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War from the inside

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Title: War from the inside
        the story of the 132nd Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry in the war for the suppression of the rebellion, 1862-1863

Author: Frederick L. Hitchcock


        
Release date: July 4, 2009 [eBook #29313]

Language: English

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WAR FROM THE INSIDE

[Illustration: COLONEL FREDERICK L. HITCHCOCK]

[Illustration:

MONUMENT OF 132D REGIMENT, P. V.
ERECTED BY THE STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA ON BATTLE-FIELD OF ANTIETAM, MD.
DEDICATED SEPT. 17, 1904

It stands about two hundred yards directly in front of the battle line
upon which this regiment fought, on the side of the famous "Sunken Road"
occupied by the Confederates.

This road has since been widened and macadamized as a government road
leading from "Bloody Lane" towards Sharpsburg.]



WAR FROM THE INSIDE

The Story of the 132nd Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry
in the War for the Suppression of the Rebellion
1862-1863

by

FREDERICK L. HITCHCOCK

Late Adjutant and Major
132nd Pennsylvania Volunteers.







Published by authority of the 132nd Regiment Pennsylvania
Volunteer Infantry Association.

Press of J. B. Lippincott Company
Philadelphia
1904

Copyright, 1903
by F. L. Hitchcock




PREFACE


This narrative was originally written without the least idea of
publication, but to gratify the oft-repeated requests of my children.
During the work, the ubiquitous newspaper reporter learned of it, and
persuaded me to permit its publication in a local paper, where it
appeared in weekly instalments. Since then the demand that I should put
it in more permanent form has been so persistent and wide-spread, that I
have been constrained to comply, and have carefully revised and in part
rewritten it. I have endeavored to confine myself to my own
observations, experiences, and impressions, giving the inner life of the
soldier as we experienced it. It was my good fortune to be associated
with one of the best bodies of men who took part in the great Civil War;
to share in their hardships and their achievements. For this I am
profoundly grateful. Their story is my own. If these splendid
gray-headed "boys"--those who have not yet passed the mortal
firing-line--shall find some pleasure in again tramping over that
glorious route, and recalling the historic scenes, and if the younger
generation shall gather inspiration for a like patriotic dedication to
country and to liberty, I shall be more than paid for my imperfect
work. In conclusion, I desire to acknowledge my indebtedness to Major
James W. Oakford, son of our intrepid colonel, who was the first of the
regiment to fall, and to Mr. Lewis B. Stillwell, son of that brave and
splendid officer, Captain Richard Stillwell, Company K, who was wounded
and disabled at Fredericksburg, for constant encouragement in the
preparation of the work and for assistance in its publication.

SCRANTON, PA., April 5, 1904.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                                             PAGE

I.--FIRST LESSONS; OR, DOING THE IMPOSSIBLE                           13

II.--THE ORGANIZATION AND MAKE-UP OF THE FIGHTING
MACHINE CALLED "THE ARMY"                                             22

III.--ON THE MARCH                                                    35

IV.--DRAWING NEAR THE ENEMY--BATTLE OF SOUTH MOUNTAIN--PRELIMINARY
SKIRMISHES                                                            46

V.--THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM                                            55

VI.--THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM--CONTINUED                                68

VII.--HARPER'S FERRY AND THE LEESBURG AND HALLTOWN EXPEDITIONS        79

VIII.--FROM HARPER'S FERRY TO FREDERICKSBURG                          94

IX.--THE FREDERICKSBURG CAMPAIGN                                     108

X.--THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG--CONTINUED                          120

XI.--WHY FREDERICKSBURG WAS LOST                                     132

XII.--LOST COLORS RECOVERED                                          141

XIII.--THE WINTER AT FALMOUTH                                        158

XIV.--THE WINTER AT FALMOUTH--CONTINUED                              179

XV.--THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE                                  200

XVI.--THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE--CONTINUED                      220

XVII.--THE MUSTER OUT AND HOME AGAIN                                 239

APPENDIX                                                             251




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


After the lapse of more than forty years, I hardly hoped to be able to
publish pictures of all our officers, and have been more than pleased to
secure so many. The others, I regret to say, could not be obtained. The
youthful appearance of these officers will be remarked. All, I believe,
with the exception of Colonel Oakford were below thirty years, and most
between twenty and twenty-five.

                                                                    PAGE

Colonel Frederick L. Hitchcock                            _Frontispiece_

The Monument                                         _Facing title-page_

Groups of Captains                                                    16

Group, Chaplain and Surgeons                                          22

Colonel Charles Albright                                              44

Colonel Vincent M. Wilcox                                             50

Colonel Richard A. Oakford                                            59

The Silenced Confederate Battery                                      62

The Sunken Road                                                       71

Field Hospital                                                        76

Groups of Lieutenants                                                120

Major Frederick L. Hitchcock                                         167

Don and I, and glimpse of Camp of Hancock's Division, Falmouth, Va.  171

Reunion 132d Regiment, P. V., 1891, on Battle-field of Antietam.     200




WAR FROM THE INSIDE




CHAPTER I

FIRST LESSONS; OR, DOING THE IMPOSSIBLE


I was appointed adjutant of the One Hundred and Thirty-second Regiment,
Pennsylvania Volunteers, by our great war Governor, Andrew G. Curtin, at
the solicitation of Colonel Richard A. Oakford, commanding the regiment,
my commission dating the 22d day of August, 1862. I reported for duty to
Colonel Oakford at Camp Whipple, where the regiment was then encamped,
on the 3d day of September, 1862. This was immediately following the
disasters of "Chantilly" and "Second Bull Run," and as I passed through
Washington to Camp Whipple, I found the greatest excitement prevailing
because of these reverses, and a general apprehension for the safety of
the capital in consequence. The wildest rumors were abroad concerning
the approach of the victorious rebel troops, and an alarm amounting
almost to a panic existed. Being without a horse or other means of
transportation, I was obliged to make my way, valise in hand, on foot
from Washington over the "long bridge" across the Potomac, to Camp
Whipple, some two miles up the river nearly opposite Georgetown. From
the wild rumors floating about Washington, I did not know but I should
be captured bag and baggage before reaching camp. Undertaking this trip
under those circumstances, I think, required almost as much nerve as
"real work" did later on.

Getting beyond the long bridge there were abundant evidences of the
reported disasters. Straggling troops, army wagons, etc., were pouring
in from the "front" in great disorder. I reached camp about three
o'clock P.M. and found Colonel Oakford out with the regiment on
battalion drill. An hour later I reported to his office (tent) as ready
for duty. The colonel had been a lifelong personal friend, and I was
received, as I expected, most cordially. I was assigned quarters, and a
copy of the daily routine orders of camp was placed in my hands, and my
attention specially called to the fact that the next "order of business"
was "dress parade" at six o'clock. I inquired the cause of this special
notice to me, and was informed that I was expected to officiate as
adjutant of the regiment at that ceremony. I pleaded with the colonel to
be allowed a day or so in camp to see how things were done before
undertaking such difficult and important duties; that I knew absolutely
nothing about any part of military service; had never served a day in
any kind of military work, except in a country fire company; had never
seen a dress parade of a full regiment in my life, and knew nothing
whatever about the duties of an adjutant.

My pleadings were all in vain. The only reply I received was a copy of
the "Army Regulations," with the remark that I had two hours in which to
study up and master the details of dress parade, and that I could not
learn my duties any easier nor better than by actual practice; that my
condition was no different from that of my fellow officers; that we were
all there in a camp of instruction learning our duties, and there was
not a moment to lose. I then began to realize something of the magnitude
of the task which lay before me. To do difficult things, without knowing
how; that is, to learn how in the doing, was the universal task of the
Union volunteer officer. I took up my "Army Regulations" and attacked
the ceremony of dress parade as a life and death matter. Before my two
hours were ended, I could repeat every sentence of the ceremony
verbatim, and felt that I had mastered the thing, and was not going to
my execution in undertaking my duties as adjutant. Alas for the frailty
of memory; it failed me at the crucial moment, and I made a miserable
spectacle of myself before a thousand officers and men, many of them old
friends and acquaintances, all of whom, it seemed to me, were specially
assembled on that occasion to witness my début, and see me get "balled
up." They were not disappointed. Things tactically impossible were
freely done during that ceremony. Looking back now upon that scene, from
the long distance of forty years, I see a green country boy undertaking
to handle one thousand men in the always difficult ceremony of a dress
parade. (I once heard Governor Hartranft, who attained the rank of a
major-general during the war, remark, as he witnessed this ceremony,
that he had seen thousands of such parades, and among them all, only one
that he considered absolutely faultless.) I wonder now that we got
through it at all. Think of standing to give your first command at the
right of a line of men five hundred abreast, that is, nearly one
thousand feet in length, and trying to make the men farthest away hear
your small, unused, and untrained voice. I now can fully forgive my
failure. The officers and men were considerate of me, however, and,
knowing what was to be done, went through with it after a fashion in
spite of my blunders.

The regiment was one of the "nine months'" quota; it had been in the
service barely two weeks at this time. It was made up of two companies,
I and K, from Scranton (Captains James Archbald, Company I, and Richard
Stillwell, Company K), Company A, Danville, Pa.; B, Factoryville; C,
Wellsboro and vicinity; E, Bloomsburg; F and G, Mauch Chunk, and H,
Catawissa. It numbered, officers and men, about one thousand. Its field
officers were Colonel Richard A. Oakford, Scranton; Lieutenant-Colonel
Vincent M. Wilcox, Scranton; Major Charles Albright, Mauch Chunk; staff,
Frederick L. Hitchcock, first lieutenant and adjutant, Scranton; Clinton
W. Neal, first lieutenant and quartermaster, Bloomsburg; Rev.
Schoonmaker, first lieutenant and chaplain, Scranton.

The transition from home life to that of an army in the field can only
be appreciated from a stand-point of actual experience. From a
well-ordered, well-cooked meal, served at a comfortable table with the
accessories of home, howsoever humble, to a "catch as catch can" way of
getting "grub," eating what, and when and where, you are fortunate
enough to get to eat; and from a good, comfortable bed, comfortably
housed in a comfortable home, to a blanket "shake down" under the
beautiful sky, mark some of the features of this transition.

[Illustration: CAPT. MARTIN M. BROBST CO. H]

[Illustration: CAPT. WARNER H. CARNOCHAN CO. D]

[Illustration: CAPT. GEO. W. WILHELM CO. F]

[Illustration: CAPT. SMITH W. INGHAM CO. B]

[Illustration: CAPT. CHAS. M'DOUGAL CO. C]

[Illustration: CAPT. RICHARD STILLWELL CO. K]

[Illustration: CAPT. JAMES ARCHBALD, JR. CO. I]

[Illustration: CAPT. CHARLES C. NORRIS CO. A]

[Illustration: CAPT. JACOB D. LACIAR CO. F]

[Illustration: CAPT. JACOB B. FLOYD CO. K]

[Illustration: CAPT. ROBERT A. ABBOTT CO. G]

Another feature is the utter change in one's individual liberty. To be
no longer the arbiter of your own time and movements, but to have it
rubbed into you at every turn that you are a very small part of an
immense machine, whose business is to march and fight; that your every
movement is under the control of your superior officers; that, in fact,
you have no will of your own that can be exercised; that your
individuality is for the time sunk, is a trial to an American freeman
which patriotism alone can overcome. Not the least feature of this
transition is the practical obliteration of the Lord's day. This is a
great shock to a Christian who has learned to love the Lord's day and
its hallowed associations. Routine duty, the march, the fighting, all go
right on, nothing stops for Sunday.

On the morning after reaching camp I had the pleasure of seeing
Major-General John Pope, who commanded the Union forces in the recent
battles of Chantilly and Second Bull Run, and his staff, riding past
camp into Washington. He hailed us with a cheery "Good-morning" in reply
to our salute. He did not look like a badly defeated general, though he
undoubtedly was--so badly, indeed, that he was never given any command
of importance afterwards.

On Saturday, September 6, we received orders to join the Army of the
Potomac--again under the command of "Little Mac"--at Rockville, Md.,
distant about eighteen miles. This was our first march. The day was
excessively hot, and Colonel Oakford received permission to march in the
evening. We broke camp about six o'clock P.M. It was a lovely moonlight
night, the road was excellent, and for the first six miles the march
was a delight. We marched quite leisurely, not making over two miles an
hour, including rests, nevertheless the last half of the distance was
very tiresome, owing to the raw and unseasoned condition of our men, and
the heavy load they were carrying. We reached the bivouac of the grand
Army of the Potomac, of which we were henceforth to be a part, at about
three o'clock the next morning. Three miles out from the main camp we
encountered the outpost of the picket line and were duly halted. The
picket officer had been informed of our coming, and so detained us only
long enough to satisfy himself that we were all right.

Here we encountered actual conditions of war with all its paraphernalia
for the first time. Up to this time we had been playing at war, so to
speak, in a camp of instruction. Now we were entering upon the thing
itself, with all its gruesome accessories. Everything here was business,
and awful business, too. Here were parks of artillery quiet enough just
now, but their throats will speak soon enough, and when they do it will
not be the harmless booming of Fourth of July celebrations. Here we pass
a bivouac of cavalry, and yonder on either side the road, in long lines
of masses, spread out like wide swaths of grain, lie the infantry behind
long rows of stacked guns. Here were upward of seventy-five thousand
men, all, except the cordon of pickets, sound asleep. In the midst of
this mighty host the stillness was that of a graveyard; it seemed almost
oppressive.

Halting the regiment, Colonel Oakford and I made our way to the
head-quarters of Major-General Sumner, commanding the Second Army Corps,
to whom the colonel was ordered to report. We finally found him asleep
in his head-quarters wagon. A tap on the canvas top of the wagon quickly
brought the response, "Hello! Who's there? What's wanted?"

Colonel Oakford replied, giving his name and rank, and that his regiment
was here to report to him, according to orders.

"Oh, yes, colonel, that is right," replied the general. "How many men
have you?"

Receiving the colonel's answer, General Sumner said:

"I wish you had ten times as many, for we need you badly. Glad you are
here, colonel. Make yourselves as comfortable as you can for the rest of
the night, and I will assign you to your brigade in the morning."

Here was a cordial reception and hospitality galore. "Make yourselves
comfortable"--in Hotel "Dame Nature!" Well, we were all weary enough to
accept the hospitality. We turned into the adjacent field, "stacked
arms," and in a jiffy were rolled up in our blankets and sound asleep.
The mattresses supplied by Madame Nature were rather hard, but her rooms
were fresh and airy, and the ceilings studded with the stars of glory.
My last waking vision that night was a knowing wink from Jupiter and
Mars, as much as to say, "sleep sweetly, we are here."

The morning sun was well up before we got ourselves together the next
morning. The "reveille" had no terrors for us greenhorns then. We found
ourselves in the midst of a division of the bronzed old Army of the
Potomac veterans. They were swarming all over us, and how unmercifully
they did guy us! A regiment of tenderfeet was just taffy for those
fellows. Did our "Ma's know we were out?" "Get off those purty duds."
"Oh, you blue cherub!" etc., etc., at the same time accepting (?)
without a murmur all the tobacco and other camp rarities they could
reach.

We were soon visited by Brigadier-General Nathan Kimball, a swarthy,
grizzly-bearded old gentleman, with lots of fire and energy in his eyes.
He told the colonel our regiment had been assigned to his brigade. He
directed the colonel to get the regiment in line, as he had something to
say to the men, after which he would direct us where to join his troops.
General Kimball commanded a brigade which had achieved a great
reputation under McClellan in his West Virginia campaign, and it had
been named by him the "Gibraltar brigade." It had also been through the
Peninsular and Second Bull Run campaigns. It had comprised the Fourth
and Eighth Ohio, Fourteenth Indiana and Seventh West Virginia regiments,
all of which had been reduced by hard service to mere skeleton
regiments. The Fourth Ohio had become so small as to require its
withdrawal from the army for recuperation, and our regiment was to take
its place.

To step into the shoes of one of these old regiments was business,
indeed, for us. Could we do it and keep up our end? It was certainly
asking a great deal of a two weeks' old regiment. But it was the making
of us. We were now a part of the old Gibraltar brigade. Our full address
now was "One Hundred and Thirty-second Pennsylvania Volunteers, First
Brigade, Third Division, Second Army Corps, Army of the Potomac." Our
own reputation we were now to make. We were on probation in the
brigade, so to speak. These veterans were proud, and justly so, of
their reputation. What our relation to that reputation was to be, we
could see was a mooted question with them. They guyed us without measure
until the crucial test, the "baptism of fire," had been passed. This
occurred just ten days later, at the battle of Antietam, the greatest
battle of the war thus far, where for four bloody hours we held our
section of the brigade line as stanch as a rock. Here we earned our
footing. Henceforth we belonged to them. There was never another
syllable of guying, but in its place the fullest meed of such praise and
comradeship as is born only of brave and chivalrous men.




CHAPTER II

THE ORGANIZATION AND MAKE-UP OF THE FIGHTING MACHINE CALLED "THE ARMY."


We remained a day in bivouac after joining the Gibraltar brigade at
Rockville, during which rations of fresh beef, salt pork, and "hardtack"
(the boys' nickname for hard bread) were issued to the army, also
ammunition.

The method of issuing rations was as follows: Colonels of regiments were
directed to send in requisitions for so many days' rations, depending on
the movements on hand, of hard bread and pork, and usually one day's
rations of fresh beef. At brigade head-quarters these requisitions were
consolidated, making the brigade requisition, and forwarded to division
head-quarters. Here they were again consolidated into a division
requisition, and so on until the army head-quarters was reached. Then
the corps commissary received in bulk enough for his corps, and
distributed it to the divisions in bulk, thence to brigades in bulk,
thence to regiments, and finally from the regiment to the companies, and
to the men. A long string of red tape, surely; and it might have been
considerably shortened to the advantage of all, as it was later on.

[Illustration: REV. A. H. SCHOONMAKER CHAPLAIN]

[Illustration: J. W. ANAWALT MAJOR AND SURGEON]

[Illustration: G. K. THOMPSON FIRST LIEUT. AND ASS'T SURGEON]

An interesting feature of the issue of rations was the method of
supplying the fresh beef. Live cattle were driven to the army and issued
alive to the several corps, from which details were made of men who
had been butchers, who killed and dressed the beef. The animals were
driven into an enclosure and expert marksmen shot them down as wanted.
This seemed cruel work, but it was well done; the animal being hit
usually at the base of its horns, death was instantaneous. This fresh
meat, which we got but seldom after the march began, was cooked and
eaten the day it was issued. Enough for one day was all that was issued
at a time, and this, after the non-eatable portions had been eliminated,
did not overburden the men.

The hard bread was a square cracker about the size of an ordinary soda
cracker, only thicker, and very hard and dry. It was supposed to be of
the same quality as sea biscuit or pilot bread, but I never saw any
equal to that article. The salt pork was usually good for pork, but it
was a great trial to us all to come down to camp fare, "hardtack and
pork." Sometimes the "hardtack" was very old and poor. I have seen many
a one placed in the palm of the hand, a smart blow, a puff of breath,
and mirabile! a handful of "squirmers"--the boys' illustration of a
"full hand." It came to be the rule to eat in daylight for protection
against the unknown quantity in the hardtack. If we had to eat in the
dark, after a prolonged march, our protection then lay in breaking our
cracker into a cup of boiling coffee, stir it well and then flow enough
of the coffee over to carry off most of the strangers and take the
balance on faith.

On the march each man carried his own rations in haversacks. These were
made of canvas and contained pockets for salt, sugar and coffee, besides
room for about two days' rations of hard bread and pork. Sometimes
five, six, and seven days' rations were issued, then the balance had to
be stowed away in knapsacks and pockets of the clothing. When, as was
usual in the latter cases, there was also issued sixty to one hundred
rounds of ammunition, the man became a veritable pack-mule.

For the first month many of our men went hungry. Having enormous
appetites consequent upon this new and most strenuous mode of life, they
would eat their five days' supply in two or three, and then have to
"skirmish" or go hungry until the next supply was issued. Most, however,
soon learned the necessity as well as the benefit of restricting their
appetites to the supply. But there were always some improvident ones,
who never had a supply ahead, but were always in straights for grub.
They were ready to black boots, clean guns, in fact, do any sort of
menial work for their comrades for a snack to eat. Their improvidence
made them the drudges of the company.

Whatever may be said about other portions of the rations, the coffee was
always good. I never saw any poor coffee, and it was a blessing it was
so, for it became the soldiers' solace and stay, in camp, on picket and
on the march. Tired, footsore, and dusty from the march, or wet and cold
on picket, or homesick and shivering in camp, there were rest and
comfort and new life in a cup of hot coffee. We could not always have it
on picket nor on the march. To make a cup of coffee two things were
necessary besides the coffee, namely, water and fire, both frequently
very difficult to obtain. On picket water was generally plentiful, but
in the immediate presence of the enemy, fire was forbidden, for obvious
reasons. On the march both were usually scarce, as I shall show later
on. How was our coffee made? Each man was provided with a pint tin cup.
As much coffee as could comfortably be lifted from the haversack by the
thumb and two fingers--depending somewhat on the supply--was placed in
the cup, which was filled about three-fourths full of water, to leave
room for boiling. It was then placed upon some live coals and brought to
a boil, being well stirred in the meantime to get the strength of the
coffee. A little cold water was then added to settle it. Eggs, gelatin,
or other notions of civilization, for settling, were studiously (?)
omitted. Sometimes sugar was added, but most of the men, especially the
old vets, took it straight. It was astonishing how many of the "wrinkles
of grim visaged war" were temporarily smoothed out by a cup of coffee.
This was the mainstay of our meals on the march, a cup of coffee and a
thin slice of raw pork between two hardtacks frequently constituting a
meal. Extras fell in the way once in a while. Chickens have been known
to stray into camp, the result of a night's foraging.

Among the early experiences of our boys was an incident related to me by
the "boy" who was "it." He said he had a mighty narrow escape last
night.

I asked, "How was that?"

"Out hunting for chickens, struck a farmhouse, got a nice string, and
was sneaking my way out. Dark as tar. Ran up against man, who grabbed me
by the collar, and demanded 'what are you doing here?' I was mum as an
owl. He marched me out where there was a flickering light, and sure as
blazes it was old General Kimball. I didn't know that house was brigade
head-quarters.

"'What regiment do you belong to?'

"'Dunno.'

"'You've heard about the orders against marauding, eh?'

"'Dunno.'

"'Hand up those chickens, you rascal.'

"I handed them out from behind my shaking legs.

"'How many have you got?'

"'Dunno'--I had two pair of nice ones. The old man took out his knife
and slowly cut out one pair, looking savagely at me all the time.

"'There! You get back to camp as quick as your legs will carry you, and
if I ever get my hands on you again you'll remember it.'" He said he
thought he'd try and forage away from head-quarters next time. General
Kimball was a rigid disciplinarian, but withal a very kind-hearted man.
He no doubt paid for those chickens rather than have one of his boys
suffer for his foraging escapade. Perhaps I ought to say a word about
these foraging expeditions to eke out the boys' larder. These men were
not thieves in any sense and very few attempted this dubious method, but
the temptation was almost beyond the power of resistance. The best way
to test this temptation is to diet yourself on "hardtack" and pork for
just about one week. Then the devil's argument--always present--was
practically true there, "the chickens will be taken (not stolen) by some
of the army, and you might as well have one as anybody."

The following story of a neighboring regiment will show that even
officers high in rank sometimes found that "circumstances alter cases."
The troops were nearing bivouac at the close of the day, and, as usual,
the colonel ordered the music to start up and the men to fall into step
and approach camp in order (the march is usually in route step,--_i.e._,
every man marches and carries his gun as he pleases). The fifes and the
snare-drums promptly obeyed, but the big bass drum was silent. The men
fell into cadence step in fine shape, including the bass drummer, but
his big shell gave forth no sound. The colonel called out, "What's the
matter with the bass drum?" Still no response. A second ejaculation from
head-quarters, a little more emphatic, fared no better. Patience now
exhausted, the colonel yelled, "What in h----l's the matter, I say,
with----" when a sotto voice reached his ear, with "Colonel, colonel,
he's got a pair of chickens in his drum, and one is for you." "Well, if
the poor fellow is sick, let him fall out."

A little explanation now about how the army is organized will probably
make my story clearer. That an army is made of three principal arms,
viz., artillery, cavalry, and infantry, is familiar to all; that the
cavalry is mounted is also well known, but that in actual fighting they
were often dismounted and fought as infantry may not be familiar to all.
The cavalry and infantry--or foot troops--are organized practically
alike, viz., first into companies of 101 men and officers; second, into
regiments of ten companies, or less, of infantry and twelve companies,
more or less, of cavalry, two or more companies of cavalry constituting
a "squadron," and a like number of companies of infantry a "battalion;"
third, into brigades of two or more--usually four--regiments; fourth,
divisions of two or more--usually three--brigades; fifth, army corps,
any number of divisions--usually not more than three. Logically, the
rank of officers commanding these several subdivisions would be colonel,
commanding a regiment; brigadier-general, his rank being indicated by
one star, a brigade; a major-general, two stars, a division; a
lieutenant-general, three stars, an army corps; and the whole army a
general, his rank being indicated by four stars. This was carried out by
the Confederates in the organization of their armies. But not so with
ours. With few exceptions--ours being one--the brigades were commanded
by the senior colonels, and towards the end of the war this was
sometimes temporarily true of divisions; the divisions by brigadiers,
whilst we had no higher rank than that of major-general until General
Grant was made, first, lieutenant-general, and finally general.

The artillery was organized into companies commonly called batteries.
There were two branches, heavy and light artillery. The former were
organized more like infantry, marched on foot and were armed with
muskets in addition to the heavy guns they were trained to use. The
latter were used against fortifications and were rarely brought into
field work. The light artillery were mounted either on the horses or on
the gun-carriages, and, though organized into a separate corps under the
direction of the chief of artillery, were usually distributed among the
divisions, one or two batteries accompanying each division.

In addition to these chief branches of the service, there was the signal
corps, the "eyes" of the army, made up mostly of young lieutenants and
non-commissioned officers detailed from the several regiments. There
were two such officers from Scranton, namely, Lieutenant Fred. J.
Amsden, One Hundred and Thirty-sixth Pennsylvania Volunteers, and
Lieutenant Frederick Fuller, Fifty-second Pennsylvania Volunteers,
besides a number of enlisted men.

Another important branch of the service was the telegraph corps. It was
remarkable the celerity with which wires would be run along the ground
and on brush, day by day, keeping the several corps constantly in touch
with the commanding general. There were comparatively few telegraph
operators that could be detailed, and many had to be hired,--some boys
who were too young to enlist. Dr. J. Emmet O'Brien, of this city, was
one of the most efficient of the latter class.

It was Dr. O'Brien, then operating below Petersburg, who caught the
telegraphic cipher of the rebels and by tapping their wires caught many
messages which were of material assistance to General Grant in the
closing movements of the war. It was he also who in like manner caught
the movements of Jeff Davis and his cabinet in their efforts to escape,
and put General Wilson on his track, resulting in his final capture. Mr.
Richard O'Brien, the doctor's older brother, for many years
superintendent of the Western Union Telegraph lines in this end of the
State, was at that time Government Superintendent of Telegraphs, in
charge of all its telegraphic operations in Virginia and North Carolina.
He could tell many a hair-raising experience. He related to me the
following incident, which occurred during Grant's operations around
Petersburg, to illustrate the enterprise of the enemy in trying to get
our telegrams, and the necessity of sending all messages in cipher. They
never succeeded in translating the Union cipher. But one day an operator
at Washington, either too lazy or too careless to put his message in
cipher, telegraphed to the chief commissary at a place below City Point
that fifteen hundred head of beef cattle would be landed at that point
on a certain day. The message was caught by the rebels. The beef cattle
were landed on time, but in the meantime Wade Hampton had swept in with
a division of rebel cavalry and was waiting to receive the cattle. With
them were captured a handsome lot of rations and a number of prisoners,
including all of Mr. O'Brien's telegraph operators at that post. Mr.
O'Brien said he cared a good deal more about the loss of his operators
than he did for the loss of the cattle and rations, for it was very hard
to get competent operators at that time. There was at least one vacancy
at Washington following this incident.

Still another arm of the service was the pontoniers, whose duty it was
to bridge non-fordable rivers. They were armed and drilled as infantry,
but only for their own protection. Their specialty was laying and
removing pontoon bridges. A pontoon train consisted of forty to fifty
wagons, each carrying pontoon boats, with plank and stringers for
flooring and oars and anchors for placing. In laying a bridge these
boats were anchored side by side across the stream, stringers made fast
across them, and plank then placed on the stringers. Every piece was
securely keyed into place so that the bridge was wide enough and strong
enough for a battery of artillery and a column of infantry to go over at
the same time. The rapidity with which they would either lay or take up
a bridge was amazing. If undisturbed they would bridge a stream two
hundred yards wide in thirty minutes. They bridged the Rappahannock at
Fredericksburg under fire on the 12th of December, 1863, in a little
over an hour, losing heavily in the act.

Having now given some account of the organization of this great
human fighting machine, it will be proper to show how it was
handled. For this purpose there were four staff departments,
namely, the adjutant-general's, the quartermaster-general's, the
commissary-general's, and the ordnance departments. The first named was
the mouth-piece of the army. All orders were issued by and through that
officer. It was the book-keeper of the army. Each subdivision of the
army had its adjutant-general down to the office of adjutant in the
regiment, who was charged with issuing all orders, and with attending to
their execution. He was secretary, so to speak, of the commanding
officer, and his chief executive officer as well. Extraordinary
executive talent and tireless energy were required in these positions.
The adjutant must be able at all times to inform his chief of the
condition of every detail of the command whether an army corps or
regiment, exactly how many men were fit for duty, how many sick or
disabled, and just where they all are. In fact, he must be a walking
encyclopædia of the whole command; added to this he was usually chief of
staff, and must be in the saddle superintending every movement of the
troops. Always first on duty, his work was never finished.

Two of the best adjutants-general the world has produced literally wore
themselves out in the service--Seth Williams and John B. Rawlins. The
first named was McClellan's adjutant-general, the latter was Grant's.
McClellan is credited with having organized the grand old Army of the
Potomac, the main fighting force by which the rebellion was finally
crushed. This was doubtless true, he being its first commanding officer.
But the executive ability by which that magnificent machine was
perfected was largely the work of Seth Williams, a very quiet, modest
man, but a master of the minutest details of every department and an
indefatigable worker. It was said his chief could wake him in the middle
of the night and get from his memory a correct answer as to the number
of men fit for duty in any one of the hundreds of regiments in the army,
and just where it was, and what duty it was doing. When one remembers
that this knowledge was acquired only by a daily perusal of the
consolidated reports of the various regiments, brigades, divisions, and
corps of the army, and that he could have found time for one reading
only, it will be seen how marvellous his memory was.

Rawlins was said to possess much the same quality. It may truthfully be
said that the Army of the Potomac was organized and began its remarkable
career in the life blood of Seth Williams, and it completed its work in
a blaze of glory, in the life blood of John B. Rawlins. Seth Williams
died in the service. Rawlins came home with the victorious army only to
die. A beautiful bronze equestrian statue was erected at Washington
under the influence of his beloved chief, Grant, to commemorate the
services of Rawlins. So far as I know, Seth Williams shares the fate of
most of his humbler comrades,--an unmarked grave.

I have said all orders were sent out through the adjutant-general's
office. This, of course, applies to all regular routine work only, for
during the movements of troops on campaigns and in battle orders had in
the nature of the case to be delivered verbally. For this purpose each
general had a number of aides-de-camp. In sending such orders, the
utmost courtesy was always observed. The formula was usually thus,
"General Kimball presents his compliments to Colonel Oakford and directs
that he move his regiment to such and such a point." To which Colonel
Oakford responds returning his compliments to General Kimball and says
"his order directing so and so has been received and shall be
immediately obeyed."

The quartermaster's department was charged with all matters connected
with transportation; with the supplying of clothing, canvas, and
equipage of all sorts. Both the commissary and the ordnance departments
were dependent upon the quartermaster for the transportation of their
respective stores. The wagon trains required by the Army of the Potomac
for all this service were prodigious. They were made up of four and six
mule teams with heavy "prairie schooners" or canvas-covered wagons. I
have seen two thousand of them halted for the night in a single park,
and such trains on the march six to ten miles long were not unusual. It
will readily be seen that to have them within easy reach, and prevent
their falling into the hands of an alert enemy, was a tremendous problem
in all movements of the army.

The army mule has been much caricatured, satirized, and abused, but the
soldier had no more faithful or indispensable servant than this same
patient, plodding, hard-pulling, long-eared fellow of the roomy voice
and nimble heels. The "boys" told a story which may illustrate the
mule's education. A "tenderfoot" driver had gotten his team stalled in a
mud hole, and by no amount of persuasion could he get them to budge an
inch. Helpers at the wheels and new hands on the lines were all to no
purpose. A typical army bummer had been eying the scene with
contemptuous silence. Finally he cut loose:

"Say! You 'uns dunno the mule language. Ye dunno the dilec. Let a
perfesser in there."

He was promptly given the job. He doffed cap and blouse, marched up to
those mules as if he weighed a ton and commanded the army. Clearing away
the crowd, he seized the leader's line, and distending his lungs, he
shot out in a voice that could have been heard a mile a series of
whoops, oaths, adjectives, and billingsgate that would have silenced the
proverbial London fish vender. The mules recognized the "dilec" at once,
pricked up their ears and took the load out in a jiffy.

"Ye see, gents, them ar mules is used to workin' with a perfesser."

The commissary department supplied the rations, and the ordnance
department the arms and ammunition, etc. Still another branch of the
service was the provost-marshal's department. This was the police force
of the army. It had the care and custody of all prisoners, whether those
arrested for crime, or prisoners of war--those captured from the enemy.
In the case of prisoners sentenced to death by court-martial, the
provost guard were their executioners.




CHAPTER III

ON THE MARCH


We are bound northward through Maryland, the vets tell us, on a chase
after the rebs. The army marches in three and four parallel columns,
usually each corps in a column by itself, and distant from the other
columns equal to about its length in line of battle, say a half to
three-fourths of a mile. Roads were utilized as far as practicable, but
generally were left to the artillery and the wagon trains, whilst the
infantry made roads for themselves directly through the fields.

The whole army marches surrounded by "advance and rear guards," and
"flankers," to prevent surprise. Each column is headed by a corps of
pioneers who, in addition to their arms, are provided with axes, picks
and shovels, with the latter stone walls and fences are levelled
sufficiently to permit the troops to pass, and ditches and other
obstructions covered and removed. It is interesting to see how quickly
this corps will dispose of an ordinary stone wall or rail fence. They go
down so quickly that they hardly seem to pause in their march.

We learn that the Johnnies are only a couple of days ahead of us. That
they marched rapidly and were on their good behavior, all marauding
being forbidden, and they were singing a new song, entitled "My
Maryland," thus trying to woo this loyal border State over to the
Confederacy. We were told that Lee hung two soldiers for stealing
chickens and fruit just before they entered Frederick City.

Much could be written about the discomforts of these marches, the chief
of which was the dust more than the heat and the fatigue. No rain had
fallen for some time, and the roads and the fields through which we
passed were powdered into fine dust, which arose in almost suffocating
clouds, so that mouth, lungs, eyes, and ears were filled with it.
Sometimes it became so dense that men could not be seen a dozen yards
away. The different regiments took turns in heading the columns. There
was comparative comfort at the head, but there were so many regiments
that during the whole campaign our regiment enjoyed this privilege but
once.

Another feature of the march was inability to satisfy thirst. The dust
and heat no doubt produced an abnormal thirst which water did not seem
to satisfy. The water we could get was always warm, and generally muddy
and filthy. The latter was caused by the multitude of men using the
little streams, springs, or wells. Either of these, ordinarily abundant
for many more than ever used them, were hardly a cup full apiece for a
great army. Hence many a scrimmage took place for the first dash at a
cool well or spring. On our second or third day's march, such a scrap
took place between the advanced columns for a well, and in the mêlée one
man was accidentally pushed down into it, head first, and killed. He
belonged to one of the Connecticut regiments, I was told. We passed by
the well, and were unable to get water, because a dead soldier lay at
the bottom of it. His regiment probably got his body out, but we had to
march on without stopping to learn whether they did or not. The problem
of water for our army we found to be a troublesome one. Immediately we
halted, much of our rest would be taken up in efforts to get water. We
lost no opportunity to fill our canteens. Arriving in bivouac for the
night, the first thing was a detail to fill canteens and camp kettles
for supper coffee. We always bivouacked near a stream, if possible. But,
then, so many men wanting it soon roiled it for miles, so that our
details often had to follow the stream up three and four miles before
they could get clean water. This may seem a strong statement, but if one
will stop a moment and think of the effect upon even a good-sized
stream, of a hundred thousand men, besides horses and mules, all wanting
it for drinking, cooking, washing, and bathing (both the latter as
peremptory needs as the former), he will see that the statement is no
exaggeration.

An interesting feature of our first two days' march was the clearing out
of knapsacks to reduce the load. Naturally each man was loaded with
extras of various sorts, knicknacks of all varieties, but mostly
supposed necessaries of camp life, put in by loving hands at home, a
salve for this, a medicine for that, a keepsake from one and another,
some the dearest of earth's treasures, each insignificant in itself, yet
all taking room and adding weight to over-burdened shoulders. At the
mid-day halt, on the first day knapsacks being off for rest, they came
open and the sorting began. It was sad, yet comical withal, to notice
the things that went out. The most bulky and least treasured went first.
At the second halting, an hour later, still another sorting was made.
The sun was hot and the knapsack was heavy. After the second day's
march, those knapsacks contained little but what the soldier was
compelled to carry, his rations, extra ammunition, and clothing. Were
these home treasures lost? Oh, no! Not one. Our friends, the vets,
gathered them all in as a rich harvest. They had been there themselves,
and knowing what was coming, were on hand to gather the plums as they
fell. The only difference was, that another mother's or sweetheart's
"boy" got the treasures.

On September 11 we were approaching Frederick City. Our cavalry had a
skirmish with the rebel cavalry, showing that we were nearing their
army. And right here I ought to say that what an individual officer or
soldier--unless perhaps a general officer--knows of events transpiring
around him in the army is very little. Even the movements he sees, he is
seldom able to understand, his vision is so limited. He knows what his
own regiment and possibly his own brigade does, but seldom more than
that. He is as often the victim of false rumor as to movements of other
portions of the army, as those who are outside of it. On this date we
encamped near Clarksville. It was rumored that the rebels were in force
at Frederick City. How far away that is we do not know. The only
certainty about army life and army movements to the soldier is a
constant condition of uncertainty. Uncertainty as to where or when he
will eat, sleep, or fight, where or when the end will come. One would
almost doubt the certainty of his own existence, except for the hard
knocks which make this impossible.

The celebrated Irish brigade, commanded by Brigadier-General Thomas
Francis Meagher, was in Richardson's division. They were a "free and
easy" going crowd. General Richardson impressed me as a man of great
determination and courage. He was a large, heavy man, dressed roughly
and spoke and acted very brusquely. French (who commanded our division)
was also thick-set, probably upwards of sixty years old, quite gray and
with a very red face. He had an affection of the eyes which kept him
winking or blinking constantly, from which he earned the sobriquet, "Old
Blink Eye." I saw General Burnside about this time. He was dressed so as
to be almost unrecognizable as a general officer; wore a rough blouse,
on the collar of which a close look revealed two much-battered and faded
stars, indicating his rank of major-general. He wore a black "slouch"
hat, the brim well down over his face, and rode along with a single
orderly, without the least ostentation. The men of the other regiments
knew him and broke out into a cheer, at which he promptly doffed his hat
and swung it at the boys. His hat off, we recognized the handsome author
of the "Burnside" whiskers. He was not only very popular with his own
corps--the Ninth--but with the whole army, and chiefly, I think, because
of his modest, quiet way of going about. This was so different from
General McClellan.

On our third day's march we were halted for rest, when an orderly rode
through the lines saying to the different colonels, "General McClellan
will pass this way in ten minutes." This meant that we were to be ready
to cheer "Little Mac" when he came along, which, of course, we all did.
He came, preceded by a squadron of cavalry and accompanied by a very
large and brilliantly caparisoned staff, followed by more cavalry. He
was dressed in the full uniform of a major-general and rode a superb
horse, upon which he sat faultlessly. He was certainly a fine-looking
officer and a very striking figure. But whether all this "fuss and
feathers" was designed to impress the men, or was a freak of personal
vanity, it did not favorably impress our men. Many of the old vets, who
had been with him on the Peninsula, and now greeted him again after his
reinstatement, were very enthusiastic. But notwithstanding their
demonstrations, they rather negatived their praises by the remark, "No
fight to-day; Little Mac has gone to the front." "Look out for a fight
when he goes to the rear." On the other hand, they said when "Old Man
Sumner"--our corps commander--"goes to the front, look out for a fight."

General Sumner was an old man--must have been nearly seventy--gray, and
his color indicated advanced age, though he seemed quite vigorous. He
went about very quietly and without display. He had a singular habit of
dropping his under jaw, so that his mouth was partially open much of the
time.

We bivouacked on the 12th of September in front of Frederick City, Md.,
in a field occupied the night before by the rebels, so the people told
us, and there was abundant evidence of their presence in the filth they
left uncovered, for they had slaughtered beef for their troops and the
putrid offal therefrom was polluting the air. Still there we had to
sleep. We marched the latter part of the day in the rain, and were soon
well covered with mud. We managed to keep some of the water out with our
gum blankets, and when we came to fix for the night, the men going in
pairs made themselves fairly comfortable under their shelter tents. I
should have explained that the only "canvas" supplied to the men on the
march was shelter tents, which consisted of a square of stout muslin
with button-holes on one side and buttons on the other. Two of these
buttoned together and stretched taut over a ridge-pole and made fast on
the ground, would keep out the heaviest shower, provided the occupants
were careful not to touch the muslin. A hand or elbow accidentally
thrust against the tent brought the water through in streams. There is a
knack in doing this, which the experience of the vets with whom we were
brigaded soon taught us. Choosing ground a little slanting, so the water
would run away from them, they would sleep fairly dry and comfortable,
even in a hard storm. As for us officers who were without shelter tents,
we had to shift for ourselves as best we might. A favorite plan, when
fences were available, was to place three or four rails endwise against
the fence and make a shelter by fastening a gum blanket on top.

This worked fairly well against a stone wall for a backing, but against
an ordinary fence one side was unprotected, yet with another gum
blanket, two of us could so roll ourselves up as to be comparatively
water-proof. My diary states that in a driving rainstorm here I never
slept better in my life. I remember awakening with my head thoroughly
drenched, but otherwise comparatively dry.

This night I succeeded in getting a "bang up" supper--a cooked meal--at
a reb farm-house. It consisted of pork-steak, potatoes, and hot coffee
with bread and butter. It was a great treat. I had now been without a
square meal for nearly ten days. The old gentleman, a small farmer,
talked freely about the war, not concealing his rebel sympathies. He
extolled Stonewall Jackson and his men, who, he said, had passed through
there only a day ahead of us. He firmly believed we would be whipped. He
evidently had an eye for the "main chance," for he was quite willing to
cook for us at twenty-five cents a meal, as long as he had stuff to cook
and his good wife had strength to do the work. She seemed to be a nice
old lady, and, hungry as I was, I felt almost unwilling to eat her
supper, she looked so tired. I told her it was too bad. She smiled and
said she was tired, but she couldn't bear to turn away these hungry
boys. She said she had a son in the rebel army, and she knew we must be
hungry and wet, for it was still raining hard.

The officers at this time experienced difficulty in getting food to eat.
The men were supplied with rations and forced to carry them, but rations
were not issued to officers--though they might purchase of the
commissary such as the men had, when there was a supply. The latter were
supposed to provide their own mess, for which purpose their mess-kits
were transported in a wagon supplied to each regiment. The field and
staff usually made one mess, and the line or company officers another.
Sometimes the latter messed with their own men, carrying their rations
along on the march the same as the men. This was discouraged by the
government, but it proved the only way to be sure of food when needed,
and was later on generally adopted. We had plenty of food with our
mess-kit and cook, but on the march, and especially in the presence of
the enemy, our wagons could never get within reach of us. Indeed, when
we bivouacked, they were generally from eight to ten miles away. The
result was we often went hungry, unless we were able to pick up a meal
at a farm-house--which seldom occurred, for the reason that most of
these farmers were rebel sympathizers and would not feed us "Yanks," or
they would be either sold out, or stolen out, of food. The tale
generally told was, "You 'uns has stolen all we 'uns had." This accounts
for the entry in my diary that the next morning I marched without
breakfast, but got a good bath in the Monocacy--near which we
encamped--in place of it. I got a "hardtack" and bit of raw pork about
10 A.M.

On the 13th of September, we passed through the city of Frederick, Md.
It is a quaint old town, having then probably three thousand or more
inhabitants and a decided business air. The rebels, they claimed, had
cleaned them out of eatables and clothing, paying for them in
Confederate scrip, and one man told me they would not take the same
scrip in change, but required Union money; that this was demanded
everywhere. General McClellan passed through the streets while we were
halted, as did General Burnside shortly after. A funny incident occurred
with the latter. General Burnside, as usual, was accompanied by a single
orderly, and had stopped a moment to speak to some officers, when a
handsome, middle-aged lady stepped out of her house and approached. She
put out her hand and, as the general clasped it, she raised herself up
on her toes in an unmistakable motion to greet him with a kiss.

The general so understood her, and, doffing his hat, bent down to meet
her pouting lips, but, alas, he was too high up; bend as low as he might
and stretch up as high as she could, their lips did not meet, and the
kiss hung in mid-air. The boys caught the situation in a moment, and
began to laugh and clap their hands, but the general solved the problem
by dismounting and taking his kiss in the most gallant fashion, on which
he was roundly cheered by the men. The lady was evidently of one of the
best families. She said she was a stanch Union woman, and was so glad to
see our troops that she felt she must greet our general. There was
"method in her madness," however, for she confined her favors to a
general, and picked out the handsomest one of the lot. It is worthy of
note, that during this incident, which excited uproarious laughter, not
a disrespectful remark was made by any of the hundreds of our "boys" who
witnessed it. General Burnside chatted with her for a few moments, then
remounted and rode away.

Approaching Frederick City, the country is exceptionally beautiful and
the land seemed to be under a good state of cultivation. In front of us
loomed up almost against the sky the long ridge called the South
Mountain. It was evidently a spur of the Blue Ridge. Another incident
occurred soon after reaching bivouac, just beyond the city. We had
arranged for our night's "lodging" and were preparing supper, when one
of the native farmers came into camp and asked to see the colonel.
Colonel Oakford and Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox were temporarily absent,
and he was turned over to Major Albright, to whom he complained that
"you 'uns" had stolen his last pig and he wanted pay for it. The major,
who was a lawyer, began to cross-question him as to how he knew it was
our men who had stolen it; there were at least fifty other regiments
besides ours on the ground. But he would not be denied.

[Illustration: COLONEL CHARLES ALBRIGHT]

He said they told him they was "a hundred and thirty-two uns," and he
also saw those figures on their caps. The major asked how long ago they
took it. He replied that they got it only a little while ago, and
offered to go and find it if the major would allow him. But the latter
was confident he was mistaken in his men--that some of the old "vets"
had got his pig. His chief argument was that our men were greenhorns and
knew nothing about marauding; that some of the "vets" had doubtless made
away with his pig and had laid it on our men. So persuasive was the
major that the man finally went off satisfied that he had made a mistake
in his men. The man was only well out of camp when one of our men
appeared at the major's quarters with a piece of fresh pork for his
supper, with the compliments of Company----. Now, the orders against
marauding were very severe, and to have been caught would have involved
heavy punishment. But the chief point of the incident, and which made it
a huge joke on the major, lay in the fact that the latter who was a
thoroughly conscientious man, had successfully fought off a charge
against his men, whom he really believed to be innocent, only to find
that during the very time he was persuading his man of their innocence,
the scamps were almost within sound of his voice, actually butchering
and dressing the pig. How they managed to capture and kill that pig,
without a single squeal escaping, is one of the marvels of the service.
Certainly vets could have done no better. The man was gone, the mischief
was done, the meat was spoiling, and we were very hungry. With rather
cheerful sadness, it must be confessed, we became _particeps criminis_,
and made a supper on the pork.




CHAPTER IV

DRAWING NEAR THE ENEMY--BATTLE OF SOUTH MOUNTAIN--PRELIMINARY SKIRMISHES


Sunday, September 15, we broke camp at daylight and marched out on the
Hagerstown "pike." Our division had the field this day. We crossed the
ridge in rear of Frederick City and thence down into and up a most
beautiful valley. We made only about seven miles, though we actually
marched over twelve. We were in the presence of the enemy and were
manoeuvred so as to keep concealed. We heard heavy cannonading all
day, and part of the time could see our batteries, towards which we were
marching.

Towards night we heard the first musketry firing. It proved to be the
closing of the short but sanguinary battle of South Mountain. General
Reno, commanding the Ninth Corps, whose glistening bayonets we had seen
across the valley ahead of us, had overtaken the rebel rear guard in
South Mountain pass and a severe action had ensued. General Reno himself
was killed. His body was brought back next morning in an ambulance on
its way to Washington. We reached the battle-ground about midnight,
whither we had been hurried as supports. The batteries on both sides
were still at work, but musketry firing had ceased. It had been a
beautiful though very warm day, and the night was brilliantly
moonlight, one of those exceptionally bright nights which almost
equalled daylight. And this had been Sunday--the Lord's day! How
dreadful the work for the Lord's day!

Here I saw the first dead soldier. Two of our artillerymen had been
killed while serving their gun. Both were terribly mangled. They had
been laid aside, while others stepped into their places. There they
still lay, horrible evidence of the "hell of war." Subsequently I saw
thousands of the killed on both sides, which made scarcely more
impression on me than so many logs, but this first vision of the awful
work of war still remains. Even at this writing, forty years later,
memory reproduces that horrible scene as clearly as on that beautiful
Sabbath evening.

It was past midnight when we bivouacked for the little rest we were to
have before resuming the "chase." Being now in the immediate "presence
of the enemy," we rested on "our arms," that is, every soldier lay down
with his gun at his side, and knapsack and accoutrements ready to be
"slung" immediately on the sounding of the "call." We officers did not
unsaddle our horses, but dismounted and snatched an hour's sleep just as
we were. Bright and early next morning we were on our way again. It was
a most beautiful morning.

We soon passed the field where the musketry did its work the night
before, and there were more than a hundred dead rebels scattered over
the field, as the result of it. Two or three were sitting upright, or
nearly so, against stumps. They had evidently been mortally wounded, and
died while waiting for help. All were dressed in coarse
butternut-colored stuffs, very ugly in appearance, but admirably well
calculated to conceal them from our troops.

We rapidly passed over the mountain (South Mountain) and down into the
village of Boonsborough. There was abundant evidence of the rebel
skedaddle down the mountain ahead of our troops in the way of blankets,
knapsacks, and other impedimenta, evidently dropped or thrown away in
the flight. We passed several squads of rebel prisoners who had been
captured by our cavalry and were being marched to the rear under guard.
They were good-looking boys, apparently scarcely more than boys, and
were poorly dressed and poorly supplied.

Some freely expressed themselves as glad they had been captured, as they
were sick of the fighting.

My own experiences this day were a taste of "the front," that is, the
excitement attending a momentarily expected "brush" with the enemy. Part
of the time my heart was in my mouth, and my hair seemed to stand
straight up. One can have little idea of this feeling until it has been
experienced. Any effort to describe it will be inadequate. Personal
fear? Yes, that unquestionably is at the bottom of it, and I take no
stock in the man who says he has no fear. We had been without food until
late in the afternoon for reasons heretofore explained. Towards night
one of my friends in Company K gave me a cup of coffee and a "hardtack."

Just before reaching Boonsborough, a pretty village nestling at the foot
of the South Mountain, our cavalry had a sharp skirmish with the rebel
rear-guard, in which Captain Kelley, of the Illinois cavalry, was
killed, I was told. At Boonsborough we found the field hospitals with
the rebel wounded from the fight of the day previous. Their wounded men
said their loss was over four hundred killed, among them two
brigadiers-general, one colonel, and several officers of lesser rank. A
rebel flag of truce came into our lines here to get the bodies of these
dead officers and to arrange for burying their dead and caring for their
wounded. The houses of Boonsborough had been mostly vacated by the
people on the approach of the rebel army and the fighting, and the
latter had promptly occupied as many of them as they needed for their
wounded. Imagine these poor villagers returning from their flight to
find their homes literally packed with wounded rebel soldiers and their
attendants. Whatever humble food supplies they may have had, all had
been appropriated, for war spares nothing. Some of the frightened people
of the village were returning as we passed through, and were sadly
lamenting the destruction of almost everything that could be destroyed
on and about their homes by this besom of destruction,--war. Food,
stock, fences, bed and bedding, etc., all gone or destroyed. Some of the
houses had been perforated by the shells,--probably our own shells,
aimed at the enemy. One man told me a shell had entered his house and
landed on the bed in the front room, but had not exploded. Had it
exploded, he would have had a bigger story to tell.

The rebels, we learned, had been gone but a few hours, and we were kept
in pursuit. We marched out the Shepherdstown road a few miles, reaching
and passing through another village--Keedysville. We were continuously
approaching heavy cannonading. Indeed, we had been marching for the
past three days within hearing of, and drawing closer to, the artillery
barking of the two armies. Old vets said this meant a big fight within
the next few hours. If so, I thought I shall better know how to diagnose
similar symptoms in the future.

A mile beyond Keedysville we bivouacked for the night, after a hard,
hot, and exciting day's chase. Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox came into camp
with a great trophy, nothing less than a good old-fashioned fat loaf of
home-made bread. He was immediately voted a niche in the future hall of
fame, for two acts of extraordinary merit, namely, first, finding and
capturing the bread, and, second, bringing it into camp intact, the
latter act being considered supremely self-sacrificing. It was
magnanimously divided by him, and made a supper for three of us. Our
mid-day meal had been made up of dust and excitement.

All sorts of rumors were afloat as to the movements of the enemy, as
well as of our own army. It was said Jackson was across the Potomac with
a large force; that Hooker was engaging him, and that we were likely to
bag the balance of Lee's army soon. One thing I learned, namely, that I
could be sure only of what I saw, and that was very little, indeed, of
the doings of either army. The soldier who professes to know all about
army movements because he "was there," may be set down either as a
bummer, who spent most of his time up trees, safely ensconced where he
could see, or as a fake.

[Illustration: COLONEL VINCENT M. WILCOX]

My diary records a night of good rest September 16, 1862, in this camp
on the Shepherdstown road. The morning was clear, beautiful, and cheery.
This entry will look somewhat remarkable in view of that which
follows, namely, "No breakfast in sight or in prospect." Later one of
our men gave me half his cup of coffee and a couple of small sweet
potatoes, which I roasted and ate without seasoning.

The "ball" opened soon after daylight by a rebel battery, about
three-quarters of a mile away, attempting to shell our lines. Our
division was massed under the shelter of a hill. One of our batteries of
12-pounder brass guns promptly replied, and a beautiful artillery duel
ensued, the first I had ever witnessed at close quarters. Many of us
crept up to the brow of the hill to see the "fun," though we were warned
that we were courting trouble in so doing. We could see columns of rebel
infantry marching in ranks of four, just as we marched, en route, and as
shell after shell from our guns would explode among them and scatter and
kill we would cheer. We were enjoying ourselves hugely until presently
some additional puffs of smoke appeared from their side, followed
immediately by a series of very ugly hissing, whizzing sounds, and the
dropping of shells amongst our troops which changed the whole aspect of
things. Our merriment and cheering were replaced by a scurrying to
cover, with blanched faces on some and an ominous, thoughtful quiet over
all.

This was really our first baptism of fire, for though at South Mountain
we had been in range and were credited with being in the fight as
supports, none of the shells had actually visited us. Several of these
came altogether too close for comfort. Colonel Oakford,
Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox, and I were sitting on our horses as close
together as horses ordinarily stand, when one of these ugly missiles
dropped down between us. It came with a shrieking, screeching sound,
like the pitch of an electric car with the added noise of a dozen
sky-rockets. It did not explode. It created considerable consternation
and no little stir with horses and men, but did no damage further than
the scare and a good showering of gravel and dust. Another struck
between the ranks of our brigade as they were resting under the hill
with guns stacked,--only a few feet away from us. It also, happily,
failed to explode, but we were sure some one must have been killed by
it. It did not seem possible that such a missile could drop down upon a
division of troops in mass without hitting somebody; but, strange as it
may seem, it did no damage beyond knocking down a row of gun-stacks and
tumbling topsy-turvy several men, who were badly bruised, but otherwise
uninjured. The way the concussion tossed the men about was terrific. Had
these shells exploded, some other body would probably have had to write
up this narrative.

Another shell incident occurred during this artillery duel that looked
very funny, though it was anything but funny to the poor fellow who
suffered. He, with others, had been up near our battery, on the knoll
just above us, witnessing the firing, when one of these rebel shells
came ricochetting along the ground towards him as he evidently thought,
for he started to run down the hill thinking to get away from it, but in
fact running exactly in front of the shell, which carried away one heel.
He continued down the hill at greatly accelerated speed, but now hopping
on one foot. Had he remained where he was the missile would have passed
him harmlessly. Except when nearly spent, shells are not seen until they
have passed, but the screeching, whizzing, hissing noise is sufficient
to make one believe they are hunting him personally. Veteran troops get
to discount the terrors of these noises in a measure, and pay little
attention to them, on the theory that if one is going to be hit by them
he will be anyway, and no amount of dodging will save him, so they go
right on and "take their chances." But with new troops the effect of a
shell shrieking over or past them is often very ludicrous. An
involuntary salaam follows the first sound, with a wild craning of the
necks to see where it went. Upon marching troops, the effect is like
that of a puff of wind chasing a wave across a field of grain.

Returning to our artillery duel, so far as we could judge, our battery
had the best of the practice, but not without paying the price, for the
second rebel shell killed the major (chief of artillery of our
division), who sat on his horse directing the fire, and besides there
were a number of casualties among the battery men. I had seen many a
battery practice on parade occasions with blank cartridges. How utterly
different was the thing in war. Infinitely more savage, the noise
deafeningly multiplied, each gun, regardless of the others, doing its
awful worst to spit out and hurl as from the mouth of a hell-born dragon
these missiles of death at the enemy.

The duel continued for upwards of two hours, until the enemy's battery
hauled off, having apparently had enough. Evidences of the conflict were
sadly abundant. A number were killed, others wounded and several of the
battery horses were killed. The work of the men in this hell of fire
was magnificent. They never flagged for a moment, and at the conclusion
were not in the least disabled, notwithstanding their losses. I think it
was Nimm's battery from Pittsburg. This was the chief incident of the
day. It was said the two armies were manoeuvring for position, and
that a great battle was imminent. This from my diary. It proved to be
true, and that all the skirmishes and "affaires" for the preceding ten
days had been only preliminary to the great battle of Antietam, fought
on the next day, the 17th.

We remained in bivouac here the remainder of the day and night.
Burnside's Ninth Corps passed to "the front" during the afternoon, a
splendid body of veteran troops, whose handsome and popular general was
heartily cheered. He was a large, heavily-built man, and sat his
handsome horse like a prince.




CHAPTER V

THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM


Never did day open more beautiful. We were astir at the first streak of
dawn. We had slept, and soundly too, just where nightfall found us under
the shelter of the hill near Keedysville. No reveille call this morning.
Too close to the enemy. Nor was this needed to arouse us. A simple call
of a sergeant or corporal and every man was instantly awake and alert.
All realized that there was ugly business and plenty of it just ahead.
This was plainly visible in the faces as well as in the nervous, subdued
demeanor of all. The absence of all joking and play and the almost
painful sobriety of action, where jollity had been the rule, was
particularly noticeable.

Before proceeding with the events of the battle, I should speak of the
"night before the battle," of which so much has been said and written.
My diary says that Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox, Captain James Archbald,
Co. I, and I slept together, sharing our blankets; that it rained during
the night; this fact, with the other, that we were close friends at
home, accounts for our sharing blankets. Three of us with our gum
blankets could so arrange as to keep fairly dry, notwithstanding the
rain.

The camp was ominously still this night. We were not allowed to sing or
make any noise, nor have any fires--except just enough to make
coffee--for fear of attracting the fire of the enemies' batteries. But
there was no need of such an inhibition as to singing or frolicking, for
there was no disposition to indulge in either. Unquestionably, the
problems of the morrow were occupying all breasts. Letters were written
home--many of them "last words"--and quiet talks were had, and promises
made between comrades. Promises providing against the dreaded
possibilities of the morrow. "If the worst happens, Jack." "Yes, Ned,
send word to mother and to----, and these; she will prize them," and so
directions were interchanged that meant so much.

I can never forget the quiet words of Colonel Oakford, as he inquired
very particularly if my roster of the officers and men of the regiment
was complete, for, said he, with a smile, "We shall not all be here
to-morrow night."

Now to resume the story of the battle. We were on the march about six
o'clock and moved, as I thought, rather leisurely for upwards of two
miles, crossing Antietam creek, which our men waded nearly waist deep,
emerging, of course, soaked through, our first experience of this kind.
It was a hot morning and, therefore, the only ill effects of this wading
was the discomfort to the men of marching with soaked feet. It was now
quite evident that a great battle was in progress. A deafening
pandemonium of cannonading, with shrieking and bursting shells, filled
the air beyond us, towards which we were marching. An occasional shell
whizzed by or over, reminding us that we were rapidly approaching the
"debatable ground." Soon we began to hear a most ominous sound which we
had never before heard, except in the far distance at South Mountain,
namely, the rattle of musketry. It had none of the deafening bluster of
the cannonading so terrifying to new troops, but to those who had once
experienced its effect, it was infinitely more to be dreaded. The
fatalities by musketry at close quarters, as the two armies fought at
Antietam and all through the Civil War, as compared with those by
artillery, are at least as 100 to 1, probably much more than that.

These volleys of musketry we were approaching sounded in the distance
like the rapid pouring of shot upon a tinpan, or the tearing of heavy
canvas, with slight pauses interspersed with single shots, or desultory
shooting. All this presaged fearful work in store for us, with what
results to each personally the future, measured probably by moments,
would reveal.

How does one feel under such conditions? To tell the truth, I realized
the situation most keenly and felt very uncomfortable. Lest there might
be some undue manifestation of this feeling in my conduct, I said to
myself, this is the duty I undertook to perform for my country, and now
I'll do it, and leave the results with God. My greater fear was not that
I might be killed, but that I might be grievously wounded and left a
victim of suffering on the field.

The nervous strain was plainly visible upon all of us. All moved
doggedly forward in obedience to orders, in absolute silence so far as
talking was concerned. The compressed lip and set teeth showed that
nerve and resolution had been summoned to the discharge of duty. A few
temporarily fell out, unable to endure the nervous strain, which was
simply awful. There were a few others, it must be said, who skulked,
took counsel of their cowardly legs, and, despite all efforts of "file
closers" and officers, left the ranks. Of these two classes most of the
first rejoined us later on, and their dropping out was no reflection on
their bravery. The nervous strain produced by the excitement and danger
gave them the malady called by the vets, the "cannon quickstep."

On our way into "position" we passed the "Meyer Spring,"--a magnificent
fountain of sweet spring water. It was walled in, and must have been ten
or twelve feet square and at least three feet deep, and a stream was
flowing from it large enough to make a respectable brook. Many of us
succeeded in filling our canteens from this glorious spring, now
surrounded by hundreds of wounded soldiers. What a Godsend it was to
those poor fellows.

About eight o'clock we were formed into line of battle and moved forward
through a grove of trees,[A] but before actually coming under musketry
fire of the enemy we were moved back again, and swung around nearly a
mile to the left to the base of a circular knoll to the left of the
Roulette farm-house and the road which leads up to the Sharpsburg pike,
near the Dunkard church. The famous "sunken road"--a road which had been
cut through the other side of this knoll--extended from the Roulette
Lane directly in front of our line towards Sharpsburg. I had ridden by
the side of Colonel Oakford, except when on duty, up and down the
column, and as the line was formed by the colonel and ordered forward,
we dismounted and sent our horses to the rear by a servant. I was
immediately sent by the colonel to the left of the line to assist in
getting that into position. A rail fence separated us from the top of
the knoll. Bullets were whizzing and singing by our ears, but so far
hitting none where I was. Over the fence and up the knoll in an
excellent line we went. In the centre of the knoll, perhaps a third of
the way up, was a large tree, and under and around this tree lay a body
of troops doing nothing. They were in our way, but our orders were
forward, and through and over them we went.

[Illustration: COLONEL RICHARD A. OAKFORD

Killed at battle of Antietam, September 17, 1862]

Reaching the top of the knoll we were met by a terrific volley from the
rebels in the sunken road down the other side, not more than one hundred
yards away, and also from another rebel line in a corn-field just
beyond. Some of our men were killed and wounded by this volley. We were
ordered to lie down just under the top of the hill and crawl forward and
fire over, each man crawling back, reloading his piece in this prone
position and again crawling forward and firing. These tactics
undoubtedly saved us many lives, for the fire of the two lines in front
of us was terrific. The air was full of whizzing, singing, buzzing
bullets. Once down on the ground under cover of the hill, it required
very strong resolution to get up where these missiles of death were
flying so thickly, yet that was the duty of us officers, especially us
of the field and staff. My duty kept me constantly moving up and down
that whole line.

On my way back to the right of the line, where I had left Colonel
Oakford, I met Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox, who told me the terrible news
that Colonel Oakford was killed. Of the details of his death, I had no
time then to inquire. We were then in the very maelstrom of the battle.
Men were falling every moment. The horrible noise of the battle was
incessant and almost deafening. Except that my mind was so absorbed in
my duties, I do not know how I could have endured the strain. Yet out of
this pandemonium memory brings several remarkable incidents. They came
and went with the rapidity of a quickly revolving kaleidoscope. You
caught stupendous incidents on the instant, and in an instant they had
passed. One was the brave death of the major of this regiment that was
lying idle under the tree. The commanding officer evidently was not
doing his duty, and this major was endeavoring to rally his men and get
them at work. He was swinging his hat and cheering his men forward, when
a solid shot decapitated him. His poor body went down as though some
giant had picked it up and furiously slammed it on the ground, and I was
so near him that I could almost have touched him with my sword.

The inaction of this regiment lying behind us under that tree was very
demoralizing to our men, setting them a bad example. General Kimball,
who commanded our brigade, was seated on his horse just under the knoll
in the rear of our regiment, evidently watching our work, and he
signalled me to come to him, and then gave me orders to present his
compliments to the commanding officer of that regiment and direct him to
get his men up and at work. I communicated this order as directed. The
colonel was hugging the ground, and merely turned his face towards me
without replying or attempting to obey the order. General Kimball saw
the whole thing, and again called me to him and, with an oath, commanded
me to repeat the order to him at the muzzle of my revolver, and shoot
him if he did not immediately obey. Said General Kimball: "Get those
cowards out of there or shoot them." My task was a most disagreeable
one, but I must deliver my orders, and did so, but was saved the duty of
shooting by the other officers of the regiment bravely rallying their
men and pushing them forward to the firing-line, where they did good
work. What became of that skulking colonel, I do not know.

The air was now thick with smoke from the muskets, which not only
obscured our vision of the enemy, but made breathing difficult and most
uncomfortable. The day was excessively hot, and no air stirring, we were
forced to breathe this powder smoke, impregnated with saltpetre, which
burned the coating of nose, throat, and eyes almost like fire.

Captain Abbott, commanding Company G, from Mauch Chunk, a brave and
splendid officer, was early carried to the rear, a ball having nearly
carried away his under jaw. He afterwards told me that his first
sensation of this awful wound was his mouth full of blood, teeth, and
splintered bones, which he spat out on the ground, and then found that
unless he got immediate help he would bleed to death in a few minutes.
Fortunately he found Assistant Surgeon Hoover, who had been assigned to
us just from his college graduation, who, under the shelter of a
hay-stack, with no anæsthetic, performed an operation which Dr. Gross,
of Philadelphia, afterwards said had been but once before successfully
performed in the history of surgery, and saved his life. Lieutenant
Anson C. Cranmer, Company C, was killed, and the ground was soon strewn
with the dead and wounded. Soon our men began to call for more
ammunition, and we officers were kept busy taking from the dead and
wounded and distributing to the living. Each man had eighty rounds when
we began the fight. One man near me rose a moment, when a missile struck
his gun about midway, and actually capsized him. He pulled himself
together, and, finding he was only a little bruised, picked up another
gun, with which the ground was now strewn, and went at it again.

Directly, a lull in the enemy's firing occurred, and we had an
opportunity to look over the hill a little more carefully at their
lines. Their first line in the sunken road seemed to be all dead or
wounded, and several of our men ran down there, to find that literally
true. They brought back the lieutenant-colonel, a fine-looking man, who
was mortally wounded. I shook his hand, and he said, "God bless you,
boys, you are very kind." He asked to be laid down in some sheltered
place, for, said he, "I have but a few moments to live." I well remember
his refined, gentlemanly appearance, and how profoundly sorry I felt for
him. He was young, lithely built, of sandy complexion, and wore a
comparatively new uniform of Confederate gray, on which was embroidered
the insignia of the "5th Ga.,[B] C. S. A." He said, "You have killed all
my brave boys; they are there in the road." And they were, I saw them
next day lying four deep in places as they fell, a most awful picture of
battle carnage. This lull was of very short duration, and like the lull
of a storm presaged a renewal of the firing with greater fury, for a
fresh line of rebel troops had been brought up. This occurred three
times before we were relieved.

[Illustration: SILENCED CONFEDERATE BATTERY IN FRONT OF DUNKER CHURCH
SHARPSBURG ROAD, ANTIETAM

This little brick church lay between the opposing lines, and both Union
and Confederate wounded were gathered in it]

During the fiercest of the firing, another remarkable incident occurred,
which well illustrated the fortunes of war. I heard a man shouting,
"Come over here men, you can see 'em better," and there, over the brow
of the knoll, absolutely exposed, was Private George Coursen, of Company
K, sitting on a boulder, loading and firing as calmly as though there
wasn't a rebel in the country. I yelled to him to come back under the
cover of the hill-top, but he said he could see the rebels better there,
and refused to leave his vantage-ground. I think he remained there until
we were ordered back and did not receive a scratch. His escape was
nothing less than a miracle. He seemed to have no idea of fear.

A remarkable fact about our experience during this fight was that we
took no note of time. When we were out of ammunition and about to move
back I looked at my watch and found it was 12.30 P.M. We had been under
fire since eight o'clock. I couldn't believe my eyes; was sure my watch
had gone wrong. I would have sworn that we had not been there more than
twenty minutes, when we had actually been in that very hell of fire for
four and a half hours.

Just as we were moving back, the Irish brigade came up, under command of
General Thomas Francis Meagher. They had been ordered to complete our
work by a charge, and right gallantly they did it. Many of our men, not
understanding the order, joined in that charge. General Meagher rode a
beautiful white horse, but made a show of himself by tumbling off just
as he reached our line. The boys said he was drunk, and he certainly
looked and acted like a drunken man. He regained his feet and floundered
about, swearing like a crazy man. The brigade, however, made a
magnificent charge and swept everything before it.

Another incident occurred during the time we were under fire. My
attention was arrested by a heavily built general officer passing to the
rear on foot. He came close by me and as he passed he shouted: "You will
have to get back. Don't you see yonder line of rebels is flanking you?"
I looked in the direction he pointed, and, sure enough, on our right and
now well to our rear was an extended line of rebel infantry with their
colors flying, moving forward almost with the precision of a parade.
They had thrown forward a beautiful skirmish line and seemed to be
practically masters of the situation. My heart was in my mouth for a
couple of moments, until suddenly the picture changed, and their
beautiful line collapsed and went back as if the d----l was after them.
They had run up against an obstruction in a line of the "boys in blue,"
and many of them never went back. This general officer who spoke to me,
I learned, was Major-General Richardson, commanding the First Division,
then badly wounded, and who died a few hours after.

Our regiment now moved back and to the right some three-quarters of a
mile, where we were supplied with ammunition, and the men were allowed
to make themselves a cup of coffee and eat a "hardtack." I was faint for
want of food, for I had only a cup of coffee in the early morning, and
was favored with a hardtack by one of the men, who were always ready
and willing to share their rations with us. We now learned that our
brigade had borne the brunt of a long and persistent effort by Lee to
break our line at this point, and that we were actually the third line
which had been thrown into this breach, the other two having been wiped
out before we advanced; that as a matter of fact our brigade, being
composed so largely of raw troops--our regiment being really more than
half the brigade in actual number--was designed to be held in reserve.
But the onslaught of the enemy had been so terrific, that by eight
o'clock A.M. our reserve line was all there was left and we had to be
sent in. The other three regiments were veterans, old and tried. They
had an established reputation of having never once been forced back or
whipped, but the One Hundred and Thirty-second was new and, except as to
numbers, an unknown quantity. We had been unmercifully guyed during the
two preceding weeks, as I have said before, as a lot of "greenhorns,"
"pretty boys" in "pretty new clothes," "mamma's darlings," etc., etc.,
to the end of the vets' slang calendar. Now that we had proved our metal
under fire, the atmosphere was completely changed. Not the semblance of
another jibe against the One Hundred and Thirty-second Pennsylvania
Volunteers.

We did not know how well we had done, only that we had tried to do our
duty under trying circumstances, until officers and men from other
regiments came flocking over to congratulate and praise us. I didn't
even know we had passed through the fire of a great battle until the
colonel of the Fourteenth Indiana came over to condole with us on the
loss of Colonel Oakford, and incidentally told us that this was
undoubtedly the greatest battle of the war thus far, and that we
probably would never have such another.

After getting into our new position, I at once began to look up our
losses. I learned that Colonel Oakford was killed by one of the rebel
sharp-shooters just as the regiment scaled the fence in its advance up
the knoll, and before we had fired a shot. It must have occurred almost
instantly after I left him with orders for the left of the line. I was
probably the last to whom he spoke. He was hit by a minie-ball in the
left shoulder, just below the collar-bone. The doctor said the ball had
severed one of the large arteries, and he died in a very few minutes. He
had been in command of the regiment a little more than a month, but
during that brief time his work as a disciplinarian and drill-master had
made it possible for us to acquit ourselves as creditably as they all
said we had done. General Kimball was loud in our praise and greatly
lamented Colonel Oakford's death, whom he admired very much. He was a
brave, able, and accomplished officer and gentleman, and his loss to the
regiment was irreparable.

Had Colonel Oakford lived his record must have been brilliant and his
promotion rapid, for very few volunteer officers had so quickly mastered
the details of military tactics and routine. He was a thorough
disciplinarian, an able tactician, and the interests and welfare of his
men were constantly upon his heart.

My diary records the fact that I saw Captain Willard, of the Fourteenth
Connecticut, fall as we passed their line on our way to the rear; that
he appeared to have been hit by a grape-shot or piece of shell. I did
not know him, only heard that he was a brother of E. N. Willard, of
Scranton. The Fourteenth Connecticut men said he was a fine man and
splendid officer.

Among the wounded--reported mortally--was Sergeant Martin Hower, of
Company K, one of our very best non-commissioned officers. I saw him at
the hospital, and it was very hard to be able to do nothing for him. It
seemed our loss must reach upward of two hundred killed, wounded and
missing. Out of seven hundred and ninety-eight who answered to roll-call
in the morning, we had with us less than three hundred at the close of
the fight. Our actual loss was: Killed--Officers, two (Colonel Oakford
and Lieutenant Cranmer); men, twenty-eight; total, thirty.
Wounded--Officers, four; men, one hundred and ten; total, one hundred
and forty-four. To this should be added at least thirty of the men who
died of their wounds within the next few days, which would make our
death loss in this battle upward of sixty. Of the missing, many of them
were of those who joined the Irish brigade in their charge, and who did
not find us again for a day or so. It may seem strange that a man should
not be able to find his regiment for so long a time, when really it is
so close at hand. But when one remembers that our army of about
seventy-five thousand men had upward of two hundred regiments massed
within say two square miles, and that they were constantly changing
position, it will be seen that looking for any one regiment is almost
like looking for a needle in a hay-mow.




CHAPTER VI

THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM--CONTINUED


During the afternoon of this day we were again moved further to the
right and placed as supports of a battery. We were posted about two
hundred yards directly in front of the guns on low ground. The battery
was evidently engaged in another artillery duel. We were in a
comparatively safe position, so long as the rebel guns directed their
firing at our battery; but after a time they began "feeling for the
supports," first dropping their shells beyond our guns, then in front of
them, until they finally got a pretty good range on our line and filled
the air with bursting shells over our heads. One and another was carried
to the rear, wounded, and the line became very restive. We were required
to lie perfectly quiet. We found this very much more trying than being
at work, and the line began to show symptoms of wavering, when General
Kimball, who with his staff had dismounted and was resting near us,
immediately mounted his horse and, riding up and down the line, shouted:
"Stand firm, trust in God, and do your duty."

It was an exceedingly brave act, and its effect was electric upon the
men. There was no more wavering, and the rebel battery, evidently
thinking they had not found the "supports," soon ceased firing upon us.
It was now near night and the firing very perceptibly slackened in our
vicinity, though a mile or more to the left it still continued very
heavy. This, we afterwards learned, was the work at what has passed into
history as "Burnside's" bridge--the effort of Burnside's corps to
capture the stone bridge over Antietam creek, near the village of
Sharpsburg, and the heights beyond. These were gallantly carried after a
terrific fight quite late in the afternoon.

Our work, so far as this battle was concerned, was done. We rested "on
our arms" where we were for the next forty-eight hours, expecting all
the next day a renewal of the fighting; but nothing was done in our
neighborhood beyond a few shots from the battery we were supporting. On
the second day it became known that Lee had hauled off, and there was no
immediate prospect of further fighting. Our companies were permitted to
gather up their dead, and burying parties were organized.

We were allowed to go over the field freely. It was a gruesome sight.
Our own dead had been cared for, but the rebel dead remained as they had
fallen. In the hot sun the bodies had swollen and turned black. Nearly
all lay with faces up and eyes wide open, presenting a spectacle to make
one shudder. The distended nostrils and thickened lips made them look
like negroes, except for their straight hair. Their limbs and bodies
were so enlarged that their clothing seemed ready to burst. Some ghouls
had been among them, whether from their own lines or from ours, could
not be known, but every man's pockets had been ripped out and the
contents taken.

In company with Captain Archbald I went over the position occupied by
our regiment and brigade, the famous "sunken road,"--that is, the lane
or road extending from near the "Roulette house" towards Sharpsburg. For
some distance it had been cut through the opposite side of the knoll
upon which we fought, and had the appearance of a sunken road. It was
literally filled with rebel dead, which in some places lay three and
four bodies deep. We afterwards saw pictures of this road in the
illustrated papers, which partially portrayed the horrible scene. Those
poor fellows were the Fifth[C] Georgia regiment. This terrible work was
mostly that of our regiment, and bore testimony to the effectiveness of
the fire of our men.

The position was an alluring one: the road was cut into the hill about
waist high, and seemed to offer secure protection to a line of infantry,
and so no doubt this line was posted there to hold the knoll and this
Sharpsburg road. It proved, however, nothing but a death-trap, for once
our line got into position on the top of this crescent-shaped ridge we
could reach them by a direct fire on the centre and a double flanking
fire at the right and left of the line, and only about one hundred yards
away. With nothing but an open field behind them there was absolutely no
escape, nothing but death or surrender, and they evidently chose the
former, for we saw no white flag displayed. We could now understand the
remark of their lieutenant-colonel, whom our boys brought in, as already
mentioned: "You have killed all my poor boys. They lie there in the
road." I learned later that the few survivors of this regiment were sent
South to guard rebel prisoners.

[Illustration: SECTION OF FAMOUS SUNKEN ROAD IN FRONT OF LINE OF 132D P.
V., NEAR ROULETTE LANE

The dead are probably from the Sixth Georgia Confederate troops]

The lines of battle of both armies were not only marked by the presence
of the dead, but by a vast variety of army equipage, such as blankets,
canteens, haversacks, guns, gun-slings, bayonets, ramrods, some whole,
others broken,--verily, a besom of destruction had done its work
faithfully here. Dead horses were everywhere, and the stench from them
and the human dead was horrible. "Uncle" Billy Sherman has said, "War is
hell!" yet this definition, with all that imagination can picture, fails
to reveal all its bloody horrors.

The positions of some of the dead were very striking. One poor fellow
lay face down on a partially fallen stone wall, with one arm and one
foot extended, as if in the act of crawling over. His position attracted
our attention, and we found his body literally riddled with
bullets--there must have been hundreds--and most of them shot into him
after he was dead, for they showed no marks of blood. Probably the poor
fellow had been wounded in trying to reach shelter behind that wall, was
spotted in the act by our men, and killed right there, and became
thereafter a target for every new man that saw him. Another man lay,
still clasping his musket, which he was evidently in the act of loading
when a bullet pierced his heart, literally flooding his gun with his
life's blood, a ghastly testimonial to his heroic sacrifice.

We witnessed the burying details gathering up and burying the dead. The
work was rough and heartless, but only comporting with the character of
war. The natural reverence for the dead was wholly absent. The poor
bodies, all of them heroes in their death, even though in a mistaken
cause, were "planted" with as little feeling as though they had been so
many logs. A trench was dug, where the digging was easiest, about seven
feet wide and long enough to accommodate all the bodies gathered within
a certain radius; these were then placed side by side, cross-wise of the
trench, and buried without anything to keep the earth from them. In the
case of the Union dead the trenches were usually two or three feet deep,
and the bodies were wrapped in blankets before being covered, but with
the rebels no blankets were used, and the trenches were sometimes so
shallow as to leave the toes exposed after a shower.

No ceremony whatever attended this gruesome service, but it was
generally accompanied by ribald jokes, at the expense of the poor
"Johnny" they were "planting." This was not the fruit of debased natures
or degenerate hearts on the part of the boys, who well knew it might be
their turn next, under the fortunes of war, to be buried in like manner,
but it was recklessness and thoughtlessness, born of the hardening
influences of war.

Having now given some account of the scenes in which I participated
during the battle and the day after, let us look at another feature of
the battle, and probably the most heart-breaking of all, the field
hospital. There was one established for our division some three hundred
yards in our rear, under the shelter of a hill. Here were gathered as
rapidly as possible the wounded, and a corps of surgeons were busily
engaged in amputating limbs and dressing wounds. It should be understood
that the accommodations were of the rudest character. A hospital tent
had been hurriedly erected and an old house and barn utilized. Of
course, I saw nothing of it or its work until the evening after the
battle, when I went to see the body of our dead colonel and some of our
Scranton boys who were wounded. Outside the hospital were piles of
amputated arms, legs, and feet, thrown out with as little care as so
many pieces of wood. There were also many dead soldiers--those who had
died after reaching the hospital--lying outside, there being inside
scant room only for the living. Here, on bunches of hay and straw, the
poor fellows were lying so thickly that there was scarce room for the
surgeon and attendants to move about among them. Others were not allowed
inside, except officers and an occasional friend who might be helping.
Our chaplain spent his time here and did yeoman service helping the
wounded. Yet all that could be done with the limited means at hand
seemed only to accentuate the appalling need. The pallid, appealing
faces were patient with a heroism born only of the truest metal. I was
told by the surgeons that such expressions as this were not infrequent
as they approached a man in his "turn": "Please, doctor, attend to this
poor fellow next; he's worse than I," and this when his own life's blood
was fast oozing away.

Most of the wounded had to wait hours before having their wounds
dressed, owing to insufficient force and inadequate facilities. I was
told that not a surgeon had his eyes closed for three days after this
battle. The doctors of neighboring towns within reach came and
voluntarily gave their services, yet it is doubtless true that hundreds
of the wounded perished for want of prompt and proper care. This is one
of the unavoidable incidents of a great battle--a part of the horrors of
war. The rebel wounded necessarily were second to our own in receiving
care from the surgeons, yet they, too, received all the attention that
was possible under the circumstances. Some of their surgeons remained
with their wounded, and I am told they and our own surgeons worked
together most energetically and heroically in their efforts to relieve
the sufferings of all, whether they wore the blue or the gray.
Suffering, it has been said, makes all the world akin. So here, in our
lines, the wounded rebel was lost sight of in the suffering brother.

We remained on the battle-field until September 21, four days after the
fight.

My notes of this day say that I was feeling so miserable as to be
scarcely able to crawl about, yet was obliged to remain on duty; that
Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox, now in command, and Major Shreve were in the
same condition. This was due to the nervous strain through which we had
passed, and to insufficient and unwholesome food. As stated before, we
had been obliged to eat whatever we could get, which for the past four
days had been mostly green field corn roasted as best we could. The
wonder is that we were not utterly prostrated. Nevertheless, I not only
performed all my duties, but went a mile down the Antietam creek, took a
bath, and washed my underclothing, my first experience in the laundry
business.

We had been now for two weeks and more steadily on the march, our
baggage in wagons somewhere en route, without the possibility of a
change of clothing or of having any washing done. Most of this time
marching in a cloud of dust so thick that one could almost cut it, and
perspiring freely, one can imagine our condition. Bathing as frequently
as opportunity offered, yet our condition was almost unendurable. For
with the accumulation of dirt upon our body, there was added the
ever-present scourge of the army, body lice. These vermin, called by the
boys "graybacks," were nearly the size of a grain of wheat, and derived
their name from their bluish-gray color. They seemed to infest the
ground wherever there had been a bivouac of the rebels, and following
them as we had, during all of this campaign, sleeping frequently on the
ground just vacated by them, no one was exempt from this plague. They
secreted themselves in the seams of the clothing and in the armpits
chiefly. A good bath, with a change of underclothing, would usually rid
one of them, but only to acquire a new crop in the first camp. The
clothing could be freed of them by boiling in salt water or by going
carefully over the seams and picking them off. The latter operation was
a frequent occupation with the men on any day which was warm enough to
permit them to disrobe for the purpose. One of the most laughable sights
I ever beheld was the whole brigade, halted for a couple of hours' rest
one hot day, with clothing off, "skirmishing," as the boys called it,
for "graybacks." This was one of the many unpoetical features of army
life which accentuated the sacrifices one made to serve his country.

How did we ordinarily get our laundrying done? The enlisted men as a
rule always did it themselves. Occasionally in camp a number of them
would club together and hire some "camp follower" or some other soldier
to do it. Officers of sufficient rank to have a servant, of course,
readily solved the question. Those of us of lesser rank could generally
hire it done, except on the march. Then we had to be our own laundrymen.
Having, as in the above instance, no change of clothing at hand, the
washing followed a bath, and consisted in standing in the running water
and rubbing as much of the dirt out of the underwear as could be done
without soap, for that could not be had for love or money; then hanging
them on the limb of a tree and sitting in the sun, as comfortable as
possible, whilst wind and sun did the drying. A "snap-shot" of such a
scene would no doubt be interesting. But "snap-shots" unfortunately were
not then in vogue, and so a picture of high art must perish. We could
not be over particular about having our clothes dry. The finishing
touches were added as we wore them back to camp.

My diary notes that there were nine hundred and ninety-eight rebel dead
gathered and buried from in front of the lines of our division. This
line was about a quarter of a mile long, and this was mostly our work
(our division), although Richardson's division had occupied part of this
ground before us, but had been so quickly broken that they had not made
much impression upon the enemy. Our division had engaged them
continuously and under a terrific fire from eight o'clock A.M. until
12.30 P.M. It may be asked why during that length of time and under such
a fire all were not annihilated. The answer is, that inaccuracy and
unsteadiness in firing on both sides greatly reduce its effectiveness,
and taking all possible advantage of shelter by lying prone upon the
ground also prevents losses; but the above number of rebel dead, it
should be remembered, represents, probably, not more than twenty to
twenty-five per cent. of their casualties in that area of their lines;
the balance were wounded and were removed. So that with nine hundred and
ninety-eight dead it can be safely estimated that their losses exceeded
four thousand killed and wounded in that area. This would indicate what
was undoubtedly true, that we were in the very heart of that great
battle.

[Illustration: FIELD HOSPITAL]

Here I wish to say that some chroniclers of battles have undertaken to
measure the effectiveness and bravery of the different regiments,
batteries, etc., by the numbers they have lost in certain battles; for
example, one historian has made a book grading the regiments by the
number of men they lost in action, assuming that the more men killed and
wounded, the more brilliant and brave had been its work. This assumption
is absolutely fallacious. Heavy losses may be the result of great
bravery with splendid work. On the other hand, they may be the result of
cowardice or inefficiency. Suppose, under trying circumstances, officers
lose their heads and fail to properly handle their men, or if the latter
prove cowardly and incapable of being moved with promptness to meet the
exigency, great loss usually ensues, and this would be chargeable to
cowardice or inefficiency. According to the loss way of estimating
fighting regiments, the least deserving are liable to be credited with
the best work. The rule is, the better drilled, disciplined, and the
better officered, the less the losses in any position on the
firing-line.

One regiment I have in mind, with which we were afterwards brigaded,
illustrates this principle. It was the First Delaware Volunteer
infantry. It was a three years' regiment and had been in the field more
than a year when we joined them. All things considered, it was the best
drilled and disciplined regiment I saw in the service. It was as steady
under fire as on parade. Every movement in the tactics it could execute
on the jump, and its fire was something to keep away from. The result
was that, pushed everywhere to the front because of its splendid work,
it lost comparatively few men. Every man was a marksman and understood
how to take all possible advantage of the situation to make his work
most effective and at the same time take care of himself. This regiment,
whose record was one unbroken succession of splendid achievements during
its whole period of service, might never have gotten on a roll of fame
founded on numbers of men lost. How much more glorious is a record
founded on effective work and men saved!




CHAPTER VII

HARPER'S FERRY AND THE LEESBURG AND HALLTOWN EXPEDITIONS


Neither side seemed anxious to resume the fighting on the 18th, though
there was picket firing and some cannonading. We remained the next day
where the darkness found us after the battle, ready and momentarily
expecting to resume the work. All sorts of rumors were afloat as to the
results of the battle, also as to future movements. Whether we had won a
great victory and were to press immediately forward to reap the fullest
benefit of it, or whether it was practically a drawn battle, with the
possibilities of an early retreat, we did not then know. We had no idea
of what the name of the battle would be. My diary calls it the battle of
"Meyer's Spring," from that magnificent fountain, on our line of battle,
described in the last chapter. The Confederates named it the battle of
Sharpsburg, from the village of that name on the right of their line.
Two days later, after the rebels had hauled off--which they did very
leisurely the next day and night--we received "Little Mac's"
congratulatory order on the great victory achieved at "Antietam."

So far as our part of the battle was concerned, we knew we had the best
of it. We had cleaned up everything in our front, and the "chip was
still serenely resting on our shoulder." But what had been the outcome
elsewhere on the line we did not know. That our army had been
terrifically battered was certain. Our own losses indicated this. We
were therefore both relieved and rejoiced on receiving the
congratulatory order. I confess to have had some doubts about the extent
of the victory, and whether, had Lee remained and shown fight, we would
not have repeated the old story and "retired in good order." As it was,
the tide had evidently turned, and the magnificent old Army of the
Potomac, after so many drubbings, had been able to score its first
decisive victory.

On the twenty-second day of September we were again on the march, our
regiment reduced in numbers, from casualties in the battle and from
sickness, by nearly three hundred men. Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox was now
in command. The body of our late colonel had been shipped to Scranton
under guard of Privates S. P. Snyder and Charles A. Meylert, Company K,
the "exigencies of the service" permitting of no larger detail nor any
officer to accompany it.

We were told the army was bound for Harper's Ferry, distant some eight
to ten miles. We passed through the village of Sharpsburg--what there
was left of it. It had been occupied by the rebels as the extreme right
of their line on the morning of the battle. It presented abundant
evidence of having been well in the zone of the fight. Its buildings
were riddled with shells, and confusion seemed to reign supreme. We
learned that Burnside, with the left wing of the army, had a very hot
argument with Lee's right during the afternoon for the possession of the
stone bridge over Antietam creek at the foot of the hill entering the
village; that after two repulses with heavy loss, Colonel Hartranft
(afterwards Governor of Pennsylvania) led his regiment, the Fifty-first
Pennsylvania Volunteers and the Fifty-first New York, in a magnificent
charge and carried the bridge and the heights above, and Sharpsburg was
ours. If any one would like to get an idea of what terrific work that
charge was they should examine that bridge and the heights on the
Sharpsburg side. The latter rise almost perpendicularly more than three
hundred feet. One of the "boys" who went over that bridge and up those
heights in that memorable charge was Private Edward L. Buck, Fifty-first
Pennsylvania Volunteers, formerly Assistant Postmaster of Scranton, and
ever since the war a prominent citizen of this city. That bridge is now
known as "Burnside's Bridge." Forty-one years afterwards, I passed over
it, and was shown a shell still sticking in the masonry of one of the
arches. It was a conical shell probably ten inches long, about half of
it left protruding.

Little of special interest occurred on this march until we reached the
Potomac, a short distance above Harper's Ferry. Here we were shown the
little round house where John Brown concealed his guns and "pikes" prior
to his famous raid three years before. This was his rendezvous on the
night before his ill-starred expedition descended upon the State of
Virginia and the South, in an insane effort to free the slaves. Our
division was headed by the Fourteenth Connecticut, and as we approached
the river opposite Harper's Ferry its fine band struck up the then new
and popular air, "John Brown's Body," and the whole division took up the
song, and we forded the river singing it. Slavery had destroyed the
Kansas home of old John Brown, had murdered his sons, and undoubtedly
driven him insane, because of his anti-slavery zeal. The great State of
Virginia--the "Mother of Presidents"--had vindicated her loyalty to the
"peculiar institution," and, let it be added, her own spotless chivalry,
by hanging this poor, crazy fanatic for high treason! Was there poetic
justice in our marching into the territory where these events transpired
singing:

    "John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave,
    His soul goes marching on?"

This couplet,

    "We'll hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple-tree,"

was sung with peculiar zest, though I never quite understood what the
poet had against the sour apple-tree.

We marched through the quaint old town of Harper's Ferry, whose
principal industry had been the government arsenal for the manufacture
of muskets and other army ordnance. These buildings were now a mass of
ruins, and the remainder of the town presented the appearance of a
plucked goose, as both armies had successively captured and occupied it.
We went into camp on a high plateau back of the village known as Bolivar
Heights. The scenic situation at Harper's Ferry is remarkably grand. The
town is situated on the tongue or fork of land at the junction of the
Potomac and Shenandoah rivers. From the point where the rivers join, the
land rises rapidly until the summit of Bolivar Heights is reached,
several hundred feet above the town, from which a view is had of one of
the most lovely valleys to be found anywhere in the world--the
Shenandoah Valley. Across the Potomac to the east and facing Harper's
Ferry rises Maryland Heights, a bluff probably a thousand feet high,
while across the Shenandoah to the right towers another precipitous
bluff of about equal height called Loudon Heights. Both of these bluffs
commanded Bolivar Heights and Harper's Ferry.

It was the sudden and unexpected appearance of Stonewall Jackson's
batteries upon both of these supposed inaccessible bluffs that ten days
before had forced the surrender of the garrison of ten thousand Union
troops which had been posted here to hold Harper's Ferry. It was said
that the rain of shot and shell from those bluffs down upon our forces
was simply merciless, and Jackson had cut off all avenues of escape
before opening his batteries. The cavalry, I believe, cut their way out,
but the infantry, after twenty-four hours of that storm of shot and
shell, were forced to hoist the white flag. How they could have lived
half that time in such a hell of fire is a marvel. Everything above
ground bore evidence of this fire. There were unexploded shells lying
about in great numbers.

An incident that might have been anything but funny occurred the day
after we encamped here. A new regiment joined the army and marched past
our division to a point farther up the heights and went into camp. They
were a fine-looking regiment, full in numbers, and with new, clean
uniforms. Their reception at the hands of the "vets" was very like our
own three weeks before. Our boys, however, were "vets" now, and joined
in the "reception" with a zest quite usual under such circumstances.
However, the "tenderfeet" incident had passed, and we were preparing our
evening meal, when bang! bang! bang! bang! rang out a half-dozen shots
in quick succession. Every man jumped as though the whole rebel army was
upon us. It was soon discovered that the explosions came from the camp
of the "tenderfeet." Some of those greenhorns had gathered a number of
those unexploded shells, set them up on end for a fireplace, and were
quietly boiling their coffee over them when they, of course, exploded.
Why none of them were seriously injured was a miracle. At the moment of
explosion no one happened to be very near the fire. A moment before a
dozen men had been standing over it. Does Providence graciously look out
for the tenderfoot? Some of them, I fear, were made to feel that they
would rather be dead than take the guying they got for this evidence of
their verdancy.

Camp life at Bolivar Heights soon resolved itself into the usual routine
of drill and picket duty. How many corps of the army were encamped here
I did not know, but we were a vast city of soldiers, and there was no
end of matters to occupy attention when off duty. These included bathing
expeditions to the Shenandoah, a mile and a half away; the "doing" of
the quaint old town of Harper's Ferry, and rambles up Maryland and
Loudon Heights, both of which were now occupied by our troops. This was
our first experience in a large encampment in the field. One feature of
it was exceedingly beautiful, and that was its system of "calls." The
cavalry and artillery were encamped on one side of us. Each battery of
artillery and battalion of cavalry had its corps of "trumpeters" or
"buglers," while the infantry regiments had their drum corps, whose duty
it was to sound the various "camp calls." The principal calls were
"reveille," the getting up or morning roll-call, at sunrise usually; the
guard mount, the drill, the meal calls, the "retreat" (evening
roll-call), and the "taps," the "turning in" or "lights out" call. The
reveille, the retreat, and taps were required to be sounded by each
battery, troop, and regiment in consecutive order, commencing at the
extreme right. The firing of the morning gun was the signal for the
first corps of cavalry buglers to begin the reveille, then in succession
it was repeated first through the bugler corps and then by the drum
corps back and forth through the lines until it had gone through the
whole army. As a martial and musical feature it was exceedingly
beautiful and inspiring. But as its purpose was to hustle out sleepy men
to roll-call, it is doubtful if these features were fully appreciated;
that its advent was an occasion for imprecation rather than appreciation
the following story may illustrate.

A group of "vets" were discussing what they would do when they got home
from the war. Several plans had been suggested--the taking into
permanent camp of the soldier's sweetheart being the chief goal, of
course. When Pat's turn came to tell what he was going to do, he said:

"I'll be takin' me girl and settling down wid her housekeepin' and thin
i'll be hirin' of a dhrum corps to come an' play the ravalye iviry
mornin' under me chamber windi."

"What will you do that for? Haven't you had enough of the reveille
here?"

"I'll just h'ist me windi, an' I'll yell, 'To h----l wid yer ravalye;
I'll slape as long as I plase.'"

Many of these "calls" were parodied by the men. Here is the reveille:

    I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up,
    I can't get 'em up at all, sir;
    I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up,
    I can't get 'em up at all.
    I'll go and tell the captain,
    I'll go and tell the captain,
    I'll go and tell the captain,
    I can't get 'em up at all.

This is the sick call:

    Get your quinine, get your quinine,
    And a blue pill too, and a blue pill too.
    Get your quinine.

And so on down the list. The retreat call at sundown was really enjoyed
and was made more of. The day's work was then over, and each corps
elaborated its music, the bands frequently extending it into an evening
concert.

The almost universal time-killer was cards. Of course various games were
played, but "poker" was king. A game of the latter could be found in
almost every company street, officers as well as men took a "twist at
the tiger." At the battle of Chancellorsville I saw a game in full blast
right under fire of the rebel shells. Every screeching shell was greeted
with an imprecation, while the game went on just the same.

After our return home I was told of one man who made enough money at
cards to successfully start himself in business. It was said he
performed picket duty by hired proxies during the following winter in
camp at Falmouth, and gave his time wholly to the game. A New York City
regiment lay adjoining our camp that winter, and a truer lot of sports,
from colonel down, never entered the service. These men, officers and
all, were his patrons. They came to "do the Pennsylvania novice," but
were themselves done in the end.

On the 3d of October our brigade made what was termed a reconnoissance
in force out through Loudon County, Virginia, to Leesburg. It was
reported that Jeb. Stuart was there with a force of cavalry and
infantry. General Kimball was sent with our brigade to capture him if
possible. Our orders on the evening of October 2 were to report at
brigade head-quarters at seven o'clock A.M., with three days' rations
and sixty rounds of ammunition. This meant "business," and was a welcome
change from the monotony of camp life. A regiment of cavalry and two
batteries of artillery had been added to our brigade for this
expedition. The morning dawned bright and beautiful, but the day proved
a very hot one, and the first three or four miles of our march was
around the base of Loudon Heights, close under the mountain over a very
rocky road, and where there was not a breath of air stirring. We were
delayed by the artillery in getting over this portion of the route, and
then we were marched almost on the run to make up for the lost time.
General Kimball had gone forward with the cavalry, leaving his
adjutant-general to bring up the balance of the column as rapidly as
possible. In his efforts to hurry the men forward the latter overdid
the matter. The result was the men dropped in scores utterly exhausted,
so that within three hours our number had been reduced more than half,
and at the end of the march in the evening there were just twenty-five
officers and men of our regiment present for duty, and of the whole
infantry force, three thousand strong at the start, there were less than
two hundred present at the finish. This was due to an utter lack of
judgment in marching.

The distance covered had been twenty-three miles. The day had been hot,
the road rough, and the men, in heavy marching order with three days'
rations and sixty rounds of ammunition, had carried upwards of ninety
pounds each. With such a load and under such conditions, to expect men
to march any distance at the hurried pace required was criminal folly.
It bore its natural fruit. Our men were scattered on the route from
Harper's Ferry to Leesburg, a demoralized lot of stragglers. My diary
mentions this experience with much indignation and attributes the folly
to the effects of whiskey. Of course, this was only a surmise.

General Kimball was not directly responsible for it. In his anxiety to
capture Jeb. Stuart he had pushed ahead with the cavalry, and knew
nothing of our condition until the forlorn party came straggling into
his bivouac in the evening. He was very indignant, and said some words
that cannot be recorded here. He was chagrined to find Stuart gone, but
now was greatly relieved that such was the fact. Otherwise, said he, we
would have stood an excellent chance for a journey south under rebel
escort.

On our way out we passed through several small villages, in none of
which did we find evidence of decided Union sentiment, except in
Waterford. This was a prosperous-looking town, and the people seemed
hospitable, and manifested their Union sentiments by furnishing us fruit
and water freely. Our cavalry caught four of Stuart's men in a
picture-gallery and marched them to the rear. I had the good fortune to
secure a loaf of nice bread and a canteen of sweet milk. If any one
wishes to know how good bread and milk is, let him step into my shoes on
that weary night.

Conditions compelled us to remain at Leesburg that night. We rested on
our arms, fearing Stuart might get an inkling of our plight and pounce
upon us. My diary says I was unable to sleep because of suffering from a
sprained knee and ankle, caused by my horse stumbling and falling on me
just at dusk.

The next morning we were off bright and early on the back track for
camp, but by another route, so as to avoid being cut off by Stuart. We
had started out bravely to capture this wily rebel. Now we were in
mortal danger of being captured by him. A detail was made to go back
over the route we came and gather up the stragglers. On our way back I
was refused a canteen of water by the "Missus" of one of the plantation
dwellings; but on riding around to the rear, where the slaves lived, old
"Aunt Lucy" supplied us freely with both milk and water. This was a
sample of the difference between the aristocrat in the mansion and the
slave in the hovel. The latter were always very friendly and ready to
help us in every possible way, while as a rule we met with rebuff at the
hands of the former.

Here we came in contact for the first time with plantation life under
the institution of slavery. The main or plantation house was usually
situated a quarter-mile or more back from the "pike." They were
generally low, flat, one-story mansions, built of stone, while further
to the rear, in the form of a square, were the wooden cabins of the
slaves, each plantation a village by itself. We marched only about eight
miles this day, and bivouacked near the village of Hillsboro. This
evening we officers of the field and staff caught on to a great treat in
the way of stewed chicken and corn cake for supper at a Union farmhouse,
and thought ourselves very fortunate to be able to engage a breakfast at
the same place for next morning. Alas for the uncertainties of war! We
had barely rolled ourselves in our blankets for the night when a staff
officer from General Kimball's head-quarters came and in a low tone of
voice ordered us to arouse our men without the least noise and be off as
quietly as possible; that scouts had reported that Stuart was after us
in hot haste. We were off almost in a jiffy. The night was cool and
foggy. The former favored our rapid march, and the latter hid us from
the enemy, who succeeded in capturing only a couple of men who fell out.

We reached camp at Harper's Ferry shortly after sunrise, a thoroughly
tired and battered crowd. The expedition proved absolutely fruitless,
and had barely escaped being captured, owing to mismanagement. It was
the most trying bit of service of our whole experience. Some of our men
never recovered from the exhaustion of that first day's march, and had
to be discharged as permanently disabled.

Shortly after this another expedition relieved the monotony of camp
life. General Hancock, commanding the Second Division of our corps, had
been sent to make a reconnoissance in force towards Halltown, six to
eight miles up the Shenandoah Valley. He had gone in the morning, and
shortly after noon we had heard cannonading in that direction, showing
that he had found "business." It was Hancock's reputation to make
"business," if the "Johnnies" could be induced to tarry long enough for
him to reach them. However, the firing shortly ceased, and the night set
in with a terrific rain-storm. I remember, as I rolled myself in my
blanket prepared for a good sleep in defiance of the rain, sympathizing
with those poor fellows out on that reconnoissance in all this storm. My
sympathy was premature. Just then I heard an ominous scratch on my tent,
and the hand of an orderly was thrust through the flaps with an order.
In much trepidation I struck a light. Sure I was of trouble, or an order
would not have been sent out at such a time. My fears were realized. It
directed our regiment to report at brigade head-quarters in heavy
marching order with all possible despatch. Here was a "state of things."
Was it ever so dark, and did it ever rain harder? Not in my
recollection. But that order left no time for cogitations. Into boots,
clothing, and gum blanket, out to the colonel's tent with the order,
then with his orders to all the companies, the sounding of the long
roll, the forming line, and away to brigade head-quarters in that inky
blackness and drenching rain was the work of less than fifteen minutes.
General Kimball complimented us as being the first regiment to report,
and we were honored with the head of the column which was to support
Hancock at Halltown. French's division had been ordered out as supports,
and Kimball's brigade had the advance.

We marched rapidly up the valley of the Shenandoah, now as black as
Erebus. But soon the rain ceased, the clouds broke away, and the stars
appeared, completely transforming the scene, and except for the mud and
our wet and uncomfortable condition it would have been an enjoyable
march. After going about six miles we were directed into a woods to rest
until morning. Inside the woods it was inky dark again, and we made
headway with much difficulty. Men and horses stumbled and floundered
over fallen logs and through brush at imminent peril of limbs, until a
halt was made, and after details for picket had been sent out we were
allowed to rest until daylight.

It was now about three o'clock. But to rest, soaking wet, almost covered
with mud, in a woods that had been so drenched with rain that everything
was like a soaked sponge, that was the problem. No fires were allowed,
for no one knew how near the enemy might be. However, the men were tired
enough to sleep, most of them, even under those conditions. I well
remember the weary walking and stamping to keep warm until the sunshine
came to our relief. But daylight revealed a condition of things relative
to our position that, had the enemy known, we might again have been made
an easy prey. Our details for water, after going out some distance, as
they supposed in our rear, suddenly found themselves uncomfortably near
the enemy's outposts, and hurried back to camp with the information. It
was found that in the darkness our picket line had actually gotten
turned around, so that our rear had been carefully guarded, whilst our
front was left wholly exposed. The denseness of the woods and the
darkness of the night had been our salvation. We shortly learned that
Hancock had accomplished his purpose and was moving back to Harper's
Ferry. We followed leisurely, reaching the camp about noon, thoroughly
tired and bedraggled from the rain and mud.




CHAPTER VIII

FROM HARPER'S FERRY TO FREDERICKSBURG


We remained on Bolivar Heights, at Harper's Ferry, without further
special incident until the 31st of October, 1862. In the mean time
Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox had been promoted to colonel to fill the
vacancy caused by the death of Colonel Oakford at Antietam. Major
Albright had been promoted to lieutenant-colonel and the senior captain,
Shreve, Company A, had been made major. Colonel Wilcox was on his back
with a severe case of typhoid fever, and Lieutenant-Colonel Albright had
been some ten days absent on sick leave, during which time Major Shreve
had been in command. Lieutenant-Colonel Albright, hearing of the
probable movement of the army, rejoined us in time to take command as we
bade farewell to Harper's Ferry. To show how little a soldier can know
of what is before him, I note the fact that we had just completed fixing
up our quarters for cold weather at Camp Bolivar. This involved
considerable labor and some expense. My diary records the fact that I
had put up a "California stove" in my tent. This, if I remember rightly,
was a cone-shaped sheet-iron affair, which had a small sliding door and
sat on the ground, with a small pipe extending through the canvas roof
just under the ridge-pole to the rear. It cost, I think, about four
dollars, and required some skill in "setting up," chiefly in fixing the
pipe so that it would not tumble about one's ears with every blast of
wind that shook the tent, and in windy weather would at least carry some
of the smoke outside. A special course of engineering was almost needed
to be able to properly handle those stoves. A little too much fire, and
you had to adopt Pat's remedy when Biddy's temper got up--sit on the
outside until it cooled down. Too little was worse than none, for your
tent became a smoke-house. On the whole, they were much like the goose
the aforesaid Pat captured and brought into camp, "a mighty unconvanient
burr'd, a little too big for one and not big enough for two."

This fixing up of quarters had been done in contemplation of remaining
here through the winter, and we had taken our cue from like actions of
our brigade officers, who were supposed to know something about the
movements of the army. When we got orders on the 29th of October to
prepare for the march, I was assured by the adjutant-general of our
brigade that it was nothing more than a day's reconnoissance, and that
we were certainly not going to move our quarters. He knew as much about
it as I did. Within an hour after this order another came directing us
to move in heavy marching order, with three days' rations and sixty
rounds of ammunition. And so we moved out of Harper's Ferry on the 31st
of October, leaving our fixed-up quarters, with my four-dollar stove, to
Geary's division, which succeeded to our camp.

We crossed the Shenandoah on a pontoon bridge and skirted the mountain
under Loudon Heights over the same route south that we had taken on our
way in from the Leesburg raid. We marched very leisurely, making during
the first four days only about twenty-five miles, to a village bearing
the serious (?) name of Snickersville. Here we had the first evidence of
the presence of the enemy. We were hurried through this village and up
through the gap in the mountain called "Snicker's Gap" to head off the
rebels. We soon came on to their scouts and pickets, who fled
precipitately without firing a gun. Part of our division halted on the
top of the gap, while a couple of regiments skirmished through the woods
both sides of the road down to the foot of the mountain on the other
side. The enemy had taken "French leave," and so our men returned and
our division bivouacked here for the night.

We now learned that these giant armies were moving south in parallel
columns, the mountain separating them. At every gap or pass in the
mountain a bristling head or a clinched fist, so to speak, of one would
be thrust through and the other would try to hit it. This was our
mission, as we double-quicked it through this gap. When we got there the
"fist" had been withdrawn, and our work for the time was over. But our
bivouac here--how beautiful it was! The fields were clean and green,
with plenty of shade, for right in the gap were some good farms. Then
the cavalry had not cleaned the country of everything eatable, as was
usual, they being always in the advance. There was milk and bread to be
had, and somehow--I never dared to inquire too closely about it--some
good mutton came into camp that night, so that we had a splendid
breakfast next morning. Some fine honey was added to the bill of fare.
The man who brought in the latter claimed that a rebel hive of bees
attacked him whilst on picket duty, and he confiscated the honey as a
measure of retaliation.

But the special feature that makes that camp linger in my memory was the
extraordinary beauty of the scene in the valley below us when the
evening camp-fires were lighted. We were on a sort of table-land two or
three hundred feet above the broad valley, which widened out at this
point and made a most charming landscape. As the darkness drew on the
camp-fires were lighted, and the scene became one of weird, bewitching
beauty. Almost as far as the eye could reach, covering three and
possibly four square miles, were spread out the blazing camp-fires of
that mighty host of our "Boys in Blue." No drums were beaten and the
usual retreat call was not sounded, but the thousands of camp-fires told
of the presence of our men. A martial city was cooking its evening
coffee and resting its weary limbs in the genial camp-fire glow, whilst
weary hearts were refreshed with the accompanying chat about friends and
dearer ones at home. The scouting "Johnny Rebs" (and there were no doubt
plenty of them viewing the scene) could have gotten from it no
comforting information to impart as to our numbers. Most of the Army of
the Potomac, now largely augmented by new regiments, was there, probably
not less than one hundred thousand men. It was a picture not of a
lifetime, but of the centuries. It made my blood leap as I realized that
I was looking down upon the grandest army, all things considered, of any
age or time. Its mission was to save to liberty and freedom the life of
the best government the world ever saw. In its ranks was the best blood
of a free people. In intelligence it was far superior to any other army
that ever existed. Scholars of all professions, tradesmen and farmers,
were there, fighting side by side, animated by the same patriotic
impulse. I said to myself, it is impossible that that army should be
beaten. It is the strong right arm of the Union, and under God it shall
assuredly deal the death-blow to the rebellion. This it certainly did,
though at a fearful cost, for it was fighting the same blood. The
inspiration of that scene made me glad from the bottom of my heart that
I had the privilege of being just one in that glorious army. After forty
years, what would I take for that association with all its dangers and
hardships? What for these pictures and memories? They are simply
priceless. I only wish I could so paint the pictures and reproduce the
scenes that they might be an inspiration to the same patriotism that
moved this mighty host.

One of our grizzly-headed "boys," after forty years, tells the following
story of his experiences on a foraging expedition from the camp. Three
of them started out after beef. Some young steers had been seen in the
distance. They reached the field, a mile or more from camp. They found
the game a mighty vigorous lot of young steers, and their troubles began
when they tried to corral any one of them. Both ends seemed to be in
business at the same time, whilst a tail-hold proved to have more
transportation possibilities than they had ever dreamed of. Coaxing and
persuasion proved utter failures, for the bovines seemed to have the
same prejudices against our blue uniforms their owners had, and it would
not do to fire a gun. However, after two hours of the hardest exercise
they ever had, they succeeded in "pinching" their steer with nose, horn,
and tail-holds. Neither of them had ever undertaken to butcher a beef
before, and a good-sized jackknife was all they had to work with. But
beef they came for and must have, and one was selected to do the trick.
Here again they counted without their quarry. The latter evidently
objected to being practised on by novices, for as the knife entered his
neck he gave a jump which somehow nearly severed the would-be butcher's
thumb. Nevertheless, he completed his work without a word, and the
animal was skinned and divided. Just as they had him down a field
officer rode almost on to them. They felt sure that their "fat was in
the fire," for the officer--probably the field officer of the
day--certainly saw them and saw what they were doing. But he turned and
rode away without saying a word. It was evidently one of those things he
did not want to see. Well, the fun was not yet over. They backed their
beef to camp, and this was about as uncomfortable a job as they ever
had. No more tired trio ever rolled themselves in blankets than they
were that night. But there was compensation. They had an abundant supply
of "fresh" on hand and their sleep was sweet. Alas for the uncertainties
of camp life. Notwithstanding they took the extra precaution to roll
their several portions in their coats and placed them under their heads
for pillows, some "sons of Belial" from an adjacent regiment who had
discovered them bringing their "game" into camp actually stole every
ounce of the beef out from under their too soundly sleeping heads during
the night and made off with it. After all their labor and trouble
neither of them had a taste of that beef. Their nostrils were regaled
with the savory fumes of the cooking meat. They had no difficulty in
discovering where it was. Indeed, the whelps who stole it rather paraded
their steal, knowing that the mouths of our men were sealed. They simply
could not say a word, for marauding was punishable with death. The worst
of the escapade was that the poor fellow whose thumb had been so nearly
severed was made a cripple for life. He was never able to do another
day's duty, and to shield him the other two--be it said to their
everlasting honor--performed his picket duty in addition to their own
until he was discharged.

My diary notes the fact that Fitz-John Porter's corps passed us just
before night, and I saw its commander for the first time. He was a
small, slender, young-looking man, with full black whiskers and keen
black eyes. He was dressed very modestly and wore the usual high black
slouch hat, with a much battered gold-tassel band. A pair of silver
stars on his shoulder, much obscured by wear and dust, indicated his
rank of major-general.

The next day, November 3, was cold and chilly and we were early on the
march, still southward. We had now exhausted our supply of rations, and
at a temporary halt wagon-loads of hardtack and pork were driven along
our company lines and boxes of the bread and barrels of pork dumped out,
and the men told to fill their haversacks. Barrel heads and boxes were
soon smashed with the butts of guns and contents appropriated, each man
taking all he would. Many a fine piece of the pork marched away on a
bayonet, ready for the noon-day meal. I filled my own saddle-bags, as
did the rest of us officers, preferring to take no further chances on
the grub question.

We bivouacked about four o'clock, after a thirteen-mile march in a raw
and very chilly air. Just going into bivouac I saw Major-General John F.
Reynolds, who met such a tragic death at Gettysburg the next July. His
corps--the First--was in the advance of ours. Our regiment was marching
at the head of our brigade column. Lieutenant-Colonel Albright was
temporarily absent and I was directing the column. General Reynolds's
corps had passed into the field to the left and were already in bivouac;
the other troops of our division were not visible at this point, and I
was hesitating what direction to give the column. General Reynolds was
sitting on his horse looking at us, evidently with much interest, and
noticing my dilemma, rode up to my assistance at once. Addressing me as
adjutant, he said: "Part of your corps has moved in yonder," pointing
out the place. "If I were you I would go in here and occupy this field
to the right in column of divisions, and you may say General Reynolds
advised this, if you please." His manner and way of doing this little
service were so pleasant that he captured me at once. Had he chosen to
do so, he could have given me orders, as the senior officer present, but
with a gentle courtesy he accomplished his purpose without that, and to
reassure me gave his name and rank in this delicate way. I shall never
forget his pleasant smile as he returned my salute after thanking him
for his suggestion. He was a superb-looking man, dark complexioned,
wearing full black whiskers, and sat his fine horse like a Centaur,
tall, straight, and graceful, the ideal soldier. I do not remember to
have ever seen this remarkable officer again. He was one of the few
great commanders developed by the war. A quiet, modest man, he yet
possessed a very decisive element of character, as illustrated by the
following incident related to me by my friend Colonel W. L. Wilson,
assistant adjutant-general of one of the divisions of Reynolds's corps,
and shows his unwearied vigilance and his indefatigable capacity for
work. The corps was in the presence of the enemy, an attack was deemed
highly probable. Night had brought on a storm of rain and intense
darkness. General Reynolds had given the proper officers very explicit
instructions about locating his picket lines, and Colonel Wilson,
knowing the critical nature of the work and his division chief's anxiety
over it, about midnight went out over their part of the line to make
doubly sure that everything was right. Among the first persons he
encountered after reaching the outposts was General Reynolds, all alone,
making his way over the line in that drenching rain, to be assured that
the pickets were properly posted and doing their duty. Here is Colonel
Wilson's account of the colloquy that ensued: "Who are you, sir? Where
do you belong? What are you doing here?" he volleyed at me savagely.
Being apparently reassured by my reply, he continued in a less
peremptory tone, "Who ordered that line? How far out is it?" Receiving
my reply, he exclaimed, "Push it out, push it out farther!" "How far,
General?" I ventured to ask. "Push it out until you feel something!"
This was Reynolds.

We continued our march down what I was told was the valley of the
Catochin. November 5 found us near Upperville, where we bivouacked
alongside an old graveyard, our head-quarters being established inside
the enclosure, to get the protection of its stone wall from the cold
wind that was blowing. The temperature had fallen during the past
twenty-four hours, so that it was now decidedly chilly--good for
marching, but cold in bivouac. My notes say that I was chilled through
until my teeth chattered; that I slept in the hollow made by a sunken
grave to get warm; that my dreams were not disturbed by any
unsubstantial hobgoblins of the defunct member of an F. F. V. whose
remains might have been resting below me. The letters F. F. V. meant
much in those war days. They stood for "First Family of Virginia," an
expression much in use by her slave-proud aristocracy, and, of course,
much satirized by us of the North. On this day we passed several very
handsome mansions with their slave contingents. One old "daddy"
volunteered the information that his "Mars was a pow'ful secesh;" that
he had three sons in the rebel army. My diary notes with indignation
that these rich plantations were carefully guarded by our cavalry to
prevent our soldiers entering to get water as they passed. They would
doubtless have helped themselves to other things as well, especially
things eatable, but the owners were rebels and deserved to have their
property taken, we all felt.

The orders against marauding were punctuated by a striking example this
day. The cavalry orderly of the general commanding our division, riding
back to head-quarters after delivering a batch of orders, among them
another on this hated subject, carried a pair of handsome turkeys
strapped to his saddle. It is safe to say that entire flock came into
our camp that night, and turkey was served at breakfast to some of the
rank and file as well as to the general. Verily, "consistency thou art a
jewel."

From Upperville we moved by easy marching down to Warrenton. The weather
had grown much colder. On the 8th of November there was a fall of rain,
succeeded by snow, and we marched in a very disagreeable slush. The
bivouac in this snow was most trying. The result for myself was a severe
attack of fever and ague. I had been much reduced in flesh from the
fatigue and nervous strain of the strenuous life of the past two months.
This attack prostrated me at once. I was placed in an ambulance, being
unable to ride my horse. The shaking and jolting of that ambulance ride
were something fearful. I can now sympathize with the wounded who were
compelled to ride in those horrible vehicles. They were covered wagons,
with seats on each side, and made with heavy, stiff springs, so as to
stand the rough roads, which were frequently cut through the fields.
This night General Kimball had me brought to his head-quarters, a brick
farm-house, for shelter. It was a kindness I greatly appreciated. The
next night our chaplain succeeded in getting me into a farm-house some
little distance from the regiment. He secured this accommodation on the
strength of Freemasonry. The owner's name I have preserved in my diary
as Mr. D. L. F. Lake. He was one of Mosby's "cavalry," as they called
themselves. We in our army called them "guerillas." They were the terror
of our army stragglers. They were "good Union men" when our army was
passing, but just as soon as the army had passed they were in their
saddles, picking up every straggler and any who may have had to fall
behind from sickness. In that way they got quite a few prisoners. This
man did not hesitate to tell us the mode of their operations. He said
his farm had been literally stripped of hay, grain, and cattle by our
cavalry under General Stoneman. All he had left was one chicken. This
his wife cooked for the chaplain and me. He brought out Richmond papers
during the evening and freely discussed the issues of the war with the
chaplain. I was too ill to pay much attention to what was said, only to
gather that his idea of us Northern people was that we were a miserable
horde of invading barbarians, destined to be very speedily beaten and
driven out. He admitted, however, that in financial transactions he
preferred "greenbacks" to the Confederate scrip, which I thought rather
negatived his boasted faith in the success of the Confederacy. His wife,
who had, not many years gone, been young and pretty, occasionally chimed
in with expressions of great hate and bitterness. Perhaps the latter was
not to be wondered at from their stand-point, and they had just now
ample grounds for their bitter feelings in the fact that they had just
been relieved of all their portable property by the Union forces. He had
receipts for what Stoneman had taken, which would be good for their
market value on his taking the oath of allegiance. But he said he would
die rather than take that oath, so he considered his property gone. He
no doubt thought better of this later on, and probably got pay for his
stuff. His kindness to me on the score of our fraternal relations was
generous to the full extent of his ability, and showed him to be a true
man, notwithstanding his "secesh" proclivities. It was a great favor,
for had I been compelled to remain out in that rough weather sick as I
was, the consequences must have been most serious. On leaving I tried to
pay him in gold coin for his hospitality, but he firmly declined my
money, saying: "You know you could not have gotten into my house for
money. Pay in like manner as you have received when opportunity
affords." For this fraternal hospitality I shall always remember my
"secesh" Masonic brother with gratitude, for I feel that it saved my
life.

Another terrific day in that awful ambulance brought me to Warrenton,
where I got a room at a so-called hotel. Here, upon the advice of our
surgeon, I made application for leave of absence on account of sickness.
The red tape that had to be "unwound" in getting this approved and
returned almost proved my ruin. Captain Archbald was taken sick at this
time, and his application for a like leave accompanied mine. The corps
surgeon, Dr. Dougherty, called with our surgeon to examine us at the
hotel, and said he would approve both applications; that it would be but
a day or so before our leaves would be ready and returned to us. The
next day orders for the army to move were issued, and we saw our men
marching away. It made my heart ache not to be in my place with them. I
was, however, barely able to sit up, so that was out of the question.
Now another possibility confronted us, namely, being picked up and
carried off as prisoners by my late host's comrades, Mosby's guerillas.
The army was evidently evacuating Warrenton and vicinity, and unless our
leaves of absence reached us within a very few hours we would be
outside of the "Union lines" and transportation to Washington
unobtainable, for the railroad trains did not pretend to run beyond the
Union lines. The next day came, the last of our troops were moving out,
and our leaves had not come. Captain Archbald and I resolved that we
must cut that "red tape" rather than take the chances of going to
Richmond. This we did by securing suits of citizens' clothes and making
our way as citizens through the lines to Washington. From there we had
no difficulty in reaching home in uniform. At Washington I wrote Colonel
Albright of our dilemma and the way we had solved it, and asked that our
leaves of absence be forwarded to us at Scranton. They came some two
weeks later. Had we remained at Warrenton, they would never have reached
us, unless in a rebel prison. Yet I suppose we had committed an offence
for which we could have been court-martialled.

I should have mentioned that just at the time I was taken sick, on the
9th of November, whilst the army was approaching Warrenton, the order
relieving General McClellan from the command of the Army of the Potomac
was issued. He was ordered to report to his home in Trenton, N. J., on
waiting orders. Great was the consternation among the veterans of that
army on his retirement, for they really had a strong attachment for
"Little Mac," as they fondly called him. He took his leave in an
affectionate order, recounting the heroic deeds of this noble army. This
was followed by a grand review, accompanied by battery salutes, and the
military career of General George B. McClellan passed into history.




CHAPTER IX

THE FREDERICKSBURG CAMPAIGN


I must pause long enough to speak of the days of that sick leave. Just
before reaching Scranton I met on the train my old friend and employer,
Joseph C. Platt, of the Lackawanna Iron & Coal Company, who insisted on
taking me home with him. As I had no home of my own and no relations
here, I accepted his kind hospitality. Had I been their own son I could
not have been cared for more tenderly. Under the circumstances I am sure
I was not a very prepossessing object to entertain. I well remember the
warm bath and the glorious luxury of once more being actually clean,
dressed in a civilized night-robe, and in a comfortable bed. It must be
remembered that a soldier must habitually sleep in his clothes. I had
not had my clothes off, except for a wash, since I entered the army. I
had evidently been living beyond my strength, and now the latter gave
way and I found myself unable to leave my bed for the next two weeks.
Dr. William Frothingham gave me most excellent medical treatment, and
with the motherly nursing of Mrs. Platt I was soon on the mend.

On the 8th of December I started back for my regiment. I was by no means
well, and the doctor was loath to let me go, as were all my kind
friends; but a grand forward movement of the army was reported as in
progress, and I felt that I must be at my post. I reached Washington on
the 9th, and it took the next two days to secure a pass and
transportation to the front. The latter was somewhat difficult to
obtain, owing to the fact that a movement of the army was in progress.
What the character of the movement was no one seemed to know, not even
the provost-marshal, who issued all passes.

I took a boat leaving at six o'clock A.M. on the 12th for Aquia Creek
and thence went by rail in a cattle-car to its terminus in the open
field opposite Fredericksburg. (The rebels were mean enough to refuse us
depot privileges at the regular station in Fredericksburg.) I arrived
there about one o'clock P.M. A brisk cannonade was in progress between
the Union batteries posted on the heights back of Falmouth and the
Confederate guns on Marye's Heights, back of Fredericksburg. The problem
now was to find my regiment. A stranger standing near said, in answer to
my inquiry, that the Union army had been encamped about a mile and a
half back yonder, pointing to the hills in our rear, but that he was
quite sure they had all gone across the river last night; that a big
fight had taken place about laying the pontoon bridge over the river
(the Rappahannock), and the Union forces had beaten the rebels back,
laid the bridge and had crossed over and occupied the city.
Fredericksburg was a city of probably five or six thousand people, lying
on the west bank of the Rappahannock, which runs at this point nearly
southeast. The river is probably one hundred and fifty to two hundred
yards wide here, quite deep, with a rather swift current and high banks,
so that one does not see the water until quite close to it. The
railroad formerly ran from Aquia Creek to Richmond via Fredericksburg,
the connection to Washington being by boat from Aquia Creek. The war
stopped its operation, but so much of it as was in the Union lines had
been seized by the government, and was being operated by the
quartermaster's department for war purposes. The stations of the latter
were wherever the troops were, and these were now operating against
Fredericksburg, hence I was dumped down in an open field opposite that
city as stated above. I was fortunate enough to find a man who was going
to Hancock's old camp, and I concluded to go with him, believing that
once there I could find our division camp belonging to the same corps.

I chartered a burly "contraban" to carry my luggage, and we started. The
ground was very soft from recent rains, and the mud was something
terrible. If one has never encountered Virginia mud, he can have no
adequate idea of the meaning of the word. It gets a grip on your feet
and just won't let go. Every rise of your pedal extremities requires a
mighty tug, as if you were lifting the earth, as indeed you are--a much
larger share of it than is comfortable.

A tramp of a mile and a half brought us to Hancock's old camp. In my
weak condition I was thoroughly exhausted, and so my "contraban" claimed
to be, for he positively refused to go another step. I got my
quartermaster friend to take care of my baggage, whilst I continued my
search for our division camp. I was not successful in finding it that
night, and was obliged to accept the invitation of a sick officer of the
Eighty-first Pennsylvania Volunteers to share his quarters for the
night. I had eaten breakfast at five o'clock that morning in Washington
and had eaten nothing since, and it was now dusk. I was not only tired,
but faint for want of food. This officer, whose name I regret I have
forgotten, was a brother Mason, and kindly divided his meagre rations
with me, which consisted of boiled rice and hardtack. He had a little
molasses, with which the former was lubricated, and a good strong cup of
coffee was added. It was not Waldorf-Astoria fare, to be sure, and the
explanation was that the boys had taken almost everything eatable with
them.

The next morning I picked up an old "crow-bait" of a horse, the only
four-footed transportation possibly obtainable, and started for
Fredericksburg to find my regiment. The only directions I had about
disposing of this frame of a horse was to "turn the bones loose when you
get through with him." He could go only at a snail's pace, and when I
reached Fredericksburg it must have been nine o'clock. I crossed the
pontoon bridge, which had been laid the morning before under
circumstances of the greatest gallantry by Howard's division of our
corps.

The "ball" was now well opened. Marye's Heights (pronounced Marie, with
the accent on the last letter, as if spelled Maree), circling the city
from the river above to a point below the city, was literally crowded
with batteries of rebel artillery. These guns were firing at our
batteries on the heights on the other side of the river, and also upon
our troops occupying the city. The air was filled with screeching,
bursting shells, and a deafening pandemonium was in progress. It was
not a very inviting place to enter under these circumstances, but it was
as safe for me as for my regiment, and my duty was to be with them. The
trouble was to find it in that multitude of troops filling all the
streets of the city. Our corps alone numbered probably twelve thousand
men at that time, and the Ninth Corps was there besides. However, I soon
found Kimball's brigade to my great delight, supposing our regiment was
in it, as it was when I went away. General Kimball greeted me with great
cordiality; but when I asked where my regiment was, he said he was sorry
he could not inform me; that they had that morning been transferred,
much against his will, to General Max Weber's brigade, and where that
was he did not know. It was probably somewhere in the city. Said he:

"You cannot possibly find it now, and it is a waste of time to try. I
can give you plenty of work to-day. Stay with me and serve as an aide on
my staff."

The officers of his staff, all of whom were personal friends, urgently
joined in the general's invitation. But I felt that I must be with the
regiment if it were possible to find it, and so declined what would have
been a distinguishing service. Some distance down the main street I ran
on to the regiment just when I had abandoned all hope of finding it. My
reception was exceedingly cordial, accompanied with the remark: "Just in
time, adjutant, just in time." I found Lieutenant-Colonel Albright in
command and with no help from our field and staff. Colonel Wilcox was
still on sick leave. Major Shreve had returned to camp during the heavy
cannonading of the day before, and Colonel Albright had lost his voice
from a severe cold, so that I had to supply voice for him in the issuing
of orders, in addition to my other duties.

The situation was most portentous. We lay in the main street under the
shelter of the houses, which were being bombarded by the rebel batteries
in their efforts to reach our troops. The houses were all vacant; the
people had fled on the approach of our army. Not a soul did we see of
the inhabitants of the city during the two days we occupied it. They had
evidently left in great haste, taking but few things with them. I was
told that in some houses the boys found and ate meals that had been
prepared and left in their flight, and in all there was more or less
food, which was appropriated. Flour was plentiful, and the night after
the battle there were army flapjacks galore. In some cases it might have
been said these were fearfully and wonderfully made, but they went just
the same.

An incident connected with this occupation of Fredericksburg comes to
light after forty years. If General Howard should see it the mystery of
the sudden disappearance of his breakfast on that morning might be
cleared up. Our regiment happened to be quartered in the morning near
his head-quarters. Rations were scarce. General Howard's servant had
prepared him a most tempting breakfast from supplies found and
confiscated from one of the houses. The sight of this repast and its
savory fumes were too much for the empty stomachs of two of our men, who
shall be nameless here. The trick was a neat one. One of them got the
attention of the cook and held it until the other reached into the tent
and dumped the contents of the main dish, hot and steaming, into his
haversack and quietly sauntered away. When the cook discovered his loss
the other fellow was gone. These rascals said it was the best dish of
ham and eggs they ever ate. Many houses had fine pianos and other
musical instruments, and in some instances impromptu dances were on
whilst Confederate shells whanged through the house above their heads.
It is safe to say that there was little left of valuable bric-à-brac to
greet the fugitive people on their return. And it is highly probable
that pianos and handsome furniture needed considerable repairing after
the exodus of the "Yank." This was not due to pure vandalism, although
war creates the latter, but to the feeling of hatred for the miserable
rebels who had brought on the war and were the cause of our being there.
And it must be admitted there were some who pocketed all they could for
the commercialism there might be in it, the argument again being,
"somebody will take it, and I might as well have it as the other
fellow." The first part of the argument was doubtless as true as the
latter part was false. Many trinkets were hawked about among the men
after the fight as souvenirs. Among them was a silver-plated communion
flagon. Some scamp had filched it from one of the churches and was
trying to sell it. Fortunately, he did not belong to our regiment. Our
chaplain took it from him and had it strapped to his saddle-bag. His
purpose was to preserve it for its owner if the time should come that it
could be returned. But in the meantime its presence attached to his
saddle made him the butt of any amount of raillery from both officers
and men.

When I joined the regiment it was lying in front of the Court-House,
from the steeple of which some sixty or seventy feet high, the flags of
our signal-corps were most actively wagging. It occurred to me that
those signal-men were mighty nervy fellows. They were a beautiful mark
for the rebel batteries, which were evidently doing their best to knock
them out. The steeple was a plain, old-fashioned affair, having an open
belfry, which seemed to be supported by four upright posts or timbers. I
saw one of those uprights knocked out by a rebel shell. A couple more
equally good shots and our signal-fellows would come ignominiously--no,
gloriously--down, for there could be no ignominy with such pluck. But
the wig-wagging went on, I fancied, with a little more snap and audacity
than before, and they maintained their station there in the very teeth
of the rebel batteries until the army was withdrawn. So much for "Yankee
nerve." I afterwards learned that the signal-officer there was none
other than Lieutenant Frederick Fuller, of Scranton, one of my most
intimate personal friends. Lieutenant Fuller told me that he was on duty
at Burnside's head-quarters on that morning; that a station was ordered
opened in the belfry of that Court-House, and another officer was
despatched thither for that duty; that after waiting some time for the
flags to appear he was ordered over to see what the trouble was. He
found the other officer sitting under shelter, afraid to mount the
belfry, nor could any persuasion induce him to face that storm of shell.
Lieutenant Fuller thereupon climbed up into the belfry, opened the
station himself, and ran it during the whole battle.

About ten o'clock the command "Forward" was sounded, and our brigade
moved out towards Marye's Heights. Some idea of the topography of
Fredericksburg and its rear I find is necessary to an understanding of
what follows. Marye's Heights, which encircle the city back some five
hundred yards, are the termination of a plateau which rises from one
hundred and fifty to two hundred feet in an abrupt terrace from the
plain upon which the city stands. These heights form a half-circle from
the river above to a point below the city some little distance from the
river, and are from a mile to a mile and a half long and are most
admirably adapted for defensive purposes. The rebel batteries, numbering
at least one hundred guns, were massed on these heights, and covered not
only every street leading out from the city, but every square foot of
ground of the plain below. A third of the way down the terrace was an
earthwork filled with infantry, whilst at its foot ran the famous stone
wall extending southward from the cemetery above the city, and was
continued by an earthwork around the whole circle. Behind this stone
wall was massed a double line of Confederate infantry. To enter either
street leading out to those heights was to face the concentrated fire of
that mass of artillery and the deadly work of those three lines of
infantry. Yet that was just what we had before us.

Our division (French's) led the assault. Our regiment brought up the
rear of our brigade column. As each regiment turned into the street
leading out, it took up the run to cover this exposed ground as quickly
as possible. Lieutenant-Colonel Albright was leading our regiment and I
was by his side. We passed rapidly up the street, already covered with
the dead and wounded which had fallen from the regiments that had
preceded us, until we reached the embankment of a railroad, which was
nearly parallel with the enemy's works. A temporary halt was made here
preparatory to moving forward in line of battle.

Turning to see that our men were in position, I was amazed to find that
we had but one company with us. It was my duty as adjutant to go back
and find and bring up the balance of the regiment. The distance was
about four hundred yards. I can truthfully say that in that moment I
gave my life up. I do not expect ever again to face death more certainly
than I thought I did then. It did not seem possible that I could go
through that fire again and return alive. The grass did not grow under
my feet going back. My sprinting record was probably made then. It may
be possible to see the humorous side at this distance, but it was verily
a life and death matter then. One may ask how such dangers can be faced.
The answer is, there are many things more to be feared than death.
Cowardice and failure of duty with me were some of them. I can fully
appreciate the story of the soldier's soliloquy as he saw a rabbit
sprinting back from the line of fire:

"Go it, cotton tail; if I hadn't a reputation at stake, I'd go to."

Reputation and duty were the holding forces. I said to myself, "This is
duty. I'll trust in God and do it. If I fall, I cannot die better."
Without the help and stimulus of that trust I could not have done it,
for I doubt if any man was ever more keenly susceptible to danger than
I, and the experience of Antietam had taught me the full force of this
danger. The nervous strain was simply awful. It can be appreciated only
by those who have experienced it. The atmosphere seemed surcharged with
the most startling and frightful things. Deaths, wounds, and appalling
destruction everywhere. As fast as I was running back over that street,
my eyes caught an incident that I can see now, which excited my pity,
though I had no time to offer help. A fine-looking fellow had been
struck by a shot, which had severed one leg and left it hanging by one
of the tendons, the bone protruding, and he was bleeding profusely. Some
men were apparently trying to get him off the street. They had hold of
his arms and the other leg, but were jumping and dodging at every shell
that exploded, jerking and twisting this dangling leg to his horrible
torture. I remember hearing him beseeching them to lay him down and let
him die. They were probably a trio of cowards trying to get back from
the front, and were using this wounded man to get away with, a not
infrequent occurrence with that class of bummers.

I found the balance of the regiment had passed our street and were in
confusion further down the main street. As the second company was about
turning to follow the column a shell had exploded in their faces,
killing and wounding some ten men and throwing it into disorder. Before
it could be rallied the advancing column was out of sight. It was the
work of but a few moments to straighten out the tangle and head them
again for the front. No body of men could have more quickly and bravely
responded, though they told me afterwards that they read in my pallid
face the character of the work before them. Back we went up that street
on the run, having to pick our way to avoid stepping on the dead and
wounded, for the ground was now blue with our fallen heroes.




CHAPTER X

THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG--CONCLUDED


Reaching the place in the rear of that railroad embankment, where I had
left the brigade, I found it had just gone forward in line of battle,
and a staff officer directed me to bring the rest of the regiment
forward under fire, which I did, fortunately getting them into their
proper position. The line was lying prone upon the ground in that open
field and trying to maintain a fire against the rebel infantry not more
than one hundred and fifty yards in our front behind that stone wall. We
were now exposed to the fire of their three lines of infantry, having no
shelter whatever. It was like standing upon a raised platform to be shot
down by those sheltered behind it. Had we been ordered to fix bayonets
and charge those heights we could have understood the movement, though
that would have been an impossible undertaking, defended as they were.
But to be sent close up to those lines to maintain a firing-line without
any intrenchments or other shelter, if that was its purpose, was simply
to invite wholesale slaughter without the least compensation. It was to
attempt the impossible, and invite certain destruction in the effort. On
this interesting subject I have very decided convictions, which I will
give later on.

[Illustration: FIRST LIEUT. JAMES A. ROGERS

CO. C]


[Illustration: FIRST LIEUT. NOAH H. JAY

CO. K]


[Illustration: FIRST LIEUT. A. C. MENSCH

CO. E]


[Illustration: FIRST LIEUT. CHARLES E. GLADDING

CO. D]


[Illustration: FIRST LIEUT. ISAIAH W. WILLITTS

CO. H]


[Illustration: SECOND LIEUT. D. R. MELLICK

CO. E]

Proceeding now with my narrative, we were evidently in a fearful
slaughter-pen. Our men were being swept away as by a terrific whirlwind.
The ground was soft and spongy from recent rains, and our faces and
clothes were bespattered with mud from bullets and fragments of shells
striking the ground about us, whilst men were every moment being hit by
the storm of projectiles that filled the air. In the midst of that
frightful carnage a man rushing by grasped my hand and spoke. I turned
and looked into the face of a friend from a distant city. There was a
glance of recognition and he was swept away. What his fate was I do not
know.

That same moment I received what was supposed to be my death wound.
Whilst the men were lying down, my duties kept me on my feet. Lieutenant
Charles McDougal,[D] commanding the color company, called to me that the
color-guard were all either killed or wounded. We had two stands of
colors, the national and State flags. These colors were carried by two
color-sergeants, protected by six color-corporals, which made up the
color-guard. If either sergeant became disabled the nearest corporal
took the colors, and so on until the color-guard were down. This was the
condition when this officer called to me to replace these disabled men,
so that the colors should be kept flying. He had one flag in his hand as
I approached him, and he was in the act of handing it to me when a
bullet crashed through his arm and wrist, spattering my face with his
warm blood. I seized the staff as it fell from his shattered arm. The
next instant a bullet cut the staff away just below my hand. An instant
later I was struck on the head by the fragment of a shell and fell
unconscious with the colors in my hand. How long I remained unconscious
I do not know, possibly twenty minutes or more. What were my sensations
when hit? I felt a terrific blow, but without pain, and the thought
flashed through my mind, "This is the end," and then everything was
black. I do not remember falling. It takes time to write this, but
events moved then with startling rapidity. From the time we went forward
from the embankment until the line was swept back could have been but a
few minutes, otherwise all must have been killed.

When I revived I was alone with the dead and wounded. The line of battle
had been swept away. The field about me was literally covered with the
blue uniforms of our dead and wounded men. The firing had very
perceptibly decreased. I had worn into the battle my overcoat, with my
sword buckled on the outside. I had been hit on the left side of my
head, and that side of my body was covered with blood down to my feet,
which was still flowing. My first thought was as to my condition,
whether mortally wounded or not. I was perceptibly weakened from loss of
blood, but lying there I could not tell how much strength I had left. I
did not dare move, for that would make me a target for the guns that
covered that terrible wall, the muzzles of which I could plainly see.
Many of them were still spitting out their fire with a venom that made
my position exceedingly uncomfortable. What should I do? What could I
do? To remain there was either to bleed to death or be taken prisoner
and sent to Libby, which I felt would mean for me a sure lingering
death. To make a move to get off the field would draw the fire of those
guns, which would surely finish me. These were the alternatives.

I carefully stretched my legs to test my strength, and I made up my mind
I had enough left to carry me off the field, and I resolved to take my
chances in the effort. I determined that I would zigzag my course to the
rear so as not to give them a line shot at me. So getting myself
together I made a supreme effort and sprang up and off in jumps, first
to the right, then to the left. As I expected, they opened on me, and
the bullets flew thick and fast about me. The first turn I got a bullet
through my right leg just above the ankle. It felt like the stinging cut
of a whip and rather accelerated my speed. About fifty yards back was an
old slab fence to my right, and I plunged headlong behind that, hoping
to find shelter from those bullets. I fell directly behind several other
wounded men, two of whom rolled over dead from bullets that came through
the slabs and which were probably aimed at me. This flushed me again,
and by the same zigzag tactics I succeeded in getting back to the
railroad embankment, where, to my great joy, I found Colonel Albright
with what remained of the regiment. Colonel Albright grasped me in his
arms as I came over, with the exclamation, "We thought you were killed."
Sergeant-Major Clapp told me that he had rolled me over and satisfied
himself that I was dead before they went back.

As I reached cover under this embankment I remember noticing a
field-officer rallying his men very near us on our right, and that
instant his head was literally carried away by a shell. So intense was
the situation that even this tragic death received only a passing
thought. Then came the Irish brigade, charging over our line as they did
at Antietam. They came up and went forward in fine form, but they got
but a few yards beyond the embankment, when they broke and came back,
what was left of them, in great confusion. No troops could stand that
fire. Our division and the whole Second Corps, in fact, were now
completely disorganized, and the men were making their way back to the
city and the cover of the river-bank as best they could, whilst the
splendid old Ninth Corps was advancing to take its place. Profiting by
our experience, they did not advance by those streets through which we
came, but made their way through houses and yards and so escaped that
concentrated fire on the streets. Their advancing lines, covering the
whole city front, looked magnificent, and it was dreadful to think that
such a splendid body of men must march into such a slaughter-pen. Their
movement was a repetition of ours. With bayonets unfixed they moved
forward and attempted to maintain a firing-line under Marye's Heights on
the ground from which we had been driven, only to be hurled mercilessly
back as we had been. Our line had been the first to make this effort,
and for some reason we had approached to within about one hundred yards
of their main line of infantry, much closer than any of the troops that
followed. The others had barely got beyond the embankment, when they
were swept away. We, having approached nearer their line, were, of
course, longer exposed to their fire and lost more heavily.

I was always curious to know why we of the first line of that fateful
movement succeeded in getting so much nearer their works than the
equally brave and determined men who followed us. Some years afterwards
on revisiting this location I met an ex-Confederate who commanded one of
the rebel batteries on those heights that day. In answer to my
questions, he said the first "Yankee" line was permitted to approach
much nearer than those that followed, for, said he, "we knew they were
our meat, and when we finally opened on them with our full force, the
slaughter was so awful it made me heart sick. But you kept coming with
such persistency that we did not dare repeat those tactics." This may
have been partially true so far as concerned their infantry fire, but a
more potent reason, in my judgment, was that we had developed the utter
hopelessness of the attempt, and men could not put heart into the
effort.

Recurring to myself again, Colonel Albright stanched the flowing of
blood from my wound in the head by making a strong compress of my large
bandana handkerchief. The other wound in my leg did not give me much
trouble then. In that condition, accompanied by another wounded man, I
made my way back into the city. We found it one vast hospital. Every
house was literally crowded with wounded men. We were fortunate enough
to run against our brigade surgeon, who had taken possession of a brick
building on the main street for hospital purposes. The only thing he
could give me to lie down upon was a wooden bench. We had dismounted and
left our horses with a servant when we went forward, and our blankets,
etc., were with them, and where they were now there was no means of
knowing. I was therefore without those comforts. Everything of that
nature left by the rebels had long before been appropriated. The doctor
hastily examined my wounds, pronounced them not dangerous, ordered the
hospital steward to dress them, and was away. He, however, appropriated
my red handkerchief. I had been presented by a friend on leaving
Scranton with two large old-fashioned red silk bandana handkerchiefs,
and they were exceedingly useful. The doctor, seeing them, said, "I must
have these to nail up over the outside door to show that this is a
hospital," and, without so much as saying by your leave, carried them
off. The effort was to secure as much protection as possible from the
fire of the enemy, and to do this the red flag of the hospital must be
displayed. It is against the rules of civilized warfare to fire upon a
hospital. The doctor said my red silk handkerchiefs were the first red
stuff of any kind he had been able to get hold of. Of course I was glad
to part with them for that purpose, though they were worth at that time
$2 each in gold. The wound in my head was fortunately a glancing blow
from a fragment of a shell. It tore the scalp from the bone about three
inches in length in the form of a V. It has never given me serious
trouble, more than to be a barometer of changing weather. The wound in
my leg nearly severed the big tendon. They both quickly healed, and I
was off duty with them but the one day I took to get back to camp.

After my wounds had been dressed I tried to sleep, being not only very
weak from loss of blood, but almost in a condition of nervous
exhaustion. I laid down on my bench, but shells were continually
crashing through the building, and sleep was impossible. I went out on
the street. It was crowded with wounded and straggling soldiers. The
stragglers were hunting for their regiments, the wounded for hospital
room. It seemed as if the army must have disintegrated. This was
practically true of the Second and Ninth Corps, which had made the
assault. Towards night General French rode down the street, accompanied
by his staff. Seeing me, he stopped his horse and exclaimed, "Adjutant,
where is my division? Tell me where my men are. My God, I am without a
command!" and the tears were flowing down his red, weather-beaten face.
He was beside himself over the awful losses of his division. Well he
might be, for a great number of them were lying on yonder field in front
of Marye's Heights, and the balance were scattered through the houses
and on the river-bank practically disorganized.

I was greatly alarmed for our safety that night. It seemed to me highly
probable that General Lee would come down upon us and capture all that
were in the city, as he could easily have done. Possibly he was
satisfied with the damage already inflicted, and did not care to assume
the care of our wounded, which that would have involved. I remained on
my bench in that hospital through that long night without food or
covering. I had eaten nothing since early morning. With the constant
whanging of shells through ours and adjacent buildings and the moaning
of the wounded lying all about me, sleep or rest was impossible. It was
a night too dreadful to think of, and makes me shudder again as I write.
We remained in the city the next day, Sunday, and I rejoined our
regiment, which, with other troops, was lying under the shelter of the
river-bank. Officers were getting their men together as far as possible
and bringing order out of chaos. We had Sunday about two hundred for
duty out of three hundred and fifty taken into the battle. On Monday,
the 15th, we who were wounded were told to make our way across the river
back to our old camps as best we could. I was now very weak, and my head
and leg were very sore. The latter gave me much trouble in walking,
nevertheless there was a three-mile tramp before us. Lieutenant
Musselman, also wounded, went with me on this weary tramp. We did not
reach camp that night, and so had to find shelter at a farm-house,
already full of straggling and wounded soldiers. The owner was a widow,
living with a grown-up daughter, and was a bitter rebel, although
professing Union sentiments whilst our army was there. She was, of
course, greatly annoyed by the presence of these soldiers, most of whom
were eating up her provisions without paying for them. Some of them were
"bummers," who had run away from the battle and had persuaded her to
feed and shelter them for the protection they professed to afford her.
She was in great wrath when we reached there and peremptorily forbade us
entering. But I told her firmly that we were wounded men and must have
shelter; that I would willingly pay for accommodations, but, permission
or not, the latter we must have. This argument seemed to be convincing,
and the daughter led us up to the garret, which, she said, was the only
unoccupied room in the house. Here she spread a blanket on the floor for
us to sleep on. I suppose this was the best she could do. Then, at our
solicitation, she got us some supper, an exceedingly frugal meal, but we
were glad to get that. The daughter did not seem to share her mother's
bitterness, but as often as she could would interject a word in our
favor, and really did all she could for us. I sincerely hope she was
ultimately made a permanent prisoner by some good "boy in blue." Here
would have been an excellent opportunity to have woven into this
narrative the golden thread of romance. This pretty secesh girl, with
flashing blue eyes and golden hair, rebel to the core, yet befriending a
wounded Union soldier, etc. How readily it lends itself, but the truth
must be told. The little arrow god had already driven home his shaft,
and so the romance could not mature.

During the evening General Franz Sigel and staff came to the house and
demanded supper. Our lady was very polite, assured him that it was
impossible. "Very well," said General Sigel, "I think I shall want this
place to-morrow for a hospital. Madam, your kindness will be
reciprocated." He spoke very emphatically, whereat the pretty daughter
began to cry, and the mother to stammer apologies, and said she would do
the best she could for them, but she really had nothing to cook. The
general retired very indignant. Whether or not his threat was carried
out I do not know, for the next morning we were off without trying to
get breakfast. On asking for her bill we were surprised to find her
charges were evidently based on the highest war-time hotel rates. We had
so poor a supper that we had no desire for breakfast there, and had
slept on the garret floor. For this she demanded one dollar. We paid her
fifty cents, which was more than double its worth, and left amidst a
great volley of her choicest anathemas.

We reached camp towards noon, and found we had tramped about five miles
out of our way. The regiment was there ahead of us, the troops having
evacuated Fredericksburg on Monday, two days after the battle, without
opposition. We were actually under fire in this battle, that is, from
the time the assault began until we were swept back, probably not more
than thirty minutes as against four and one-half hours at Antietam. Yet
our losses were proportionately much heavier. During my absence on sick
leave, our regiment, after leaving Warrenton, had been detailed on heavy
"fatigue" duty, loading and unloading vessels and various kinds of
laborer's work at Belle-plain, and in consequence many were on the sick
list, others were on various details, so that when we went into this
battle we had only three hundred and fifty men for duty, against seven
hundred and fifty at Antietam. Of this number my diary, written the
15th, says we lost: Killed, 7; wounded, 80; missing, 20; total, 107.
Lieutenant Hoagland, Company H, was killed. Of the wounded, four were
officers,--Captain Richard Stillwell and First Lieutenant John B. Floyd,
Company K; First Lieutenant Musselman, Company E, and First Lieutenant
McDougal, commanding Company C. Lieutenant McDougal's arm was shattered
by a minie-ball whilst handing me the colors, detailed above. Captain
Stillwell received a very singular wound. A bullet struck the side of
his neck near the big artery and appeared to have gouged out a bit of
flesh and glanced off. It bled more than this circumstance would have
seemed to warrant, but the captain was sure he was not hurt and made
light of it. Swelling and pain speedily developed in his shoulder, and
it was found that the missile, instead of glancing off, had taken a
downward course and finally lodged near his shoulder-joint, a distance
of ten or twelve inches from where it entered. He was given leave of
absence on account of wounds, and the ball was cut out after his return
home, and ultimately the whole channel made by the ball had to be
opened, when it was found lined with whiskers which the ball had carried
in with it.

Most of those computed above as missing were undoubtedly killed, but had
not been so reported at that time. Our loss in that half-hour was nearly
one-third. One stand of our colors, the one whose staff was shot away in
my hand, was missing, and the other was badly torn by shells and
bullets.




CHAPTER XI

WHY FREDERICKSBURG WAS LOST


I promised to give my convictions relative to the responsibility for the
disaster of Fredericksburg, and I might as well do it here.

Recalling the fact heretofore stated that we seemed to have been thrown
against Marye's Heights to be sacrificed; that we were not ordered to
charge their works, but to advance and maintain a line of battle-fire
where such a thing was absolutely impossible, I come to the inquiry,
what was the character and purpose of the movement and why did it fail?
So thoroughly impressed was I that there was something radically wrong
about it, that I determined to solve that question if possible, and so
made a study of the subject at that time and later after my return home.
I had personal friends in the First and Sixth Corps, which had operated
on the extreme left, and I discussed with them the movements that day.
Finally, after my return home, I got access to Covode's congressional
reports on the conduct of the war covering that campaign, and from all
these sources learned what I then and now believe to be substantially
the facts about that campaign. The army was divided into three grand
divisions, composed of two army corps each, namely, the Second and
Ninth, the right grand division, commanded by Sumner; the First and
Sixth, the left grand division, commanded by Franklin, and the Third
and Fifth, the centre, commanded by Hooker. The plan of battle was to
hold Lee's army at Fredericksburg by a "feint in force" (which means an
attack sufficiently strong to deceive the enemy into the belief that it
is the real or main attack) at that point, whilst the left grand
division was to throw a pontoon bridge across the river three miles
below and turn his flank (_i.e._, get behind them) in the rear of
Marye's Heights. For this purpose the left grand division was to advance
and attack vigorously. If successful, Lee would then have been between
Franklin's forces on the left and our own on the right, with every
possibility of being crushed. Hooker was to hold his division in
readiness to support either wing. Had this plan been carried out, our
work at the right would, at its conception, have been as it appeared to
be, a mad sacrifice of men, but with an opportunity later on of pushing
forward and reaping a victory. In that event, our position would have
made us a tremendous factor in the result.

Now how was the plan carried out? The student will be puzzled on finding
such a paucity of records concerning this disastrous movement. The
official documents are remarkable for what they do not contain. A study
of Covode's reports on the conduct of the war will, I think, justify my
conclusions, viz., that the disaster of Fredericksburg was due not to
accident, nor to a faulty plan of battle, but to a failure of the left
grand division to perform the vital part assigned to it. My information
gained at the time was that Franklin was to remain concealed until the
signal for our attack came; then he was to cross over and attack
vigorously, a military expression, meaning to put all possible vigor
and power into the movement. The signal was given as our attack began.
Whatever force may have crossed the river at that time, my information
was that the division known as the Pennsylvania Reserve, now numbering
probably not more than six thousand men, under General Meade, was the
only body of troops which made a determined attack on Lee's right, in
support of our work in front of Marye's Heights. Realizing the
opportunity, General Meade pushed forward with his usual vigor and,
though meeting strenuous opposition, soon found himself well in Lee's
rear, but without support. He sent back aide after aide to hurry forward
the supporting lines, but without avail, finally galloping back himself.
He found General Birney resting near the bridge with his division. An
eye-witness[E] to Meade's interview with Birney says the language of
General Meade as he upbraided Birney for not coming to his support was
enough to "almost make the stones creep;" that Meade was almost wild
with rage as he saw the golden opportunity slipping away and the
slaughter of his men going for naught. He said Birney responded that he
agreed with General Meade 

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