufford was down and Colonel Riechard was out of sight.
“Pull back, men, pull back,” Logan shouted, “drag the wounded.” Down the line, K Company was the last on the field. He crawled to where Corporal Warner was trying to load and fire. Grabbing him by the shoulder, he hollered, “Warner, pull back. Get your men back to that swale.”
Warner looked around and quickly shouted to his men to retreat. They began to fall back as ordered.
Taking a last look at their position Logan saw Corporal Spivey running toward the high water mark where Cook lay clutching his leg. “Damn, Spivey,” he cursed, “that’s suicide.” In spite of his feelings Logan ran to help.
“Drag him,” he shouted at Spivey.
“Lord, God, save us,” cried Cook. His eyes were rolling back in his head.
“This way,” yelled Logan pointing at the old house. The buzz of bullets increased and the noise was deafening. Logan felt as though he stepped on a hot nail but was able to keep his balance and pull Cook by the arm to the building. Three more steps to safety.
“Oooh,” exclaimed Spivey as they tumbled behind the shelter of the house. Spivey fell head first with his face in the grass.
“Are you h-h-hit?” asked Logan. He didn’t need an answer because a red stain began to form on the back of Spivey’s coat. Even in the fading light Logan could see the wound was bad.
Looking around, Logan saw at least thirty wounded men in the triangle of protection behind the stone foundation of the house. “The inside is full, too,” said a wounded soldier propped against the back wall. His long, gray beard had yellow tobacco stains around his mouth and his spectacles hung precariously on his nose. “But what a glorious sanctuary we have here.”
Logan tenderly lifted Spivey’s head out of the grass and placed it on his forage cap. Spivey opened his eyes and smiled. He tried to say something, but only a gurgle came out and he coughed. Bubbles of spit laced with blood spilled from his mouth.
“Rest easy, John,” said Logan quietly, “I’ll get you to a field hospital. That was a brave thing you did back there. Stupid, but brave.”
Logan’s foot was throbbing and he was tempted to remove his shoe and examine the wound but he turned his attention to Cook who was mumbling the Lord’s prayer. Logan pulled a cord from his pocket and placed it around Cook’s leg above the wound. Cook opened his eyes and moaned, “That hurts.”
“We’ve got to hold this tight for a while,” said Logan inserting a small stick into the twisted cord. “Hold on to this stick. If the bleeding starts again, give the stick another turn.”