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The Story of the Thirty-second Regiment, Massachusetts Infantry

by Francis J. Parker · English · Gutenberg #50140 · 389,826 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Story of the Thirty-second Regiment, Massachusetts Infantry

Author: Francis J. Parker


        
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Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF THE THIRTY-SECOND REGIMENT, MASSACHUSETTS INFANTRY ***

  THE STORY
  OF THE
  THIRTY-SECOND REGIMENT
  MASSACHUSETTS INFANTRY.

  WHENCE IT CAME; WHERE IT WENT; WHAT IT SAW;
  AND WHAT IT DID.

  BY FRANCIS J. PARKER, COLONEL.

  [Illustration]

  BOSTON:
  C. W. CALKINS & CO., PUBLISHERS.
  1880.




  C. W. CALKINS & CO., PRINTERS,
  286 Washington St., Boston.




  TO THE OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS
  OF THE
  THIRTY-SECOND MASSACHUSETTS,
  IN MEMORY OF THE DEAD
  AND
  IN HONOR OF THE LIVING.




ERRATUM.


On page 3, twelfth line, for “Brevet Brigadier-General,” read
“Colonel.” Colonel Prescott was never breveted.




PREFACE.


This book is not a history of the civil war, nor even of the Army
of the Potomac; but merely the story of one of the regiments which
composed that Army. It does not relate the biography of the many
distinguished generals under whose command the battalion served, and
the endeavor has been made to exclude from it not only discussions
as to the merits of individuals, but even favorable or unfavorable
opinions, save when the facts related implied or seemed to require such
reflections.

The book is intended chiefly to collect and present in narrative form,
descriptions of some of the experiences of our Regiment, in order to
preserve them in the memory of those who were actors in the scenes
described, and enable the officers and men of the 32d to place in the
hands of their children and friends vivid pictures of the dangers,
trials, and pleasures which attended the service of our soldiers in the
war for the Union.

In the preparation of the book, I have received, and gratefully
acknowledge, the assistance of many of my old comrades, officers, and
men, not only by way of incidents related verbally, but also--and
this especially concerning events which occurred after my own
resignation--by way of written contributions. Many of these are
embodied in the text almost in the language of the writers, and others
in a more or less condensed form. Among those to whom I am thus
indebted should be particularly named General Luther Stephenson, jr.,
Surgeon Z. B. Adams, Major E. S. Farnsworth, General J. A. Cunningham,
Sergeant S. C. Spaulding, Major Ambrose Bancroft, Captains G. W.
Lauriat and J. C. Fuller; and last, but by no means least, Surgeon
W. L. Faxon and Mrs. Faxon, whose memories have provided stores of
incident. To Colonel I. F. Kingsbury I am indebted for the result of
time-consuming researches in the Adjutant-General’s Department of the
State.

While making these just acknowledgments I absolve all those named from
any responsibility for such literary imperfections as may appear herein
and, assuming to myself all blame for such defects, must ask my readers
to consider in charity to me the difficulties which must attend a work
so composed, and at the last somewhat hastily completed.

  F. J. P.

  _Boston, April 30th, 1880._




CONTENTS.


  PREFACE                                      vii


  I.

  IN GARRISON                                    1


  II.

  ON OUR OWN HOOK                               28


  III.

  ON THE PENINSULA                              43


  IV.

  CAMPAIGNING UNDER POPE                        64


  V.

  OUR THIRD BATTALION                           75


  VI.

  THE ANTIETAM CAMPAIGN                         85


  VII.

  AFTER ANTIETAM                               107


  VIII.

  TO FREDERICKSBURG                            117


  IX.

  BETWEEN CAMPAIGNS                            136


  X.

  CHANCELLORSVILLE                             150


  XI.

  FREDERICKSBURG TO GETTYSBURG                 159


  XII.

  AFTER GETTYSBURG                             175


  XIII.

  A LADY AT WINTER QUARTERS                    183


  XIV.

  AT LIBERTY                                   189


  XV.

  OUT ON PICKET                                196


  XVI.

  ON FURLOUGH                                  204


  XVII.

  THE WILDERNESS CAMPAIGN                      208


  XVIII.

  THE BOMB PROOFS                              223


  XIX.

  OUR CORPS HOSPITAL                           228


  XX.

  ABOUT PETERSBURG                             234


  XXI.

  THE LAST CAMPAIGN                            245




THE STORY OF THE

THIRTY-SECOND REGIMENT

MASSACHUSETTS INFANTRY.




I.

_IN GARRISON._


The story of the 32d Massachusetts Infantry was, of course, in most
respects like that of others, but not in all. The immortal Topsy
thought she was not made, but “‘spect she growed.” So our regiment
was not made a regiment at the start, but it grew to be one. Other
battalions from New England gathered into camps and acquired their
preliminary education among neighbors, and cheered by the presence of
visitors, who looked on and admired their guard-mountings at morning,
and their dress-parades at evening; and these hardened into soldiers
by a rough experience in mud or dust on the line of the Potomac, while
our beginning was in a walled fort, on a bleak island, isolated even
from the visits of friends, and under the most exact discipline of
_ante-bellum_ regular-army rule.

Fort Warren, which was our cradle, is the outpost of Boston, and it
was very nearly, but not entirely, completed when the war broke out.
Until 1861 it had never been occupied as a military post. The 12th
and 14th Massachusetts had been in occupation of the island while the
organization of those battalions was in progress, during the summer of
that year, and when they left, the post was somewhat hurriedly prepared
for the reception of prisoners, a large number having been captured in
North Carolina by the column under General Burnside.

Early in the autumn of the year 1861 Colonel Justin E. Dimmock was
assigned to the command at Fort Warren. At the first outbreak of the
rebellion this patriotic officer, fortunately for the cause of the
Union, was in command at Fort Munroe, and resisting every attempt made
upon his loyalty, he held that important post for the government under
whose flag he had fought, and in whose service he had passed his active
life.

As the war progressed Fort Munroe became a great centre for the
operations of the army, and the duties required of its commandant were
too severe for a man of Colonel Dimmock’s age and infirmities, and he
was transferred to the more quiet scenes in Boston Harbor. A temporary
garrison was detailed from the 24th Massachusetts Infantry, then in
process of formation, but upon the application of Colonel Dimmock,
a new battalion of four companies of infantry was raised to be used
as a garrison until the exigencies of the service required their
presence elsewhere, and this body of men, called the First Battalion
Massachusetts Infantry, relieved the same number of companies of the
24th.

Company A, recruited in Hingham by Captain (afterward
Brevet-Brigadier-General) Luther Stephenson, jr., was mustered into
service November 16th, 1861, and reported for duty at the fort on the
following day. Charles A. Dearborn, jr., was First Lieutenant, and
Nathaniel French, jr., Second Lieutenant.

Company B, recruited in Concord, Massachusetts, by Captain (afterward
Brevet-Brigadier-General) George L. Prescott, was mustered in November
15th, 1861. Cyrus L. Tay, First Lieutenant, and Isaiah F. Hoyt, Second
Lieutenant.

Company C, recruited in Boston by Captain Jonathan Pierce, was mustered
in November 16th, 1861. Joseph Austin, First Lieutenant, and Robert
Hamilton, Second Lieutenant.

Company D was recruited in Gloucester, and was almost entirely composed
of fishermen and sailors. It was commanded by Captain James P. Draper.
The late Adjutant-General James A. Cunningham was First Lieutenant, and
Stephen Rich, Second Lieutenant.

These companies were rapidly recruited, and were immediately despatched
to their post, no time being allowed for drill, and hardly time to say
good-bye. It may be presumed that when they reported, their discipline
was nothing, and their ideas of military order exceedingly crude.

Perhaps this was more particularly the case with Company D, which,
as we have already said, was composed almost entirely of Gloucester
fishermen,--or it may have been the excessive hospitality of the
friends of that company, that led to a little scene immediately upon
its arrival.

The more jovial of the soldiers were weeded out at the landing, and
quietly deposited in the guard-house; the remainder were marched
into the fort, and soon after to the cook house, where an ample
supper of soft bread and tea awaited them. A few months later such
a repast would have been hailed as the height of luxury, but by the
raw sailor-soldiers it was now regarded with contempt. The loaves,
instead of being devoted to their proper use as the staff of life, were
converted into missiles, and the air was alive with them,--the dim
evening light favoring an impartial distribution.

In the midst of the racket, Colonel Dimmock appeared upon the scene,
lantern in hand, and immediately received plump in the head one of
the finest of the loaves, which, with a refinement of ingenuity, had
been dipped in hot tea. The scene which followed was one not easily to
be forgotten. The outraged old soldier dashed in among the turbulent
men, and by his habit of command at once overawed and controlled them.
Ordering them into a line, throwing some into position apparently by
main strength, he passed along the ranks, throwing his light into each
face until he came to the real culprit, six solid feet of man and tar,
whose face declared his guilt. Seizing the burly giant by the arm, the
old colonel fairly dragged him out of the casemate, as if he had been
a child; but when the man had humbled himself sufficiently, protesting
that “he didn’t mean anything,” the commandant dismissed him after a
brief but forcible lecture on discipline, and an injunction to beware
of any second offence.

Late in November the battalion organization was completed by the
appointment of the Field and Staff, Francis J. Parker, Major; Charles
K. Cobb, Adjutant; and George W. Pearson, Quartermaster; and the Major
assumed command December 2d, 1861.

The Post-Commander, Colonel Justin E. Dimmock, was also Colonel of the
First United States Artillery, and the headquarters of the regiment was
with him; but with the exception of the excellent band of the regiment,
there were none other of its officers or men at the post.

Fort Warren at this time was occupied as a depot for Confederate war
and state prisoners--the former consisted mainly of some 800 men,
captured in North Carolina, and included also a number of Confederate
officers, among whom were Commodore Barron and Colonel Pegram; and
among the latter were the Confederate ambassadors, Mason and Slidell,
Mayor Brown, Chief of Police Kane of Baltimore, and others.

The first duty to be taught and learned under such circumstances was
guard duty, and that was no holiday work. The daily detail consisted of
about seventy-five men, and was divided into the interior and exterior
guard. During the daytime a line of sentinels enclosed a space in
front of the prisoners’ quarters, within which they were permitted to
exercise, and these sentinels at retreat were drawn in to the casemate
entrances. Guards were also placed at the sally-port and postern, and
near the staircases leading up to the ramparts. Outside, a picket line
entirely surrounded the fortifications; watch being kept not only to
prevent escape from within, but also to forbid the approach of boats
from the sea or the shore.

Such duty on a bleak island, exposed to the terrible cold and storms of
a New England winter, was no pastime. Occasionally some of the outposts
would be untenable by reason of the dash of waves, and often inspection
and relief of the posts was effected with great difficulty because of
the icy condition of the ground. In the most severe storms the guard
was replaced by patrols, each of two men, who walked the line, one
patrol being despatched every fifteen or twenty minutes.

One dark howling night the sentinel, on post near what was called
the grave-yard, reported to the officer that a white form had twice
passed between him and the fort, and upon close questioning the soldier
admitted that he had not challenged, because he feared it was a
ghost. There was considerable stir, in and outside the fort, until an
inspection had shown that no prisoner had escaped and no intruder could
be found.

The sentinel was allowed two hours of extra guard duty, and an order
was posted at the guard-house denouncing severe punishment in any
future case where ghosts were allowed to pass a beat without challenge
and arrest.

       *       *       *       *       *

Inasmuch as many who will read these pages may never have seen the
inside of a fort, a few words descriptive of Fort Warren, may not be
amiss.

The Fort proper is constructed almost entirely of hewn granite. The
area enclosed is not far from six acres, of which the parade ground
occupies five. The general form of the area is a pentagon, but at
each of its five angles a bastion projects in such manner that every
portion of the ditch which surrounds the walls, can, in case of need,
be reached by musketry and howitzers from the casemates.

This area is surrounded by casemated walls, which are in fact huge
bomb-proof buildings, structures of stone with heavy arches of brick to
support the great mass of earth which is required to protect them from
shells thrown from mortars. In these casemates are quarters for the
officers and men of the garrison, magazines for ammunition, storehouses
for all manner of supplies, a hospital of generous dimensions, a huge
cistern for water, an ice-house, cook, and mess-room, besides space
for a large battery of heavy guns facing towards the sea. Some of
these vaulted chambers are lighted through the outer walls by means
of embrasures calculated for howitzers, or by loop-holes intended for
defence by musketry. Others look out upon the parade ground, and have
upon that face the appearance of stone dwellings of one storey, entered
by ordinary doorways, and lighted through spacious windows. Those which
occupy the northwest side of the parade are of two stories, one being
below the level of the interior grade. These are for use as officers’
quarters, and during the war, those which are entered from the doors
nearest to, and on either side of the entrance arch, were occupied by
the civilians and officers among the prisoners confined in the fort.

The interior depth of the casemates, from the inner to the outer wall,
does not vary much from sixty feet, giving ample space, equal indeed to
the depth of a large city residence. The barracks for the soldiers are
divided into rooms, generally about sixty by twenty feet, and during a
part of the war many of them were assigned to the enlisted men who were
prisoners.

A full garrison for Fort Warren would be not far from twenty-five
hundred men, and that number could be quartered in the casemates.

Above these buildings are the ramparts, on which the chief part of the
armament is placed, and these ramparts are walled in by a parapet of
about five feet in height, of very thick masonry, intended to protect
the men while working the guns, from the fire of an enemy. These
ramparts are now provided with a full armament of ten inch and fifteen
inch guns, placed as near together as convenience in working would
permit, but in our day the greater part of the guns were four inch and
thirty-two pounders, the casemate battery alone, consisting of eight
inch columbiads.

The entire equipment of the Fort comprises over three hundred of these
heavy guns, of which some seventy may always be concentrated upon any
one point of the channel which they defend. Outside, and immediately
surrounding the walls of the casemated fort is a fosse, or ditch, some
fifty feet in width, and outside of this are other defences, (which
outwardly, are earthworks,) including an exterior curtain on the north,
a ravelin on the south, and a water battery on the northwest, the whole
composing in fact a fortress of great strength, even in these days of
iron-clads and great guns.

To one who thoroughly explores the Island there will recur vivid
reminiscences of the mysterious castles of romance and of history.
He will find here a sally-port, a postern, a drawbridge, and a
portcullis. Here, too, are passages under ground and in the walls;
turret staircases, huge vaulted apartments, and safe and dark dungeons,
the ways to and through which may be set down upon the plans of the
engineer corps, but are familiar to no living man. One can be easily
bewildered among the crooks and turns, the ups and downs of the
corridors, and it needs only a dark and windy night to make almost real
the romantic descriptions of the Castle of Udolfo, with its clanging
sounds of chains, its sweeping gusts of air, its strange moanings and
howlings, and the startling noise of some sudden clang of a shutting
door reverberating among the arches.

More than twelve years had passed since the 32d Regiment left Fort
Warren for more stirring scenes, when the writer for the first time
since that day, again visited the Island.

Escaping for a time from the courteous hospitality of the officers of
the post, he started alone through the once accustomed scenes. Grim
visaged war had smoothed his wrinkled front. There were no sentinels
to challenge or salute; no familiar faces in the well-remembered
quarters. Even the uniforms were changed; officers seemed to be wearing
sergeants’ stripes on their trousers, and unknown ornaments on their
shoulders. There were women about the landing, newspapers in the
guard-house (!), and a peaceful fishing pole and tackle leaned quietly
against the sole survivor of all our sentry boxes.

The doorways to the officers’ casemates were shielded from the hot sun
by gaily painted, veranda-like porches, about which shrubs and vines,
with bright foliage and blossoms, glistened in the sunlight, and in the
very room where erstwhile Mason and Slidell pursued the warlike game
of poker, and spat upon the bare flooring, there was a most ladylike
parlor, with carpets, mirrors, and an attractive-looking case of
book-shelves, well loaded with seemly books.

Again was paced the line of our outposts. Every step awakened old
memories--every pebble seemed a friend; but there was no ice upon
the glacis or the “shelf” at post eighteen, and instead of the cold
winds, came grateful breezes from the sea, which no longer leaden in
color dashed against the rock, but blue and smooth basked in the hot
noon-day, and laughingly rippled on the beach. It would have been a
sad walk but for the beauty of the summer scenes--it would have been a
joyous one but for clinging memories.

During the time of our stay in garrison at Fort Warren, the battalion
was increased to six companies by the addition of Companies E and F,
recruited during the winter.

Company E was raised in the Old Colony by Captain Cephas C. Bumpus.
First Lieutenant, Josiah C. Fuller; Second Lieutenant, Lyman B. Whiton.
The Company was mustered into service December 7th, 1861, and joined
immediately.

Company F was enlisted in Boston, also by Captain Bumpus, who was
detailed for the duty, and was mustered in about the first of March,
1861, its officers being, Captain, James A. Cunningham; First
Lieutenant, Charles K. Cobb, (Adjutant); Second Lieutenant, William H.
Gertz.

The breaking in of the men was upon the regular-army system; first
each man was “set up” by himself, then the drill was in squads, in
increasing numbers, and afterward in company and battalion. When the
weather was such as absolutely to forbid out-of-door drill, the men
were taught in the school of artillery, and practiced on the great guns
in the casemate battery.

The most exact discipline was necessarily maintained, and as soldierly
discipline is only to be obtained by close attention to minutiæ--not
even things apparently trifling were neglected. The fact that one
button of a soldier’s overcoat was not fastened, was noted and the
parade was stopped until the defect was remedied. No soldier was
allowed to sit in the presence of an officer. The regulation salutes
proper to each rank were required and paid by officers and men,
sentinels and the guard. Adhering to the letter of the regulations,
our manual was that of Scott, because we were armed with muskets, not
rifles. Every nook and corner of every barrack and bunk, and every
portion of the dress of every officer and man, must at all times be
satisfactory to the keen and critical eye of an “old army” Colonel.

All of this was needed to make perfect soldiers, and all of it was
readily accepted and observed by the men, more than nine-tenths of whom
were American born, in order that they might become good soldiers.
Singularly enough it was more difficult to bring the officers to exact
the honors due to rank, than the soldiers to yield them.

Army officers often expressed their surprise at the rapidity with
which a command so essentially native, was brought to the extreme of
army discipline, and almost without punishment. This result was a
complete proof that intelligent Americans can be brought into a state
of thorough and exact discipline more readily, by reason of their
intelligence, than the uneducated immigrants who were once thought to
make better soldiers because of their comparative ignorance. Of course
there were occasional extra hours of guard duty for men returning from
leave on shore--people on the mainland were so very hospitable--but
rarely was any more serious correction requisite.

There was one case, a second offence perhaps, where the sinner was put
on special log duty, and he has since declared that it was sufficiently
severe to keep him dry for six months. Two or three sticks of four-foot
firewood, not excessively large, but good fair size, were placed in the
bastion near the officers’ quarters, and as many more at the extreme
end of the parade, near the postern. The offender was ordered to
shoulder a billet from one bastion, and to carry it in “common time”
to the other; there to lay it down, and taking up another, to return
over his beat and deposit it at the place of departure--and so on for
several hours. The punishment consisted, not in the laborious character
of his occupation, but in the fact that he knew it was useless labor,
and that everybody else knew it also. The occasional inquiries or
remarks of comrades about the profits of the carrying trade in fuel,
may very likely have aggravated the penalty.

Bearing in mind the fact that Great Britain was wroth at the seizure
of the rebel envoys, and connecting that with the other fact that a
large fleet of British men-of-war was gathering at Halifax, it seemed
possible that a demonstration might be made for the recovery of the
lost plenipos; and it was, perhaps, natural that some interest should
be felt as to our ability to repel attack, or to endure blockade, and,
of course, as to the amount of our stores of food and ammunition.

Perhaps it was just as well for us at this time that no enemy appeared,
for our stock of fixed ammunition consisted of thirty rounds, borrowed
from Fort Independence. We were unable to salute the Governor, on his
visit, for want of powder, and months passed before our magazines
contained shot, shell, or powder in any more respectable quantity.

The duties of our battalion at Fort Warren were of course entirely
military. The affairs of the prisoners were administered by Colonel
Dimmock and his staff,--one of whom inspected the quarters every
day to see that all of the prisoners were present; and all their
correspondence and communications with the outside world passed under
the eye of the post officers.

No prisoners could be better cared for or more considerately treated.
Each was allowed the full ration of a soldier, and was even allowed
to commute the ration and expend the money for other food. A liberal
portion of the lading of the steamer, whose daily visit was our only
tie to the continent, was made up of purchases and gifts for these
guests of the nation, and their messes were always abundantly supplied
both with solids and fluids.

Mr. Mason was a portly gentleman, evidently accustomed to good living;
rather jovial in his appearance, and courteous in his manner. He took
matters very easily, and seemed in no haste to depart. Mr. Slidell,
on the contrary, a lean and dyspeptic looking man, was fretful and
impatient, and evidently chafed much under his confinement.

Mayor Brown, of Baltimore, whose case was one of those which perhaps
could not be entirely avoided, of unjust confinement, was always
easy and bland in manner, and genial and affable to all about him,
contrasting very decidedly with Kane, the Chief of the Baltimore
Police, who was a thoroughly ugly specimen of a Maryland rebel.

Later on we had the pleasure, for a time, to see with us General
Tilghman, a merry, happy-go-lucky officer, and General Buckner, an
excellent specimen of the ramrod soldier.

The two last named were, for a time, by special order from Washington,
kept in solitary confinement,--that is to say, each was assigned to a
separate apartment in the basement of the commandant’s quarters. Their
rooms and their doors were exactly opposite each other, and a sentinel
was posted in the passage to prevent escape or communication between
them. Occasionally, when the weather was warm, they were allowed
to leave their doors open, and on one such occasion the officer on
his rounds at night found the sentinel slumbering on the floor, and
the _solitary_ prisoners having a good time together in one of the
apartments. That soldier was not allowed to sleep a great deal for the
next day or two.

Colonel Dimmock declined an earnest invitation to pass Christmas eve
and day in Boston, because, as he said, he knew that among southern
people it was held to be a Christian duty to be royally drunk at yule
tide, and his presence might be important. It was our impression that
no violence was done to southern principles on that occasion.

The first day of January, 1862, came, bringing with it a brisk gale
of wind from the eastward, thick lead-colored clouds, and occasional
dashes of rain. It brought also a great excitement to our humdrum
community. A steam tug came to the wharf early in the morning, and
its sole passenger, a civilian, was escorted to the quarters of the
Commandant; then the Colonel went in person to the quarters of our
Major, and there was a conference; then the drum-call sounded for
parade earlier than usual, and by so many extraordinary occurrences our
population was “convulsed with excitement.” Very soon everybody knew
that an order had been received for the release of Mason and Slidell.
There was a great stir among the first circles of the prisoners, and
we afterward learned that they and the envoys imagined that honors and
salutes would be paid upon their departure. But in this expectation
they were destined to disappointment. The precautions of Colonel
Dimmock entirely prevented any semblance of honors, and even suppressed
the exhibition of such curious interest as would naturally have attended
the incident.

Two sections of men, specially detailed, were so posted as to prevent
any person ascending to the ramparts. The battalion was kept under
arms and exercise upon the parade, and the prisoners were notified
that unless they would give their parole not to make any noisy
demonstrations, they would be confined to their casemates. And so it
happened, that, except a noiseless waving of hands and handkerchiefs
from their fellow-prisoners, the envoys received no attention from any
one. As they passed out from the fort, escorted only by the Commandant,
the officer of the day, and the agent of the State Department, the
battalion stood in line of battle, with their backs to the envoys,
with ordered arms and at parade rest. As they passed the guard house,
the guard also stood at parade rest, Colonel Dimmock having waived the
salute due to his rank, for fear that it might be claimed as an honor
to his departing guests.

The prolonged gale had caused the tide to flood the wharf, so that
it was not easy or pleasant to pass over it to the tug boat. When
underweigh not one person, except the sentinels on the outposts, could
be seen on the island, and the driving rain and wind soon forced
the passengers to seek the shelter of the cabin, which they found
profusely decorated with the American flag. It is said that Mason spat
and Slidell swore the whole of the rough voyage to Provincetown, in
which secluded harbor a British man-of-war received them from the tug,
without any demonstration, and at once put to sea.

Among the prisoners at the fort was one Keene (?), who was kept in
close confinement in a small, triangular room in the casemates, the
only light to which came through a loophole in the masonry. He
was a sailor, and it was said that he had attempted to blow up the
frigate _Congress_ with all on board, with which horrible design he
had enlisted in our navy. He was offered greater liberty if he would
promise not to attempt an escape, but the offer was declined. Afterward
he refused to take an oath of allegiance as the only condition for his
release, and he was probably let loose at last without condition.

We had a great desire to ascertain what time would be required for the
formation of the battalion in case of night alarm, but Colonel Dimmock
would not permit the beating of the long-roll for a mere experiment,
because false alarms were forbidden by the regulations. Happily that
invaluable code placed no restriction on the hours for parade, and
when, by the absence of the Colonel, our Major was left in command of
the post, the information was obtained.

Tattoo had been sounded, roll-call was over, lights in the barracks
were all out, and the men in bed and generally asleep. An extra guard
was quietly posted in front of the prisoners’ quarters, and a verbal
message summoned the officers to headquarters.

When all were assembled they were told that it was desirable to know
how soon, under such circumstances, the battalion could be assembled,
properly equipped and ready for duty.

The order was given at eight minutes past ten,--the officers were
obliged to equip themselves and to turn out, form and march their men
on to the parade; but in less than five minutes the line was formed,
with three-fourths of the whole force present. The inspection showed
few deficiencies (one man, to be sure, forgot his trousers), and the
experiment was quite satisfactory.

We were not without occupation, nor even without our amusements through
the long winter. The officers were fully occupied, in the intervals of
duty, in boning over the tactics. To learn and teach both the infantry
and artillery manual, as well as battalion movements, and at the same
time to perform the various duties of the post, implied no great amount
of leisure,--on the part of the officers at least. But time was found
for an occasional evening entertainment, including one or two excellent
concerts.

One evening there was a musical soiree in the quarters of Mr. Buell,
one of the post staff, and two or three of the prisoners were present
by his invitation; among them was Colonel Pegram, of Virginia, who,
being invited to sing, complied, and to the surprise of everybody
selected the disloyal song, “My Maryland,” which he sang well to his
own guitar accompaniment. When he stopped, there ensued for a minute or
two an absolute and ominous silence, which was broken by our Captain
Draper, who, with his ringing voice, began the patriotic song, “Vive
l’America.” The chorus was taken up by all the Union officers present,
singing perhaps with more fervor than accuracy:--

    “United we stand, divided we fall,
    Union forever--freedom to all,
    Throughout the wide land our motto shall be
    Vive l’America, land of the free.”

At the close of the song Colonel Pegram complimented the singing, and
frankly apologized for his discourtesy.

At times the interior of the fort seemed better adapted for use as
a skating rink than as a parade-ground. In the worst of such times
the dress-parades were omitted, and guard-mounting took place in the
casemates; but the marching of the reliefs over glare ice, in a high
wind, did not convey the idea of an exact military movement.

One of the men, engaged on a job of repairs, loaded up a light
hand-cart with five or six boards, and essayed to push the load before
him from the north-west bastion to the opposite side of the fort,
while the ice was as smooth as a mirror, and a northwest gale blowing
furiously. It was a slow process at the start, but when the team
emerged from under the lee of the walls, the gale seized the whole
concern, boards, cart, and man, and sent them in detached parties,
whirling over the ice field.

Our winter was a new experience to the North Carolina men, and no doubt
they have yet great stories to tell of the snow and ice and cold, of
a sea-coast everywhere bounded by rocks, and of a country where the
woods were not all pines. And no doubt their hearers try to look as
though they believed it all, but mutter, possibly, some truisms about
soldiers’ stories.

One day in February, 1862, just after the mail-boat had left the fort
not to return until the next day, we saw all about us on the main land
indications that some joyful incident had occurred. All day long flags
were profusely displayed and salutes were fired up and down the coast,
and at night the horizon sparkled with fireworks and bonfires. For
twenty-four hours we were left to guess at the cause of this rejoicing,
but at last we too heard of the capture of Fort Donelson and had our
celebration.

We always gave Colonel Dimmock credit for an act of kind thoughtfulness
on this occasion. When the news came he remembered that he had an
engagement “on shore,” and announced that he should be absent for a
day. “Of course,” he said, “you will fire a salute, and I don’t like
the sound of great guns.” The fact was, no doubt, that he feared that
his presence might be a restraint upon our joviality, and for that
reason he took himself away. There had been no talk of anything except
the salute, but as he left the fort he turned to the Major and said, in
his absent-minded way, “By the by, Major, when the men are allowed a
little unusual liberty, unusual discretion is needed on the part of the
commanding officer, you know.”

From the time required to prepare for that salute, it was evident that
the _Alabama_ might have steamed up the channel and into Boston harbor
before we could have brought any guns to bear upon her, but at noon the
guns were manned and the salute was fired. While the preparations were
in progress, the band-master of the 1st Artillery presented himself
at headquarters to ask a favor. The last gun he had fired was the last
from Fort Sumter, and he now requested permission to fire the first gun
of the salute for the victory. Of course he was allowed to do so, and
he was cheered as he went to his station.

The Colonel was very chary of that band and we had never had any
benefit from it; but the Post being _pro tempore_ under the command
of our Major, they were turned out and made useful. All drills were
suspended for the day. The men, in small parties, were allowed to
stroll outside the walls. Some luxuries were added to the ration. The
band played and the men danced to its music and skylarked generally.
At night there was an illumination, masquerading, and singing, and for
once tattoo did not sound at the time set down in the orders.

A week later a detachment of prisoners from Fort Donelson was added to
our establishment, mostly long, gaunt men, given to wearing sombrero
hats, and chewing tobacco. With this party came Generals Buckner and
Tilghman.

In February too, the last of the private soldiers, held at the fort as
prisoners of war, were sent south to be exchanged. When the transport
was ready for the embarkation, four negroes, servants to officers who
were about to return home, asked to be allowed to accompany their
masters. Colonel Dimmock, becoming satisfied that they preferred to go
back to North Carolina, consented to allow them to do so, but took the
not unnecessary precaution to have other evidence of the fact that
they returned to slavery on their own motion, sending them with his
orderly to the Major with the request that he would examine the “boys”
and satisfy himself as to whether they went of their own accord--which
they certainly did.

As good-weather days became more frequent, our battalion, now of six
companies, settled down more regularly to its work. At the request of
our commanding officer the full code of discipline, with no abatement
because we were volunteers, was the rule by which we were governed, and
no one was more surprised at the result than Colonel Dimmock.

With the end of April, 1862, we had fairly drilled through the book,
and on the first day of May the battalion was reviewed by Governor
Andrew, and exercised in battalion movements in presence of the
Governor and a staff which had become critical in military movements.
At the close of the parade, Colonel Dimmock, who was not wont to abound
in compliments, publicly congratulated the Major as the commander of a
body of thoroughly-disciplined soldiers.

The Union armies were now everywhere victorious, and at the North we
expected every day to hear that the rebels had come to that “last
ditch.” Wearying of the monotony, and in expectation of an early peace,
the Major resigned, and on the 2d of May was relieved from duty and
returned to his business life. To him the parting was unexpectedly
trying, but people cannot be shut up together for five months without
loving or hating each other.

For weeks the duty went on, the command devolving upon Captain
Stephenson, and the warm spring weather and longer days were improved
to the utmost in keeping away the possibility of rust.

The official acceptance of the Major’s resignation had been received
at the Post, but had not been promulgated, when on the night following
Sunday, May 25th, at an hour or more past midnight, a steam tug landed
him at the Post, and a half hour later everybody was awake, and the
fort was alive with the news that since the last sundown the 1st
Battalion had become the 32d Massachusetts Infantry--that Major Parker
was promoted to the Lieutenant Colonelcy--that marching orders had been
received--that Banks had been driven down the Shenandoah Valley--that
Washington was menaced by the forces under Stonewall Jackson--that the
country had again been summoned to the defence of the capital--that at
last our time had come.

Whoever may read these sketches will pardon so much digression as will
be required to describe one of the critical scenes of those exciting
days. Sunday evening, after ten o’clock, this writer was sitting in
his library, having just finished the last cigar before bed-time, when
there came a ring at the doorbell--one of those rings that tell a story
of haste and excitement.

At the door was a messenger, who informed the Major that the Governor
desired to see him without delay, and that a carriage waited his
convenience.

There was a word to say to the wife above stairs--there were boots and
overcoat to be donned, but in two or three minutes the carriage was
whirling through the empty streets, and soon pulled up at the rear
entrance to the Capitol.

In the office of the Adjutant-General was Governor Andrew, busily
writing at his desk and alone. His Excellency had remembered a parting
request upon the occasion of the review, that the 1st Battalion
should not be allowed to go to the front under a stranger’s command.
The Major was shown the dispatches of the night, and in them read a
story of frantic terror at Washington and earnest pleading for speedy
succor. By them the Governor was, within the limits of Massachusetts,
invested with all of the President’s power to command the United States
forces, to raise troops, to transfer garrisons, to provide supplies and
transportation, and through them all ran the tones of extremest panic
and most earnest entreaty for help--speedy help.

The Governor stated his intention under this authority to order away
the six hundred men of the 1st Battalion and offered to reappoint the
commander. The offer was of course accepted and an hour quickly passed
in drawing orders and requisitions, and completing arrangements for
the earliest possible departure of the command. The company of heavy
artillery at Fort Independence was ordered to remove to Fort Warren,
and the independent companies of Cadets were ordered there for garrison
duty. There were orders, too, for levy _en masse_ of the state
militia for active service, and provision made for their equipment,
subsistence, and rapid transportation.

Officers of the Governor’s and of the army staff came and went. Red
tape broke at every order, and during this hour, as also for one nearer
morning, while everybody strove to do his utmost to accomplish results
which seemed almost impossible, Governor Andrew was the busiest of the
workers, radiant with the joy of one who possesses great powers, and
who knows that he is wielding them effectually. All through the night
came over the wires appeals for help and for haste, and always the
Governor was cheery and full of faith, that, although the end might be
farther away than we had hoped, that end would be our success.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a night, too, of hard work at Fort Warren--there were rations
to be issued and cooked for the march; there were equipments to
be supplied, knapsacks to be packed, property to be turned over,
unnecessaries to be rid away, and last letters to be written; but
all was done before the relief garrison reported. At noon on Monday
the regiment was relieved, and for the last time passed out of
the sally-port and was on the march--glad to be out of jail, some
said--glad to be moving to the front; all desiring to see that actual
war for which they had passed through long and careful training, and
anxious as new troops can be, for a share in the realities of the
campaign.

And so, embarking on the ferry-boat _Daniel Webster_, we left Fort
Warren, our cradle, with cheers for the good old Colonel, and with all
the verses of the John Brown chorus ringing from six hundred throats to
the accompaniment of our own drum corps.




II.

_ON OUR OWN HOOK._


Sunday, May 25th, 1862, the sun went down on a people rejoicing in
the confident expectation of coming victory and an early peace. That
sun next rose on a population deeply agitated with news of military
disaster, but more warlike and more determined than ever. The appeals
of the War Office at Washington, and the summons of our own Governor,
met with an enthusiastic response; the militia flocked to the
rendezvous in Boston, and the city scenes were almost a repetition of
the Lexington Day of the previous year.

Not knowing that the Regiment was expected to appear on the Common, but
knowing that our orders were urgent, the 32d marched by the most direct
route through the city and to the railway, its wide platoons occupying
the full space in the widest streets, bearing no flag, marching to
its own field music, everywhere cheered by the excited populace, and
drawing attention and applause by its unpretentious but soldierly
appearance.

At the Old Colony station, where a train was waiting, we stacked
for the last time our smooth-bore muskets, and turned them over
to Quartermaster McKim. A long delay, occasioned by the unexpected
celerity of our movements, gave officers and men an opportunity to
exchange greetings with and take leave of their friends, of whom the
vast crowd seemed chiefly to be composed.

There were meetings and partings between parents and children, husbands
and wives, brothers and sisters; there were friends of the men who
desired to enlist and to go with them, and others who asked brief
furloughs for those they loved, that the suddenness of departure might
be a little softened to those at home; but on the part of the soldiers
there were no such applications. There were messages from many a
quivering lip, sent to those who had not heard of the marching orders;
there was grasping of hands, man with man, which meant more than
tongues could say; and wives were folded by husband’s arms so tenderly
as may never be but either in days of early love or at the approach of
final separation.

And yet there was no cloud of sadness in the scene; on every side
were words of cheer and encouragement--of loving hope and patriotic
devotion; and when a light-hearted soldier, whose home was so far away
that none of his kin were there to say good-bye, asked if there was
nobody there to kiss him, he came near being smothered by a crowd of
volunteers ready to officiate, not only for his mother, but for all the
rest of his female ancestry.

At last came the regimental stores, for which we had waited, and with
the call for “all aboard,” the last ties were broken, the last cheers
were given, and the train drew slowly out from the station and from
the city. But not away from tokens of good will. The country, too, was
alive. Flags were streaming from every flag-staff, waving from the
windows of the houses, and drooping from the spires of churches.

Men, women, and children of all ages were at cottage doors and roadway
crossings, and crowded the platforms at every station, to say or wave
good-bye and God-speed to the foremost of the transport trains. We were
soon at Fall River, on the steamer, and weary with excitement, the men
speedily turned in and slept.

For us there was next day no Broadway parade in New York city, but
landing at Jersey City there was a haversack breakfast, and after
some delay, another train, and we were off for Philadelphia, through
a country whose people, in hamlet and in town, cheered the unknown
soldiery, who all day long poured through toward the seat of war. At
Philadelphia we shared the bounteous hospitality of the citizens,
who provided most thoughtfully for all the troops who passed their
gates. There was a long march through wide and straight streets, then
another railway embarkation, and then a long, tedious, hesitating ride,
reaching through the night, and it was early morning when we arrived at
Baltimore and woke the drowsy people with the sound of Yankee Doodle
as we marched through to the Washington railway. Here we found the
7th New York militia waiting in the street for transportation to the
Capital. More successful than they, we secured a train, which, after
several hours, delivered us safely in Washington, where we were glad
to learn that we were the first troops to arrive on the call of the
President, and that again Massachusetts was in the advance.

Then followed a prolonged struggle with red tape, which would have
told us, even if there had been no other source of information, that
the scare was over and Washington safe. Before we could present our
requisitions for camp equipage, the office hours had passed, the
officials were deaf to all our entreaties, and although we arrived
as early as 2 P. M., we were compelled that night to occupy the hard
floors of one of the railway buildings.

When we came to look about us we were surprised to find that ours
was the only infantry regiment at Washington, and we were poor
lone orphans. We wanted tents, supplies, and a wagon train, but
our requisitions were denied, because our Brigadier General had
not endorsed his approval. We attempted to explain that we had no
Brigadier, and all Staff-dom stood aghast,--unable to take in the idea
that there could be such a thing as a regiment with no brigadier.

Verily, we might have died of starvation but for the kindness of
Adjutant General Townsend, who officially made a special order from the
headquarters of the army, to suit our case, and personally suggested
a site near the Washington Navy Yard, known as Camp Alexander, as a
convenient locality for our camp. The site was inspected, approved,
and speedily occupied by us, and here passed four weeks of halcyon
days. Our camp was pitched on a high bluff overlooking the eastern
branch of the Potomac. The air was that of balmy June. No brigadier
worried us--no up-and-away orders disturbed us, and thanks to General
Townsend’s special order, our supplies were ample and regular.

But it was no idle time. A battalion which had always been restricted
to the limits of an island fort, had occasion for much new practice,
and the drills went briskly on. Especially was there need for
practising in the use of legs, before marching orders should come, and
therefore, every other day the drills of the battalion comprised also a
march, growing longer day by day, until an eight-mile march was easily
accomplished.

Our evening parades became quite an attraction for visitors.
Congressmen, senators, and even cabinet secretaries came to be frequent
guests, and the sunshine of ladies’ presence, unknown to our previous
experience, gave brilliancy to our lines and encouragement to our men.

Washington was at this time in a state of siege, or according to our
American phrase, under martial law. The great army, which a few months
earlier had given to the district the appearance of a military camp,
had moved on toward Richmond. One column was wading up the Peninsular,
one was watching in the Shenandoah Valley, one was guarding the
Piedmont Gaps, while McDowell, on the banks of the Rappahannock, was
waiting the turn of events, and hoping for orders to join the force
under McClellan, and so on to Richmond.

The chain of detached forts about the Capital, were, however, fully
garrisoned, and in the city a force of cavalry was doing the work
of a provost guard. Mounted sentinels were stationed at the street
corners, and detachments patrolled the outlying wards. The railway
station was guarded, and passengers leaving town were obliged to pass
the inspection of the soldiery. At the depots of the commissary’s and
the quartermaster’s stores, at the entrances to hospitals, about the
offices of the departments, and at the door of the Executive Mansion,
sentries were posted day and night. One was rarely out of sight and
hearing of officers and orderlies, as they galloped over the rough
pavements or trailed their sabres on the walks, and everywhere came
and went the springless supply-wagons of the army, with their six-mule
teams and postilion drivers.

All this appearance of military rule and ward was no useless show.
The city was full of enemies and spies. A large part of the resident
population was hostile to the North. Very frequently at the approach of
uniformed men, ladies gathered their skirts to prevent contaminating
touch, and children shook their tiny fists and made grimaces of dislike.

If there seemed to be exceptional cases where officers were welcomed
by secessionists, men or women, the attentions were apt to end in
a request for aid to procure passes through our lines, or in wily
cross-examination about posts or movements of the troops. There was but
little tinsel; except at the barracks of the marine corps, where old
traditions were preserved, there were no epaulettes, no chapeaux, no
plumes, but everything spoke of real war service.

He who visits Washington now will find it hard to realize that that
beautiful capital is the same as the dust and mud-covered town of 1862.
He who has known it only as the beleaguered city of the war, would
almost fail to recognize it in its changed condition.

It seemed at times as if we had been lost or forgotten by the war
department; but an occasional order, or the call for some report,
betrayed a semi-consciousness of our existence. None of the authorities
could take in the idea that we had only six companies, and when a
funeral escort was wanted for the body of Lieutenant-Colonel Palmer,
of the engineers, the order came to detail six companies, under a
Lieutenant-Colonel, for that duty, and our commanding officer thereupon
detailed himself and his full command.

This escort was, in all our history, the only instance of show duty.
Our newly-joined Assistant-Surgeon Faxon, with such daring as could
come only from raw ignorance, volunteered to take the compliments of
our commander to the General commanding the Marine Corps, and to ask
for the loan of his celebrated band. Whether the General was stunned
by our impudence or flattered by the Doctor’s blandishments, may never
be known, but the request was complied with, and our march through the
crowded city was made dazzling by the great band, with their plumed
caps, scarlet coats, white trowsers, and gorgeous equipments.

Every point of military etiquette was observed in the ceremonial;
the command was in the best of condition, and we heard with great
satisfaction the favorable comments from the crowds that thronged our
way. “It takes the regulars,” “volunteers never could do that,” etc.
And no doubt as we marched back to our camp of spacious tents, with the
full assurance of ample rations prepared by company cooks awaiting our
arrival, our breasts swelled with undue pride, for we saw in the future
no premonitions of the tattered and hungry crew, who bearing our name
and number, were to assist in puddling down the sacred soil of Virginia.

Within the limits of our camp was a small and old cottage house, which
being entirely unoccupied, we took for our hospital use. Although
nearly worthless for any purpose, the owner was hunted up and the
endeavor was made to come to a settlement with him and pay rent during
its occupancy, but the proprietor declined even to name a price, giving
as his reason that he could get more by making a claim for it before
the department, after we were gone.

At this hospital we first lost a man from our ranks by death. Hiram
Varney of Gloucester, a plucky fellow, although too ill to have left
the Fort, prevailed upon the post surgeon to allow him to go with the
Regiment, but worn with the excitement and fatigue of the march, he
fell into typhus fever and died. He was a soldier to the last. So long
as he could raise his hand, he endeavored to salute his officers who
came to the cotside, and when told of approaching death, he regretted
that it had not been his fate to meet it in battle.

There were other incidents not so lugubrious. The waters of the Branch
washed the foot of the bluff on which our camp was pitched, and when
the days grew exceeding hot, Surgeon Adams advised that bathing should
be prohibited through the heat of the day. Accordingly an order was
published, appointing the hours for morning and evening bathing, and
forbidding it at other times.

At noon one blistering hot day, two men being overtempted by the cool
waters, were in the act of enjoying a stolen bath, when the sergeant
with a file of the guard appeared and ordered the bathers to the shore.
Upon coming to land, they found to their disgust that their clothing
had preceded them to the guard tent. Attended by the sergeant and his
men, the culprits were marched _in puris_ up the bluff and through the
whole length of the parade ground, running the gauntlet of the jokes
and gibes of their comrades, who turned out in force to enjoy the
exhibition.

For a day or two after our arrival the cows of our secession neighbors
were very troublesome. Turned out by their owners after milking in the
morning, a herd of some twenty-five or thirty head fed through the day
along the waste grounds of that part of Washington City, and returned
at evening to their cribs. Both going and coming they habitually passed
through our lines, and about among the tents, causing some trouble to
the police guard, and much annoyance to the men. Sentinels could not
leave their posts to chase cows, and no provision was to be found in
the tactics or regulations applicable to this case. A provision was
therefore invented. At noon a notice was posted at the guard tent,
stating that thereafter it might be presumed that any cows found within
the limits of the camp were sent thither by their owners, in order that
the men should supply themselves with fresh milk.

When the herd returned that evening there was exhibited a scene which
defies description. Upon each cow there attended upon the average about
five men, who with soothing words and quieting gestures, sought an
opportunity to drain the happy beeves! A view of the camp was one of a
confusing medley of cows, and of men with tin cups, slowly and quietly
but almost continually waltzing about in every direction. All their
exertions must have resulted in a considerable success, for the herd
troubled us no more.

The guard served with loaded rifles, and when relieved were marched
to a convenient spot by the waterside, where they emptied their guns
one by one, firing at a target; and to encourage careful practice,
he who made the best shot was allowed a furlough for the rest of the
day. It was of course a matter of interest to the officers to watch
the practice and the improvement of the men. On one occasion after
the guard practice was ended, the Colonel desiring to test the new
pieces, took a rifle from the sergeant, and by some accident his bullet
hit the bull’s eye of the target. He was complimented and perhaps a
little surprised by the unanimous shout from the old guard, “give him a
furlough.”

The East Branch here must have been not far from a quarter of a mile
wide. Our shore, as has been stated, was a high bluff, but the opposite
bank was a low interval, cultivated as a market garden, and near the
river stood the unpretentious cottage of the cultivator. As the colonel
sat one day at his tent door, in such position that the edge of the
bluff showed in sharp relief against the blue waters of the branch,
there appeared coming up over the cliff, escorted by a corporal, a
semblance of Neptune arising from the Sea. It was after all only the
garden farmer from over the river. He had crossed in his punt, and his
resemblance to Neptune was owing in part to his sailor-like form and
hat, but more to the precaution he had taken to bring his paddle along
with him.

His errand at headquarters was to complain that the rifle balls at the
time of target practice had a disagreeable way of glancing over the
water and whistling about his premises, and he asked meekly if this
could not be avoided, as it “made the women-folks nervous.” Of course
his wish was granted, and thereafter the guard discharged their rifles
at a target in the bank on our side of the water. This compliance with
his request resulted in a second appearance of our Neptune, who at
this time brought two boxes of choice strawberries as a present to the
commanding officer, and an expression of his thanks, to which he added
the statement that there never had been such a regiment encamped near
him,--“they were all gentlemen.” We wondered what kind of troops had
preceded us, that we rose so high in his good graces merely because
we refrained from shooting at his women-folks,--but the berries were
thankfully accepted and warmly appreciated in the mess.

It was about this time that this delicious berry became so plentiful
that three hundred quarts were issued as a special ration to the men.

June 24, 1862. Orders were received to move over to Alexandria, where
a new brigade comprising the 32d was to be organized; the order stated
that the Regiment would be met at Alexandria by a staff officer who
would conduct us to our camping ground.

Alexandria being a township about ten miles in length, the order
was rather indefinite, but we marched to the town where we found no
brigadier, no brigade, and no staff officer, and thereupon we proceeded
to make an excursion through the township in search of one of them. We
soon found an aide-de-camp who conducted us to the locality intended,
and pointed out the ground assigned to us, which was half a mile from
any water.

This, our first real march, is worthy of notice, as being almost the
only one which was made without loss by straggling, and the only one
made in accordance with army regulations.

Six months afterward, when the allowance of wagons was only three to
each regiment, we laughed as we remembered the twenty-three wagons
which were required for this first movement of ours. Our route covered
sixteen miles, when, if the order had been decently explicit, only
eight miles would have been required, but we soon learned that it
was one of the customs of the service to make the orders as blind as
possible.

Before nightfall our camp was made and our guards posted. No military
authority had ever notified us of a countersign, we therefore as usual
made our own, and consequently before morning bagged a half dozen of
the officers from the neighboring forts, who were ignorant of it.

A Rhode Island Regiment, (Colonel Bliss’,) and one from Pennsylvania
arrived the next day, and for several days we were in constant
expectation of a brigadier, but before he turned up, June 29th,
an order came for the 32d to be mustered early on the 30th by its
commanding officer, and thereafter to proceed forthwith to Alexandria,
where transportation would be in readiness to take the command to Fort
Monroe. At 11 A. M., we were in the street at Alexandria with all our
baggage train, but the General commanding there was drunk, the Post
Quartermaster insolent, and nobody had ever heard anything about us or
our transportation. After waiting until 4 P. M., receiving no orders
nor even replies from Washington to our telegrams, we concluded to
operate on our own hook, and when the Steamer _Hero_ came to a landing
near by, we took possession of her as a “military necessity,” coaled
her and started for our destination.

We found the aforesaid “military necessity” to be a poor shattered
concern, already deeply laden with ammunition. The captain and crew
were not in an amiable frame of mind at being so unceremoniously
gobbled up. They refused to allow the men to make coffee at the boiler
fires, and when ordered to do so, the engineers and firemen left their
posts in high dudgeon; but when they found that we had a plenty of men
competent to run the boat, and that it was their rations, not ours,
that were stopped, they very submissively returned to their duty.

We arrived at Fort Monroe early on the 2d of July, and reported to
General Dix, commanding that post. Here we heard of the seven days
fighting across the Peninsula, and found the air full of exciting and
contradictory rumors as to the incidents and result of the battles.
Even General Dix had no precise information as to the whereabouts of
General McClellan, but he knew that he wanted more men and wanted them
quick, and we were directed without disembarking to proceed up the
river until we found the army. Facilities were provided for cooking
the necessary rations, and early in the afternoon, after receiving
repeated injunctions to take every precaution against falling into the
hands of the enemy, we weighed anchor and steamed away up the James.
Our heavily-laden boat could not make the distance by daylight, and
we passed the night at anchor in the river, with steam up and a large
guard on duty, and with the early dawn were again underweigh, in search
of the army.

To this time the Regiment had practically lived by itself; it had known
nothing of generals, and not much of army men, but the time had come
when it was to be absorbed into the army as a drop into the ocean.




III.

_ON THE PENINSULA._


It was yet early morning when we steamed over Harrison Bar, and saw
evidences of the vicinity of the Army of the Potomac. We had previously
met quite a number of steamboats bound down the river, apparently
heavily loaded with passengers; and now, as the river widened out into
a lake or bay, we came upon a large fleet of various kinds of crafts,
freighted with ordnance, quartermaster’s and commissary stores, some
at anchor in the river, and some hauled up to the left bank unloading
their freight. The river banks were too high to enable us to see
beyond, but all along them were men sitting or lying on the slopes, or
bathing in the water. There were teams of mules driven down to drink,
and wagoners using heavy whips and great oaths to persuade their beasts
to draw the loaded wains up the rough tracks, cut diagonally into the
faces of the bank.

As our steamer entered upon this stirring scene the musicians were
ordered to the bows of the boat, and we moved on with our drums beating
cheerily. We passed one long wharf, reaching out into the river, and
thereabout saw a few tents and great piles of stores on the shore;
then pushing our reconnoissance up the river, saw the army signs
gradually disappear from the banks, until at length opening a reach of
the river we could see the gunboats, the slow booming of whose guns had
been heard long before; and here a guard-boat hailed to warn us to go
no farther.

Satisfied that the wharf, which we had passed, was the proper place for
our landing, we turned and steamed slowly in that direction. Presently
a boat put off from the bank with an officer who signalled for the
steamer to stop, came alongside, and delivered to our Colonel a torn
fragment of a second-hand and soiled envelope, on which, in pencil, was
scrawled the following order, our first from the headquarters of the
Army of the Potomac:--

_“To commanding officer of troops on steamer. Land your men at once and
move direct up the road, and report to me at my headquarters, where you
will be stopped. Come up with arms and ammunition (40 or 60 cartridges
each man)._

  _“This order is from General McClellan._

  _“F. J. PORTER, Brig. Gen.”_

In obedience to the order we hauled up to the wharf, and the men being
already supplied with ammunition, but little time was lost in forming
upon the pier. Leaving there a few men to unload and guard the baggage,
we moved up to the shore.

It is General Trochu who writes, that upon approaching an army from the
rear in time of battle, one always sees the same sights, conveying
to one’s mind the idea of a disorderly mob, and the fear of a great
disaster. Our approach to the Army of the Potomac was from the rear in
time of battle, and our experience confirms Trochu.

At the head of the wharf a mass of men were striving to pass the guard,
hoping to get away on the steamer which had brought us. Passing them,
we looked for the road up which we were ordered to move “direct.” In
every direction, and as far as we could see, the soil which twenty-four
hours before had been covered with promising crops of almost ripened
grain, was trodden into a deep clay mud,--so deep and so adhesive as,
in several cases, to pull the boots and stockings from the soldiers’
feet, and so universal as to have obliterated every sign of the
original road. Everywhere were swarms of men in uniform, tattered
and spattered with mud, but with no perceptible organization, wading
through the pasty ground. On and near the river bank were open boxes,
barrels, casks, and bags of provision and forage, from which each man
supplied himself without the forms of requisition, issue, or receipt.
Everywhere too were mule-wagon teams struggling in the mire, and the
air resounded with the oaths of the drivers, the creaking of the
wagons, the voices of men shouting to each other, the bray of hungry
mules, and the noise of bugle and drum calls, with an accompaniment of
artillery firing on land and water.

To all these were added, when we appeared, shouts, not of hearty
welcome and encouragement, such as we might naturally have expected
from an overtasked army to its first reinforcement, but in derision
of our clean dress and exact movements--warnings of terrible things
awaiting us close at hand--questions as to how our patriotism was
now--not one generous cheer.

Officers and men alike joined in this unseemly behavior, and even now
when we know, as we did not then, the story of the terrible days of
battle through which they had passed, and the sufferings that they had
patiently endured, we cannot quite forgive their unmannerly reception
of a recruiting force.

Through all this we succeeded in finding General Porter’s headquarters,
and by his direction were guided to a position a mile or more distant,
and placed in line of battle with other troops in face of a thick
wood, and then learned that we were assigned to the brigade of General
Charles Griffin, division of General Morell, in Fitz John Porter’s,
afterward known as the Fifth army corps.

As soon as we were fairly in position our Colonel sought for the
brigadier. The result was not exactly what his fancy may have painted.
On a small heap of tolerably clean straw he found three or four
officers stretched at full length, not very clean in appearance and
evidently well nigh exhausted in condition. One of them, rather more
piratical looking than the others, owned that he was General Griffin,
and endeavored to exhibit some interest in the addition to his command,
but it was very reluctantly that he acceded to the request that he
would show himself to the Regiment, in order that they might be able to
recognize their brigade commander.

After a time however, the General mounted and rode to the head of our
column of divisions. The Colonel ordered “attention” and the proper
salute, and said: “Men, I want you to know and remember General
Griffin, our Brigadier General.” Griffin’s address was perhaps the most
elaborate he had ever made in public. “We’ve had a tough time men, and
it is not over yet, but we have whaled them every time and can whale
them again.”

Our men, too well disciplined to cheer in the ranks, received the
introduction and the speech, so far as was observed, in soldierly
silence, but months afterward the General told that he heard a response
from one man in the ranks who said, “Good God! is that fellow a
general.” We all came to know him pretty well in time, and to like him
too, and some of us to mourn deeply when he died of the fever in Texas,
after the surrender.

The officers of our Field and Staff found in the edge of the wood just
in front of the Regiment, a spot somewhat drier than the average, and
occupied it, but not without opposition. A long and very muddy corporal
was gently slumbering there, and on waking, recognized his disturbers
by their clean apparel as new comers, and thought they might be raw.
Pointing to an unexploded shell which lay near him on the ground, he
calmly advised the officers not to stop there, as “a good many of
them things had been dropping in all the morning.” His strategy proved
unsuccessful, for he was ranked out of his comfortable quarters and
told to join his regiment.

After all, the day passed without an engagement, and the sound of guns
gradually died away, until near evening, when the Brigade was moved
about two miles away and bivouacked in a wood of holly trees, the
men making beds of green corn-stalks, and going to them singing and
laughing.

After the excitement of the day all slept soundly, but before midnight
the Colonel was aroused by an orderly to receive a circular order
which stated that owing to certain movements of the enemy, commanding
officers were to hold their commands on the alert. Not knowing what
commanding officers were expected to do when they “held their commands
on the alert,” the Colonel accompanied the General’s orderly to the
headquarters of the 9th Massachusetts near by, and waited while its
commander was aroused, and until he had perused the same order.
Observing that after reading it the veteran quietly turned over and
settled himself for a fresh nap, our Colonel returned to his repose,
merely taking the precaution to have the horses saddled and bridled,
by which bit of innocent faith in orders for alert, he lost the use of
his saddle which had made an excellent pillow. The next day we received
our baggage and moved out of the wood, pitching our camp in regulation
shape.

I fear that the display of a full allowance of round Fremont tents may
have caused some heart burnings among our neighbors, who had nothing
but shelter tents. It is certain that they were still inclined to
scoff at our peculiarities, and already the demoralizing effect of the
prevalent negligence was felt in our ranks, for one of our captains,
always before rather distinguished for the nicety of his dress, soon
appeared splashed with mud from head to foot, and when asked why he did
not remove it, he pleaded that it was the uniform of the Army of the
Potomac.

       *       *       *       *       *

Whoever, without a vast preponderance of forces, makes war to capture
Richmond, must have the James River for his base of supply and must be
able to control Harrison Landing.

When the campaign of the Army of the Potomac began, the iron-clad
Merrimac barred access to the James, and the Army, which by way
of that River might, without delay or loss, have flanked Magruder
back to Malvern Hill, landed at Harrison’s and operated on Richmond
over a healthy and dry country, comparatively free from natural
obstacles,--was compelled to resort to the narrow and tortuous
Pamunkey, and to flounder among swamps and river crossings, always
exposed to fight at disadvantage, and always weakened physically and
mentally by the malaria of the marshes.

When, by the destruction of the Merrimac, the James was made available,
the mind of General McClellan reverted to his original preference. For
a long time he waited and stretched out his right wing to facilitate
junction with McDowell, but when the last hope of that aid had
disappeared, he hastened to abandon the Pamunkey for the broader and
safer James. The movement was actually in progress when Johnston
attacked what was already the rear of McClellan’s column. During each
day of that battle-week, the trains moved and the army fought, and
every night the army abandoned the scene of a successful defence to
close in upon the banks of the river, where alone they could hope for
the supplies which they needed and the repose they had won.

The day before we joined, these rough and grimy troops had fought
at Malvern perhaps the hardest of their fights, and had won the
most complete of all their victories. And now they were again in
communication with the North--in possessions of the very key to
Richmond--holding Lee as it were by a cord from any movement North,
and needing only the assistance of a tithe of the new levies to drive
or flank him further south. But it pleased God that this should not be
until years had passed away.

If there be on the face of the earth a place intended for breeding
pestilence, the country about Harrison’s and Westover was ordained
to that use. One of our officers who had travelled the wide world
all over, declared that the climate resembled no place except Sierra
Leone on the African coast. Its reputation as an unwholesome spot is
established even among the natives of Virginia, and whoever desires any
additional testimony, need only to apply to one who has sweltered there
through July and August.

To the natural disadvantages of the locality, were now added those many
sources of sickness which always accompany an army. The effect of the
climate was not only debilitating to the body, but was enervating to
the will, and negligence of proper precautions against camp diseases
was added to all other predisposing causes in reducing the strength of
the army.

The 32d, almost fresh from the sea air of New England, suffered
undoubtedly more than those regiments which had been in some degree
acclimated. Almost every officer and man was affected. For weeks over
one-third of the command was on the sick list, and not less than a
hundred and fifty men who then left the Regiment for hospital or on
sick leave, never returned to our colors.

Such a mixture of moisture and drouth, of mud and dust, cannot be
conceived. The air was filled at times with an impalpable dust which
was actually a visible malaria. The marsh near our camp was beautiful
to see, white with its vast numbers of plants like lilies which threw
up great spikes of flowers, but the excess of perfume was so sickening
as but little to be preferred to the odor of carrion, which came to us
when the wind changed to the westward.

Men sickened and died in a day, and the whole Regiment lost its brisk
military ways and degenerated very nearly to the shiftless, listless
level of the rest of the army. Drills could not be kept up, parades
were discontinued, and the attention of the officers was concentrated
upon the preservation of cleanliness in the camp, the improvement of
the food, and the necessary duties. Here occurred the first death among
our officers, for Lieutenant Nathaniel French, jr., died August 9th of
the malarial fever.

Large details were made from the Regiment for guards, our reputation
for that duty having become unpleasantly good. Eighty men and three
officers were at one time serving as guards over the quartermaster’s
stores, on the river bank. It was while they were there, that
enterprising John Reb. brought some field pieces down to Coggins’
Point, just opposite to us on the James, and opened fire about
midnight, first upon the shipping in the river, and afterward upon our
camps.

Two of the officers of our detached party, after the freshness of the
alarm had passed, were sitting in their shelter tent with their feet
to the foe, watching as they would any pyrotechnic display, the flash
of the guns, and the curves described by the burning fuses, when one
of the guns was turned and discharged, as it seemed, directly at our
friends, who, dodging at the same moment, struck their heads together
and fell, each under the impression that the enemy’s shell had struck
him.

It was on this occasion that Colonel Sawtelle, the officer in charge
of the transportation--our quartermaster said he was the only regular
officer within his experience who could do his duty and be civil
too--emerged from his tent at the sound of firing and stood upon the
bank gazing silently and sorrowfully upon his defenceless fleet, among
which the shells were exploding merrily. Soon his silence broke into a
shout to his superior, “Look here Ingalls, if this thing isn’t stopped
pretty quick, the A. P. is a busted concern.”

In the regimental camp a half mile away, the shelling did no serious
damage, but produced some commotion. One of the officers complained
that every time that he got comfortably settled for sleep, a shell
would knock the pillow out from under his head; in emulation of which
story, a sailor in D Company declared that he slept through the whole
affair, but in the morning counted twenty-three solid shot piled up
against his back, that hit but had not waked him.

Nearly two months had elapsed since we left Massachusetts with the
promise that the four Companies required to complete our Regiment
should be speedily recruited and forwarded, but we heard nothing of
them. The home newspapers told of the 33d Regiment as being full, and
of the 34th and 35th as in process of formation, but the 32d seemed
to have been forgotten. The Lieutenant Colonel addressed a letter to
the Governor upon the subject, and forwarded a copy of his letter
to the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac. Within twenty-four
hours an order was published in which, among others, was the name
of our commanding officer as detailed on recruiting service. Upon
application to Adjutant General Williams for an explanation of the
detail, he learned that the order meant that he was to go for those
four companies, and leaving Captain Stephenson, who for a long time had
been Acting Major, in command, the Colonel went to Massachusetts on
recruiting duty, from which duty, to the best of his knowledge, he has
to this day never been relieved.

He was barely gone before Company G reported, commanded by Captain
Charles Bowers--Charles O. Shepard being First Lieutenant, and Edward
T. Bouvé, Second Lieutenant. When we got far enough away from the
depressing effect of that infamous climate, and attained sufficient
animation to joke, we used to call this Company our second battalion.

There may occur no better place than this for a brief dissertation
concerning the high and deep mysteries which hung about
quartermastering.

When we were at the Fort, the officers--who, by regulation, were
allowed a certain number of candles per month--expressed a very
unanimous preference for kerosene lamps, which had then recently come
in vogue. Lamps, wicks, and oil were benignantly supplied by the
quartermaster at the Post, but at the end of a month that officer
presented for approval and signature, requisitions and receipts for
many candles. We dreamed of a nice job at court-martial on the Q. M.,
but soon learned that by a fiction of the department, no light was
recognized other than that of candles, and receipts given for candles
covered lamps, wicks, chimneys, and oil.

Whether the Quartermasters’ Department has yet discovered the use of
petroleum, who can tell? Our Quartermaster Pearson never joined the
Regiment after it left Massachusetts, but was detailed principally
in charge of matters at the recruiting post and camp at Readville.
Lieutenant Hoyt of B Company was detailed and served for several years
as acting quartermaster. When he was detailed the term of his detail
was of course problematical, and there was too much uncertainty, as
he thought, to justify the investment required for the purchase of a
horse; but he must ride. With that straightforwardness which comes from
innocence and ignorance alike, a requisition was made upon the proper
officer for a saddle and horse for the use of the quartermaster.

If we had stolen the military chest of the army no greater outcry
could have been made; the application was rejected with contumely. For
the next day or two Quartermaster Hoyt appeared to be absorbed in the
study of the rules and regulations, articles of war, and circulars of
his department. From this course of reading he emerged with unclouded
brow and a new requisition. This time it was for an ambulance, a
horse, and a harness, to which every battalion was entitled, and the
articles required were promptly delivered. Two days later he returned
the ambulance and harness as not wanted, and kept the horse, which
was always ridden by the quartermaster; but was always known as the
ambulance horse.

It is a little in advance of our main story, but it may as well be told
here how Hoyt flanked the Division Quartermaster. When the regimental
property was unloaded from the transport at Acquia Creek, and only
the afternoon before we marched, it was found that one of our wagons
was sick in a hind wheel, and as it was almost sure to break down if
the wagon was loaded, our quartermaster endeavored to turn it in to
the Division Quartermaster, and to obtain a sound wagon in its place.
There were plenty of new wagons in the Division depot, but the officer
was ugly and refused the exchange; when it was persistently urged, the
superior grew wroth and vowed vows, and told our quartermaster that he
wouldn’t get any wagon out of him, and that he might help himself if he
could.

Hoyt did help himself that night by taking, under cover of the
darkness, a sound wheel from a wagon in the Division train, and putting
our rotten one in its place. There was a great row after we started
next morning about the breaking down of a wagon, but our train was all
right.

Not many days after our arrival at Harrison’s Landing, July 8th,
President Lincoln visited and reviewed the army. Having faith--in some
respects resembling a mustard seed--we believe that he reviewed the
32d. What we know is, that after waiting in position with the whole of
our division, from four o’clock in the afternoon until nine o’clock in
the evening, during the last three hours of which time we mourned our
delayed suppers, and possibly spoke evil of dignities, we saw in the
uncertain moonlight a party of horsemen ride along our front, one of
whom sat his horse like Andrew Jackson, and wore a stove-pipe hat, and
then we were allowed to go to our camp and our rations.

Where there are no newspapers, rumors are always plenty, and the army
abounded in rumors. One day it was reported that our corps was to
cross the river and march on Petersburg; another day we were told the
army was about to move on Richmond, and that we were to assault Fort
Darling. General Hooker made a reconnoissance in the direction of
Malvern, and it was immediately reported that he had penetrated the
defences of Richmond.

For two weeks orders were received almost daily with regard to the
removal of the sick, and the disposal of camp equipage and all extra
baggage, and rumors grew more and more wild and contradictory. After
the fearful ordeal of the malarial sickness, it is not surprising that
the intimation that the army was about to enter upon a new campaign was
hailed with something akin to delight, even by those who realized the
dangers of battle, and the toil of more active service. At last the
orders came for the movement, and it was not upon Petersburg, or Fort
Darling, or Richmond, but toward Fort Monroe.

The orders found us ready and exceedingly willing to leave a spot
crowded with sad and bitter experience, such as we can not even now
recall without a thrill almost of horror.

The marches of the 32d Regiment might claim quite as much place, if
not more, in its history, than the battles in which it took part, but
they would hardly be as attractive to the reader. At all events the
incidents of a march, exciting or not, stand a much better chance of
accurate narration than those of a battle where haste may obscure the
memory, and passion confuse the description.

In military campaigns as in civil life, patience and endurance will win
as against courage and _elan_. The first are the qualities of highest
value in marches, the second are those conspicuous in battle. And it
may be safely said, that the qualities in soldiers which make good
marching, are rarer than those which make good fighting. At least the
troops which the General will prize the most are those which march the
best: _i. e._, those in whom either _esprit-du-corps_ or discipline
is strong enough to prevent straggling on toilsome marches. Those
who marched in good form, and came into bivouac at night with full
ranks were sure to be ready and available at the moment of battle,
whether they fought well or not; and per contra, it was frequently
observed that those regiments that straggled most upon the march, were
conspicuous among the great army of “bummers” at the rear in the time
of battle, and, if engaged with the enemy, were the first to break into
rout and dismay.

Now as the 32d Massachusetts was on many occasions rather conspicuous
for good solid marching, that fact should not be forgotten in its
history.

On the morning of a march the question usually was, “Who has the
advance to-day?” In a succession of days’ marching, the regiments took
turns in leading, according to an established rule. Breakfast over,
the bugle sounded, first at Division-headquarters, then at brigade,
and last at each regiment, everybody fell into his place, and the
bugle sounded again “forward.” After many halts and hitches, unless we
happened to be at the head of the column, we finally swung into the
regular marching gait. This was not fast, rarely exceeding three miles
an hour and oftener two miles or thereabouts, including halts.

The manner and method of the march,--with its object there was seldom
any disposition to meddle,--were often severely criticised both by
men and officers. For instance, a day’s march of which the objective
point might be quite distant, say 25 or 30 miles, would be begun
before daylight, and then conducted in great part as though there was
no fixed intention of going any where at all. This would be a ground
for grumbling. Marching out of a comfortable camp at midnight, moving
only a little way, and then halting and lying round without orders for
hours, then moving again at day-break at a snail’s pace, without having
broken our fast, and keeping on in this way until near noon, with no
orders for halt and breakfast; and thus on through a whole livelong
day of heat or dust, or it might be of snow or rains or chilling
winds, until late in the afternoon; horses not fed or unsaddled, men
with blankets and equipments on, flinging themselves on the ground
at every wait as if in disgust. Here was more ground for grumbling.
At length late in the afternoon, when patience and strength were all
but exhausted, we would strike into a pace of three miles or more an
hour, which would be kept up hour after hour without a moment’s rest.
Then would begin the straggling, men would throw away their overcoats
and blankets as too burdensome to carry, although the loss might be
bitterly regretted at the next bivouac, and would make their fires,
rest and cook their coffee, under the very guns of the enemy, in
defiance of danger of death or capture, and in spite of command or
threats of court-martial. The regimental column would be reduced to
the size of a company, and the men would be found strewed along the
roadside, sick or used up, many not rejoining their companies until the
bugles sounded “forward” on the following day. This style of marching
was frequent in the earlier campaigns of the Army of the Potomac,
but was afterwards much amended and improved upon. An excellent rule
adopted at a later period was to march the column steadily for one
hour, and then call a halt on the bugle for ten or fifteen minutes.
But the important point of so ordering a march that the column should
move rapidly during the cool hours of the morning and evening, halting
for an hour or two at noon, was seldom reached. It is presumable
that in many, perhaps in most cases, marches were made loitering and
toilsome, (as above described,) by unavoidable and obvious causes.
The insufficiency of the roads, there being but one, or their bad
condition, crowding the way with cattle sometimes driven in the line
of march; troops going to the rear with prisoners, or passing to the
front; skirmishing with the enemy; difficult fords, or broken bridges,
or the laying of pontoons; all these, or any of them, might cause
delay. Or orders might require the troops to be hurried forward, and
the march, too hastily begun, would be impeded by crowding or by the
necessity of cavalry, artillery, or ammunition being sent forward.

To sketch a march is an exceedingly difficult thing because there is
presented to the observer such a multitude of features, none of which
can be slighted or left out; and these features are so varied, and
present themselves in such endless succession and constantly changing
interest, that the mind becomes confused.

On the occasion of our first march with the Army of the Potomac, the
men, in the worst possible condition to support fatigue, weakened
by sickness, softened by six weeks of inaction, and enervated by a
debilitating climate, were marched out of camp at about midnight, then
halted and kept in expectation of immediate departure for seven hours,
then when the mid-summer sun had attained nearly its full heat, were
put upon the route, and with no formal halt, but with much hesitation
and frequent delay, were kept in the column fourteen weary hours.

At eleven o’clock at night, on the 15th, the Captain commanding reached
the end of the day’s march on the left bank of the Chickahominy, and
encamped with less than thirty men, who alone had been able to keep
up with the column. All night long the men came toiling in, and by the
next daylight nearly all had again joined the command.

From this by easier marches, passing Williamsburg, Yorktown, and Big
Bethel, we arrived August 19th at Newport News. Each day’s march showed
better results--officers and men gaining in health and strength as they
increased their distance from Westover, and when the first breeze came
to them over the salt water, the refreshing sensation was quaintly
declared to be like breathing ice cream.

An amusing incident is recalled of our start from Yorktown. We broke
camp at 7 A. M., 18th August. The headquarters officers’ mess of our
Regiment had been fortunate enough to confiscate a “muell” on the
previous day; his temper proved to be not child-like nor yet bland.
Upon this creature’s back was loaded the kit, consisting of pots, pans,
kettles, plates, etc., etc., with whatever bread, sugar, and other
rations were in stock. The whole affair was in charge of a darkey. The
kit was packed in two large sacks, to be hung across the mule’s back,
like panniers, and on top of these were piled a few bulky articles,
camp-chairs, and such like nick-nacks. When fully loaded little was to
be seen of “the insect,” except his ears and his legs. The darkey being
discouraged in the legs had made up his mind, as soon as it could be
done without being seen by the officers, to mount upon the top of this
pyramid of pots and pans, and to have a ride. The mule, however, had
other views. As the column filed off down the hill, rough with stumps,
and ending in a morass, we looked back and saw Mr. Mule arguing and
expostulating, mule-fashion, with Mr. Cuffy. At length, however, he
apparently yielded to the superior forensic skill of the latter, and
allowed himself to be mounted. Yet, as the sequel showed, there was a
mental reservation. After wheeling round and round several times, as if
to look the ground over thoroughly and examine this new question on all
sides, the mule laid back his long ears, stretched his neck, and bolted
straight down the hill. He stopped suddenly at the edge of the swamp,
planted his fore-feet, raised his hindquarters, and sent the other
contraband-of-war some distance into the swamp, while the kettles,
and coffee, etc., of the headquarters mess strewed the ground in all
directions. Thereafter it was remarked that that darkey invariably
led that mule; also, that several little utensils, such as cups and
saucers, were missing from the table of the mess.




IV.

_CAMPAIGNING UNDER POPE._


At Newport News the Regiment immediately embarked on the transport
steamer _Belvidere_ for Acquia Creek, thence by railroad it was
forwarded to Stafford Court House, near Fredericksburg, and on the 22d
of August encamped in a pleasant grove not far from Barnett’s Ford, on
the upper Rappahannock, in which agreeable and comparatively salubrious
locality we enjoyed a welcome rest of several days, but we were very
hungry. Our position was at too great distance to receive regular
supplies from Burnside at Acquia, and General Pope did not consider
bases of supplies of any importance.

On Saturday, the 23d, distant firing was heard in the direction of the
upper fords of the Rappahannock. On Tuesday, the 26th, one wagon came
up for each regiment, and early on the 27th we moved along the river,
past roads leading to Kemper’s and Kelly’s Fords, as far as Bealton, on
the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, then up the railroad track towards
Manassas. The sound of artillery was often audible in advance.

This march was made through a country parched by the heat of a Southern
mid-summer, the troops always enveloped in clouds of dust, the few
wells and watering-places constantly in possession of a struggling
crowd which barred out the weak who needed water most, and it cannot
be a matter for surprise, but indeed it was a matter for grief, that
hundreds of the soldiers fell exhausted by the wayside, to die in the
fields, or in prison to suffer what was worse than death.

That evening we bivouacked near Warrenton Junction, in a large wood,
the men as they came in throwing themselves upon the ground, hastening
to get their needed sleep. The officers (who could not draw rations)
felt the want of food even more than the men. The field and staff mess
could offer only some wretched cakes of corn bread.

On the morning of the 28th, before many of us had fairly tasted sleep,
we were aroused with orders to prepare for the march. The night was
yet intensely dark and it was difficult to find the way out from the
wood. The staff officers who, guided by our camp-fires, came to lead
us out upon the road, a distance of three hundred yards--were obliged
to acknowledge their inability to do so. At last a negro servant
of the Surgeon, escorted by soldiers having lighted candles in the
muzzles of their rifles, guided the Regiment and the brigade out of
the wood to the roadway. Here we found the way blocked by a battery,
and resort was had to torches, by whose light the men, in single file,
picked their way through the obstructions. Then there was a long
wait for Sykes’ division, and after his files had flitted by like
shadows in the darkness, there came a grey daylight through the fog,
by which, with great trouble we were able to move slowly on our route,
winding in and out among the wagons which also had been impeded by
thick darkness. At length we moved pretty rapidly in the direction of
Manassas, following the line of the railway. At Catlett’s a train of
cars was seen which had been fired and partially destroyed; near by we
passed a headquarters camp, said to have been General Pope’s, which
had evidently been raided by the enemy. At intervals we could hear the
sound of fighting, at the north and northeast, sometimes pretty near,
and we were hurried forward as rapidly as possible. At Kettle Run we
saw evidences of the battle which Hooker had fought there with Ewell’s
corps, and saw many prisoners and wounded men. Here the fighting seemed
to be northwest from us; as we crossed Broad Run, about sundown, it was
nearly due north.

A day of hot sun and stifling dust was this 28th day of August; on
every side were evidences that there had been heavy fighting. The
railroad track had been torn up and its bridges destroyed, clearly by
the rebels. The trains of wagons, the batteries, the troops of all arms
that we passed or that passed us this day, were wonderful for number.

We encamped upon a large plain, a half mile beyond the Run, while the
sound of artillery and musketry on our left was very distinctly heard.

At dawn next morning, Friday, August 29th, we marched toward Manassas
Junction. Rapid and fierce fighting on our left, in the direction of
Bull Run. At the Junction, what had been a long train of luggage cars,
loaded with army equipments, clothing, and supplies, was found a heap
of smouldering ruins, and the track and bridges had been destroyed and
were yet burning. Looking to the north the smoke of battle could be
plainly discerned, marked by white puffs of bursting shells, and the
sound of artillery was faintly heard; a long line of dust extended from
Thoroughfare Gap into and apparently beyond the field of battle.

After a brief halt on the heights of Manassas, we countermarched and
took the road to Gainesville, which here is nearly parallel to the
Manassas Gap Railroad; we passed McDowell’s corps, lying along the
roadside a mile or so from the Junction. They cheered and told us to
“go in” and said that they had enough of it, etc. All this time we
had had no chance to eat or drink, and nobody seemed to understand
our movements. The wildest rumors were afloat; now that Pope was cut
off and captured--now that Jackson was surrounded, pressed by Siegel,
and trying to escape by Aldie--now that there was a large force in
our rear, and that we were cut off from Washington. Then, and this
seemed true, that Lee or Longstreet was bringing up reinforcements to
Jackson by Thoroughfare Gap, and that Siegel, or McDowell, or Banks, or
somebody unknown, was trying to prevent this movement.

After passing McDowell’s men we marched rapidly, and when five and a
half or six miles out from Manassas Junction, came to a bold elevation
of cleared land, extending from the road to the railway, and on a line
nearly parallel could see a long line of dust marking the line upon
which the enemy was moving; and when there were openings in the wood,
which for the most part masked the moving column, we could with a good
glass see their artillery, infantry, and trains.

The cloud of dust which revealed the march of the enemy along our front
was lost on the right, where it passed over a low wooded ridge, beyond
which was seen the battle smoke. The guns could be heard only faintly
by us in our high position, and must have been inaudible in the woods
of the valley below.

Upon this hill we were deployed, and guns were brought up and placed
in position. Our brigade (Griffin’s) started out on the right flank,
moved over the railroad track and for some distance into the woods,
with skirmishers thrown out in the front and on the flank, but finding
no practicable way through the woods returned and drew up on the hill.
Two or three regiments were deployed to the front as skirmishers and
sent down the hill and across the valley, as if to feel of the enemy,
whose column continued to pour down from Thoroughfare, turning to the
northeast at a point about two miles away--at or near Gainesville.

Generals Porter and McDowell, with other generals and their staff,
stood in a group; the infantry was closed in mass and the batteries
ready for action when, from a corn-field in the flank of the marching
column in the valley, there suddenly curled a wreath of smoke, and
then another and another. A round shot buried itself in the face of
the hill, throwing up a cloud of dust; then one after the other two
shells burst close to the general officers, killing two men of our
brigade. Our own batteries promptly replied and silenced the guns in
front, but they opened again further to the right with such a rake upon
our infantry as to make it prudent to withdraw them to the cover of
the ground. Evidently our General intended an attack, and everything
was ready; but the remonstrances of Morell and Marshall prevailed upon
Porter to countermand the order, and we finally bivouacked upon the
hill.

On the 30th, before day-break, we took the road with orders to proceed
to Centreville. Our brigade was to cover the rear in this movement, and
of course was preceded in the march by the supply train of the corps.
Before breakfast we had crossed Bull Run at Blackburn’s Ford. It seems
that orders had been sent to change the destination of our corps,
but the officer charged with their delivery having followed back the
column until he reached the trains, gave orders to the quartermaster
in charge of them to continue on to Centreville, and either did not
know or entirely forgot that our Brigade was beyond the wagons; whence
it happened that while the rest of our corps was in battle on the
Gainesville road, we were waiting at Centreville, wondering where they
were, hearing the roar of battle as it drew nearer and nearer to our
hillside, and constantly expecting orders.

At about four o’clock we started for the field of battle. Almost
immediately we came upon swarms of stragglers, who had left their
ranks, and who were full of stories of regiments all cut up, as
well as of their individual prowess. Then came crowds of wounded
men, ambulances, wagons, empty caissons, until at last the road was
fairly blocked with officers and men in no order, horses, wagons, and
batteries. Men were running, panting, cursing, and some worn out and
exhausted had thrown themselves upon the ground by the roadside utterly
indifferent to their fate; and now we knew that this was the route of
an exhausted army, and that our duty was to guard their rear.

Forcing our way through all, just as we came to the well-ordered but
retreating lines, night came on; and although there were yet sounds of
desultory firing, and occasional shot or shells plunging and exploding
about us, the fight was over, and in the gloom of night we marched
slowly back with the throng of troops to the heights of Centreville.

Next morning, Sunday, August 31st, 1862, it was raining hard. The scene
of confusion about us beggars description, and everybody was hungry,
wet, and dispirited. Before noon, however, order began to come out
of chaos. Men found their colors, and regiments and brigades their
appointed stations, and our Brigade moved out upon the Gainesville Pike
to receive the first onset of the enemy. Our position was on the right
of the turnpike, and the line extended north and east toward Fairfax,
with a strong picket two or three hundred yards in front, and here we
passed the afternoon in quiet.

All day Monday, September 1st, trains of ambulances, under flags of
truce, were going out to the field of battle and returning loaded with
wounded men. The weather continued cold and rainy, with a northeast
wind. Toward evening the sound of fighting was heard in the direction
of Chantilly. The men were wet to the skin, rations exhausted, no fires
allowed. Surgeons coming in from the battle-field reported the enemy
in great force a very short distance out on the turnpike, and on the
old Warrenton Road, waiting the order to attack. The night was passed
in misery; the hazard of our position forbade sleep, and comfort was
impossible. The army had moved from Centreville, in our rear, and at 3
A. M. we drew in our pickets and moved quietly away.

Looking back as we left Centreville, we saw the enemy coming into the
town in great numbers, but they made no attack. At Fairfax Court House
we met large bodies of troops; thence, taking a northeast course, we
passed Vienna, and toward evening struck the Leesburg Turnpike. Beyond
Levinsville we were met by General McClellan, who was enthusiastically
greeted by the troops, and at 11 P. M. we bivouacked at Langley’s,
after a march of twenty-eight miles.

Wednesday, September 3d, we encamped on Miners Hill, near Falls Church,
which was the locality of Porter’s command previous to the Peninsula
campaign.

Our active campaign with the army of Virginia comprised only ten days
as almanacs count time, but these were days so full of excitement and
of incident that memory recalls a whirl of occurrences and events,
succeeding so rapidly one to another that it is with difficulty one
can separate them. There are pictures, but they are changing with the
rapidity of those of the kaleidoscope.

One scene constantly recurring, not only on this, but on many another
march, presents to us again the array of sick or exhausted men, who
strewed the route of the hurried columns--their pinched and worn
faces--their eyes half closed, gazing into space--their bodies crouched
or cramped with pain, supported against trees or fences, or lying prone
upon the ground; the men almost always clinging to their rifles. “If
one had told me yesterday,” said an officer on his first march with
the army, “that I could pass one man so stricken, and not stop to aid
or console him, I should have resented the charge as a slander, and
already I have passed hundreds.” Many, many such, necessarily abandoned
to their fate, crept into the woods and died. Under repeated orders,
all men absent and not accounted for, should have been reported as
deserters, but Captains were more merciful than the orders, and few
were found to brand as ignominious the names of men who deserved rather
to be canonized as martyrs.

Another memory is of a gallant Captain of artillery, whose battery
marched just in advance of our Regiment--of an aide galloping back
and wheeling to the Captain’s side to communicate an order--the quick
question, “where?” a short answer, a note of a bugle, and the Captain
dashes off to our left, followed by his battery--the thunderous rumble
of caissons and gun-carriages dying away as they pass out of our sight
over a swell of land. It is strange that as this scene is recalled
where a fellow-soldier rushed to immediate death, a prominent feature
of the picture is the vivid color of the mass of blue flowers which
clothed the entire field through which his battery dashed away from our
column.

Another turn of the mnemonic glass, and we see the country about
Manassas trodden into a vast highway. Just there Stuart had captured
a train laden with quartermaster’s stores, and the ground all about
was strewn with broken cases and what had been their contents--new
uniforms, underclothing, hats and shoes, from which men helped
themselves at will, leaving the old where they found the new. Near
by, on the railroad track, waited a long train loaded with sick and
wounded--the cars packed full, and many lying on the top unsheltered in
the sun.

Yet again, and we are in sight of Thoroughfare, and see the long lines
of dust revealing the march of Lee’s army down towards us from the
Gap, and we remember the applause we gave when the first shell from
Hazlitt’s parrot guns exploded exactly in a line of rebel infantry
(scattering them as is rarely done except in cheap engravings), and how
little we appreciated the like accuracy of aim by which an enemy’s shot
killed two men in one of our own regiments.

And again there comes a mental photograph, date and locality
indistinct, which represents nineteen officers gathered about a
sumptuous repast, comprising three loaves of old bread, a fragment of
cheese and a half canteen of water, almost as stale as the bread, and
the careful watch of Field upon Staff and Staff upon Line, to see that
only one swallow of water is taken by each in his turn.

And finally, we stand blocking the way to gaze upon a wrecked omnibus,
inscribed--“Georgetown and Navy Yard”--one of many vehicles impressed
in Washington and sent out as ambulances, and which, after reviving in
us memories of civilization, was to become a trophy in the hands of the
enemy.




V.

_OUR THIRD BATTALION._


When the 32d Regiment left Massachusetts in May, the war fever was
raging, and it was supposed that it would be the work but of a few days
to recruit the four companies required to complete the Regiment, and it
was clearly understood that the first recruits were to be assigned to
us. But being out of sight we were indeed out of mind, and the pressure
of officers interested in constructing new regiments constantly delayed
our claims to consideration.

In two months over three thousand volunteers had been accepted, of
whom only one hundred (our Company G) had been assigned to us. The
rendezvous for the Eastern part of the State was the camp at Lynnfield,
which was placed under the command of Colonel Maggi, of the 33d. His
own regiment occupied the chief part of the camp, and the only entrance
to it was through his regimental guard. Both he and his Lieutenant
Colonel, a young and handsome officer named Underwood, had a quick eye
for a promising recruit, and as the constantly arriving volunteers
passed within the lines, the best were drafted into the 33d, and the
remainder were passed into the command of Major Wilde, whose camp was
just beyond.

Dr. Edward A. Wilde, afterward Colonel of the 35th Massachusetts, and
yet later Brigadier General of Volunteers, was commissioned, July
24th, 1862, to fill the then vacant majority in the 32d, and had been
temporarily placed in charge of the unattached volunteers at Lynnfield,
three hundred of whom had been roughly fashioned into companies, and
were to be assigned to us.

Upon Colonel Parker’s return to Massachusetts, Governor Andrew gave
to our matters his willing attention. Upon inspection of the three
companies, the Colonel thought that he could do better than to
take Colonel Maggi’s rejected recruits, and they were accordingly
transferred to the 35th.

At the urgent request of the authorities of Newton, supported by the
Honorable J. Wiley Edmands, a company raised entirely in that town was
regimented in the 32d. A company from Charlestown was made the basis
of Company I, and taking a lesson from Colonel Maggi, whose regiment
happily was now filled, a third company was organized at the camp by
selecting from the town quotas the choicest material, and passing
over the remainder to the 35th. We were able to accomplish this by
the active aid of our Major Wilde. If the Major had known that he was
to be the first Colonel of the 35th, that regiment might perhaps have
been benefited, but the 32d undoubtedly owed to his want of prophetic
vision the fact that its 3d Battalion was composed of men in every
respect equal to those of its First.

On the 2d of August the companies were detached from Major Wilde’s
recruits and ordered to report to Colonel Parker, who at once moved
them some eight hundred yards away, where they encamped in a charming
spot, between the pond and the highway, until they should be provided
with clothing, arms, and equipments.

The beauty and convenience of that camp has impressed its memory upon
every soldier of the Battalion; but the proprietor of the land did not
seem to be equally pleased with an arrangement to which very possibly
his previous consent was not obtained; but if he expected to drive us
away by removing the rope and bucket from the well near by, he was
sadly disappointed. He presented to the Colonel a huge bill for the
use of the premises, and for damages caused by the cutting down of a
sapling elm, and the removal of a rod or two of stone wall. If he never
collected it he should have been comforted by the fact that we never
charged him for the construction of two good wells on the ground, and
the stones of his fence may yet be found in the walls of those wells.

On the 6th Colonel Parker left to rejoin the regiment, leaving the
Battalion to follow under Major Wilde, but the Major was promoted to
the 35th, and it was not until the 20th that the three companies,
commanded by the senior Captain (Moulton), left Lynnfield by railroad
to Somerville, thence marching to Charlestown, where a generous
entertainment had been provided for them by the citizens. That evening
they left by the Providence Railroad--the entire route through the
cities of Charlestown and Boston being one ovation. At Stonington they
took the steamer, landing the next morning at Jersey City, and taking
a train for Philadelphia. Through that good city they marched to the
Cooper Refreshment Rooms, and being well fed and otherwise refreshed,
moved thence to the Baltimore Station. It was well into the next day
before they arrived in that town of doubtful loyalty, and it was
morning on the 22d when they landed in Washington, and took up quarters
at the railroad barracks.

While the commanding officer was endeavoring to find somebody to
give him orders, several hours of liberty were allowed to the men,
few of whom had ever seen Washington. It was not the quiet place
that it had been when the right wing arrived there months before,
but was again astir with signs of active war. The movement to effect
a junction between the armies of Generals McClellan and Pope was in
progress, and long trains of wagons were moving between Alexandria and
the various depots of supplies, and ambulances loaded with sick and
wounded streamed to and from the hospitals, while on the walks, men in
uniforms, some brand new and some ragged and dirty, jostled each other;
new recruits from the North--garrison men from the forts--stragglers
and convalescents from the armies in the field.

If at the word hospital there is presented to the mind’s eye of the
reader a spacious structure in stone or brick, covered with a dome and
expanding into wings, all embosomed in a park-like enclosure, with
verdant lawns shaded by trees and mottled with shrubbery, that reader
did not go to muster in Virginia in ‘62. Provision thought to be ample
had been made in Washington, by the construction in several unoccupied
squares, of rows of detached wooden sheds, each of which was the ward
of a hospital. Rough and unattractive as these appeared set down among
the dusty streets, upon a plot of land from which every green thing was
trodden out, their interiors were in fact models of neatness, and in
some sort, of comfort. But the battles of the Peninsula had soon filled
these, and when there were added to them the sick from McClellan’s
army and the invalids from Pope’s, every available building was taken,
and finally when within ten days, eight thousand patients were added
from the James River, vacant house-lots were occupied, and for want of
tents, awnings of sails or boards were laid over rough frames, and the
passer-by could see the patients stretched upon the straw. The happy
result of this, and other enforced experiments, was to prove that even
these wretched makeshifts were better than close-walled houses, for
hospital purposes.

On the 23d the Battalion marched over Long Bridge to the town of
Alexandria--preferring at night the outside of the building designated
to shelter them. The next day tents and wagons were obtained, and on
the 25th their first camp was made on the hillside, near the Seminary.

Everything in that neighborhood was in confusion. During the week that
the command remained encamped, Franklin’s and Sumner’s corps arrived at
Alexandria, and not only was the town crowded with soldiers, but the
woods were full of them, and all the energies of the authorities were
devoted to endeavors to supply them, and push them out to the rescue of
General Pope’s army.

Considering that nobody, not even the General-in-chief, knew where
Pope’s army was, it is not surprising that all the efforts made by
officers to find our Regiment were fruitless; indeed it mattered
little that they were, for the wagons were taken away for the pressing
service of more experienced troops, who were unable to move for want of
transportation.

At last, on the 3d of September, the locality of Porter’s Corps was
ascertained, and the Battalion joined the rest of the Regiment. There
was a striking contrast in the appearance of the old and new companies.
The three new companies outnumbered all the other seven. The veterans
looked with wonder upon the fresh northern faces and the bright new
uniforms, while the recruits scanned with at least equal surprise the
mud-stained, worn, and weary men who were to be their comrades. So long
were the new platoons, that the detachment was christened “Moulton’s
Brigade,” but the superiority of numbers was not long with them, and
two weeks of campaigning amalgamated the command.

The three companies comprising our “3d Battalion” were--

Company H, recruited at the Lynnfield Camp, commanded by Captain
Henry W. Moulton; its Lieutenants were John H. Whidden and Joseph W.
Wheelwright.

Company I, recruited in Charlestown, Captain Hannibal D. Norton;
Lieutenants, Chas. H. Hurd and Lucius H. Warren, since Brevet
Brigadier-General.

Company K, recruited in Newton, Captain J. Cushing Edmands, afterwards
Colonel and Brevet Brigadier-General; Lieutenants, Ambrose Bancroft and
John F. Boyd.

At Upton’s Hill the complete organization of the Regiment was published
in the orders. The Lieutenant Colonel was promoted to be Colonel,
Captain Prescott to be Lieutenant Colonel, and Captain Stephenson to be
Major. The medical staff consisted of Z. Boylston Adams, Surgeon, with
the rank of Major; William Lyman Faxon and W. H. Bigelow, Assistant
Surgeons, ranking as First Lieutenants; W. T. M. Odiorne, Hospital
Steward. The non-commissioned staff consisted of James P. Wade,
Sergeant Major; James A. White, Quartermaster Sergeant; Charles E.
Madden, Commissary Sergeant; and Freeman Field, Principal Musician.

Dr. Bigelow, Steward Odiorne, and Sergeant Madden, were new
appointments. All the rest had been with the Regiment through all its
experience in the field.

No chaplain was ever commissioned in the 32d, no application having
ever been made on the part of the line officers, to whom belonged the
initiative, and none being desired, so far as was known by any officer
or man.

In an army composed of men of many different religious beliefs, as was
the case in ours, the chaplains should constitute a staff corps, its
members proportioned as to faith, in some degree to the requirements
of the army, so that from the headquarters of an army or corps details
might be made of the proper men for any required duty. Attached to
regimental headquarters, they were very generally utterly inefficient
for good professionally. It was the rule with us that, when any of the
sick were near death, the fact should be reported to the commanding
officer, who was often the first to communicate the tidings, and
who invariably enquired of the dying man if he desired the service
of a chaplain. When this was desired, an orderly was sent with the
compliments of the Colonel, to some chaplain near by, to ask his
attendance. With only rare exceptions such services were cheerfully and
promptly rendered.

The burial service was usually read by the commanding officer over the
bodies of our dead; but in one case, where the man had been a Roman
Catholic, it was thought better to ask the attendance of a chaplain of
that faith. It happened that the orderly could not readily find one,
and could find only one, and returned with the unusual reply that the
chaplain could not come.

Upon further inquiry it appeared that the orderly had presented the
message, with the compliments of the Colonel, to the chaplain, who was
reposing after dinner. “Was he a good Catholic?” enquired the priest.
The orderly assured him that he was. “My compliments to the Colonel,
then, and tell him he can bury him. It is all right.” With which reply
the messenger was compelled to return. Failing the orderly’s assurance
of the man’s good and regular standing, of course the chaplain would
have escaped the duty too.

In November, 1862, our camp hospital offered merely a canvas tent for
shelter, and some straw spread upon the frosty ground for bedding.
One of the patients, in view of approaching death, expressed to the
Adjutant his wish to be baptized, and of course a messenger was sent
forth to seek a chaplain, with the customary compliments, and to ask
his attendance on a dying man.

A chaplain promptly appeared at our headquarters, was escorted to the
hospital tent and left at the side of the sick man. Very soon after,
the Colonel, meeting the reverend officer pacing thoughtfully in the
open air, stopped and enquired as to the patient’s condition. Evidently
considerably embarrassed, the chaplain said “you did not tell me that
the man wanted baptism.” “Very true,” was the reply, “but why is that
any difficulty?” “Because,” rejoined the clergyman, hesitatingly, “I
am of the Baptist persuasion, and this is no case for immersion.”

It was very awkward, but the Colonel, who had thought only of a
chaplain as the proper officer for a present duty, apologized for his
want of thought, thanked the gentleman, and said that he would try
again, or if it became necessary, would himself administer the holy
rite. The chaplain, however, requested a few minutes for reflection,
at the end of which he decided to officiate himself and did so, first
taking the precaution to enquire of the soldier whether he preferred
immersion or sprinkling, the latter of which very naturally was
elected.




VI.

_THE ANTIETAM CAMPAIGN._


Until September 12th, our Division remained at Upton’s Hill, while the
rest of the Army of the Potomac drew off into Maryland in observation
of General Lee, concerning whose movements no definite information
could for a time be obtained.

It was a favorite theory among the authorities in Washington that
General Lee would lead McClellan off into Western Maryland, and then
slip round into his rear and capture the aforesaid authorities. Of
course 80,000 men do not slip about such a country very easily, and of
course General Lee would never have dared to place his army between
the forts of Washington and the Army of the Potomac; but even such
absurd fears required consideration, and in addition to the artillery
garrisons in the forts and the new levies inside the defences, Morell’s
division was left for a time to watch the approaches to the Chain
Bridge, which was the weakest point in the defences of the city.

During these days the various corps of the army whose organization a
week before had been almost destroyed, were marching through the town
in columns of platoons, with their drums beating and colors flying,
their array as fine as it would have been on parade before they had
ever seen the enemy, and inspiring all who saw them to a happy augury
of the result of the first Maryland campaign.

On the 11th, our Division received orders to join the army in the field
with all possible speed, and on the 12th we folded our tents, and
took the route in the track of our comrades. As usual the start was
delayed until the sun was well up in the sky, and before we were out
of the District of Columbia the heat had become oppressive, and the
men, especially those of the new companies, were suffering greatly. Our
route was from Upton’s Hill past Fort Corcoran, through Georgetown and
Washington, and out by 7th street.

Early in the day came a circular order to be read at the head of
each company denouncing the penalty of death, without trial, as the
punishment for straggling, the utter absurdity of which was shown
by the fact that before nightfall one-third of the men had fallen
out of their ranks, the order to the contrary notwithstanding. The
old soldiers, happily, (or unhappily) had learned that the bark of
the orders was worse than their bite, but the new recruits had the
impression, as yet, that orders meant what they said, and believed that
the officers would shoot down all those who faltered; consequently,
what between soldierly ambition and personal fear, the new men would
struggle on until they could do so no longer. The day was burning hot,
and the last hour before noon was chosen to give the command one pull
of three miles without rest; and when at last the bugle sounded “halt,”
not less than fifty of our men fell exhausted, fainting or sunstruck,
several of them raving with insane imaginings.

Although we tarried at this place for an hour or more, the Colonel
assuming the responsibility to fall out with his entire command, it was
found necessary at last to leave some twenty men who needed rest and
care, the greater part of whom were finally discharged from hospitals
disabled for service. Here, too, in order to lighten the march, a
quantity of knapsacks and blankets were left stored in a barn, but
before our teams could return for them the whole had been gobbled by
stragglers.

It was after dark when at last we halted for the night, and the
Adjutant’s returns showed that one of the new companies then numbered
three officers and seven men, and another no officers and one man[1]
present for duty. We bivouacked in columns of companies, and that one
man executed under his own command the company right wheel, dressed
his ranks, stacked his arm (by plunging the bayonet into the ground),
called the roll, broke ranks, supped, and slept the sleep of the just.

[1] Private Isaac W. Thurlow, of Methuen, afterward promoted to be
Lieutenant C. T.

The next two days’ march brought us, via Middlebrook, Clarksville, and
Hyattstown to Frederick; the weather, though clear, was not so hot as
on the 12th, the men were in better condition and, on the whole, we
gained in numbers. Many will remember our bivouac that Sunday evening
as the place where they indulged in a welcome bath in the clear waters
of the Monocacy river. All day on the 14th (Sunday), we heard heavy
firing, and on the 15th the sound of heavy guns at Harper’s Ferry
continued to assure us that our flag still was there, but its sudden
cessation at last told as plainly of the surrender.

Our march of the 15th and 16th, although rapid, was not exhausting;
the air was more autumnal, and we were cheered by the evidence of
the fact that we were the pursuers. Large numbers of rebel prisoners
passed us going to our rear. As we marched through Frederick we were
greeted with hearty cheers from civilians and the waving kerchiefs of
ladies, and children distributed ripe fruits, which were most welcome
to the bilious soldiers. On the South Mountain battle-field a detail
was burying the dead, and we saw many bodies in grey uniforms awaiting
burial. We had previously met and saluted the dead General Reno, borne
to the rear in an ambulance draped with the national colors.

As we passed over one of the mountain ridges, there broke upon our
sight a view such as New England cannot offer. A valley stretching
far away on either hand, everywhere divided into large fields of rich
farming lands, among which the homes of well-to-do farmers stood, with
groups of barns and granges and hay ricks gathered about them, the
whole testifying to the comfort and wealth of the inhabitants. At every
house there were words of welcome and cheer. The entire population
evidently was in sympathy with our cause, and their recent sight of
the retreating army of the enemy had evidently strengthened their
enthusiasm for his pursuers.

It was almost sundown on the 16th when we came up with the main body of
our army between Keedysville and Antietam Creek. The air was full of
smoke from the camp-fires, and the hillsides alive with the men, who
were making ready for their supper and their sleep. Our Division was
guided into the field assigned to us, and our men were soon deep in
similar preparations.

We knew that the hostile armies were now face to face, and that a great
battle was imminent. Curiosity led many to gather on the hilltops and
to look over what was to be the battlefield, to the crests of the low
hills on the opposite bank of the stream, where we could see the spires
of the little town of Sharpsburg sharply defined against the warm sky,
and the smoke from the rebel camp-fires glowing in the light of the
setting sun. A few well-directed shells from the enemy’s batteries
however, dulled our curiosity in that direction, and we turned to our
camps to see how an army looks upon the eve of a pitched battle.

The eastward slopes of the hills on the left branch of the Antietam
were occupied by the infantry of the army of McClellan, extending some
four miles from right to left. Near the tops of these hills a few
batteries of artillery were ready for use at a moment’s notice, but
more of them were below us, their horses feeding at the picket ropes,
the men busy about their supper.

Farther away to the rear the ammunition wagons were parked, those of
each division by themselves, and yet farther back the supply trains of
the different corps, and the reserve divisions of artillery and cavalry.

There was every show of complete readiness for the morrow, in the array
of the troops and the provision for the fight--but everything was busy
and cheery. As night fell the smoke became less dense, and the bright
light of a thousand glowing fires enlivened the scene. There was no
sign of haste or of anxiety; occasionally a mule sounded his trumpet
as a signal for more feed, and often the sound of horses’ feet was
heard as some officer or orderly galloped leisurely by; there was some
singing and much laughter heard from the various camps, and at last the
stirring but confused sound of the tattoo along the whole line from the
bugles of the distant cavalry and the neighboring artillery, and the
drums and fifes of the infantry of the line.

Then came gentle sleep, nowhere more grateful and welcome than in the
bivouac of the soldier on the night before the battle.

From dawn to dark no fairer sky was ever seen than that beneath which,
on the 17th day of September, 1862, was fought the battle of the
Antietam. It may be doubted whether there was in the history of our
civil war, any instance of a battle for which the preparation was on
both sides so complete, of which the field was more free and open to
the movements of the troops and the oversight of the commanders, or in
which the result depended so directly upon the ability of the generals
and the conduct of the troops, and so little upon purely accidental
occurrences.

The Confederate army occupied the crest of the rising ground which lies
immediately west of the Antietam, and between it and the Potomac. That
portion of this crest in which lay the left and the centre of their
army, was for the most part wooded and broken by outcropping ledges,
and through it ran roads whose fences and cuts afforded frequent
vantage ground for a defensive force. Their right was in an open
country, but one intersected by stone walls, and presenting on the side
toward the Union lines very abrupt declivities.

The left of our army (directly opposite the rebel right), were posted
on low hills, whose western sides were also steep and rough. Between
the two positions the gap was just sufficient for the passage of the
little river and for a narrow country road on either bank, and here the
stream was spanned by a stone bridge of three arches, since known as
Burnside’s bridge.

Nearly a mile above, over a similar bridge, the Sharpsburg turnpike
crossed the Antietam, cutting by a direct line the centres of both
armies. Lying across this road, east of the river, on commanding
ground, the corps of Gen. Porter held the centre of the loyal army,
connecting with Burnside on the left and with Sumner on the right. On
the right of the Union army was Hooker’s corps, on the west bank of the
stream, and almost in contact with the rebel left, occupying the ground
which they had won from the enemy at nightfall of the day before; both
parties in the same wood sleeping on their arms in line of battle.

Taken together, the positions of the two armies described a figure not
unlike the letter D, of which the curved portion may represent the
Union lines, and the straight part (which was in fact also curved),
those of the Confederates. Except at our left (the bottom of the D),
our army held both banks of the Antietam, and at both extremes the two
armies almost touched.

Standing among the guns of Porter’s batteries, about the centre of
the Union lines, one seemed to look down upon the field, the whole of
which, except the immediate vicinity of Burnside’s bridge, was open to
the view. Directly in our front the Antietam washed the base of the
hill, on the rounded summit of which the guns were placed, but from the
farther bank the land rose gently rolling to the lines of the army of
our enemy. Between us and the rebel centre were cleared fields, many
of them bearing crops of nearly ripened corn, bounded to the left by
steep hill-sides closing in to the river, but on the right running up
to a glade bordered by woodlands. In these woods, and in and over that
glade, occurred the severest struggles and the greatest slaughter of
this hard-fought battle. Near Porter’s lines, on yet higher land, the
headquarters of our army were established for the day.

Of the curving line of the union army, the left was the corps of
General Burnside, the centre the corps of General Porter, and the right
the corps of General Hooker; but in the rear of Hooker was the corps
of General Mansfield, and behind it that of General Sumner, while the
force of General Franklin, just up from Pleasant Valley, acted as the
reserve.

McClellan’s plan of the battle was to make the principal attack from
his right, but as soon as that was well engaged, to throw Burnside from
his left against the right of Lee, not absolutely as a real attack, but
by menacing the road to the ford which was Lee’s only line of retreat,
to occupy and divert certain portions of the Confederate army, and thus
reduce its power of resistance to the real attack upon the other flank.

By reason of the curvation of the line, our batteries in its centre
could reach effectively the whole extent of the front of the enemy from
left to right; and throughout the day, as opportunity offered, the guns
did good execution, and more especially upon our right where we could
annoy the rebel infantry while in the cover of the woods, and enfilade
them whenever they appeared in the open glade.

At break of day the rattling volleys of musketry on the right told
that Hooker was opening the great struggle. Soon occasional deep thuds
of his cannon were also heard, then nearer and more constant came
the sounds approaching from both wings, until our own batteries in
the centre joined in the din. Along the whole line gun for gun came
back--as if echoed from the other ridge--the voice of the invading army
from lips of bronze and iron, and its exploding messengers repeated in
our ears the arguments of war, until hundreds of heavy guns were united
in one deep quivering roar. And although there was rising and falling
in the sound, yet until nightfall the sound of battle never ceased.

Just across the creek the skirmishers of our corps showed like dotted
lines upon the fields; now and then we could see the smoke puff from
their rifles, although the sound was lost in that of the general
conflict. On the left, until afternoon, no movements were visible, but
across that open glade, far away on the right, the tide of battle ebbed
and flowed.

First from the edge of the woods on our side, appeared a ragged line
of men fleeing for their lives, and following them the solid front of
Hooker’s corps, firing as it followed.

The fugitives were three brigades of Jackson’s men, and the dark spots
before the advancing line were the first fruits of that harvest of
slaughter, whose winrows before nightfall traversed the whole of that
fatal glade.

Hooker’s men had nearly crossed the open ground when the whole of
Jackson’s corps burst from the western wood and met them in the open
field; Hooker against Jackson--that was the tug of war. No sign of
yielding could be marked on either side. Both lines became involved in
the smoke of their rifles, but whenever the breeze wafted the smoke
away, the reduced number of the combatants could be noted, and the
fringe of wounded men and their too numerous helpers, which always
hangs from the rear in the battle line, was constantly visible between
each body and its nearest sheltering wood.

There was no moment when this contest ended; no line was seen pursuing
or pursued, but little by little both melted away; and when all were
gone, out from the edge of the woods on either side belched the fire
and smoke of the batteries.

Now seven o’clock by Sharpsburg time. The scattered men of the broken
divisions of each army sought the friendly shelter of the lines which
were advancing to relieve them. Hood of Longstreet’s command, was
marshalling his brigades within the timber on the west, and Mansfield’s
corps was moving up through the rough woodland on the east, and for
a season the open space between was unoccupied save by the dead and
wounded, and the rolling, drifting smoke from the artillery.

The next movement visible to us was from the Confederate side, whence,
with a rapid rush, came the command of General Hood,--Texas, Georgia,
and Alabama men. In a few minutes they had crossed the open field in
the face of our guns, and although a portion of their line faltered,
yet another pushed even up to the line of our batteries, silencing
almost every gun. Mansfield had fallen, but his men were there, and
their rattling volleys showed that the enemy could get no foothold in
the wood, just in the edge of which the line of smoke hung steadily an
hour or more.

At nine o’clock the contest was for the moment ended by the advance of
Sedgwick’s division of Sumner’s corps, before which the southern troops
broke and fled over the glade to the cover opposite, and again our guns
opened upon their shelter.

Sedgwick’s division was the right of Sumner’s corps, and now between
it and us moved up from the Antietam the divisions of Richardson and
French, his left and centre. Unobserved by the enemy, we could see
them forming for the attack, and we watched with intense interest
their steady progress diagonally across our front. As they crossed the
summit of each rise, they came under the fire of the rebel batteries;
but our twenty-pounders playing over their heads, kept the rebel lines
crackling with shells, to the comfort of our friends and the confusion
of their foes. In each depression of the land Richardson and French
halted to dress their ranks, and then moved quickly on; and so they won
closer and closer to the enemy, until they were so near that the guns
of our batteries could not help nor those of the enemy hurt them. Here,
in a field of standing corn, they came upon the infantry of General
Hill, who, protected by fences and road cuttings, opened a galling
fire. Receiving but not answering this, Sumner’s divisions, aided by
horse batteries from Porter’s corps, dashed forward and secured these
defences for themselves, driving out the Confederate infantry on the
right, capturing or slaying them in the sunken road on the left. For a
few brief minutes the carnage was terrific.

Here Richardson and French, not without frequent contests, held their
advanced position all the day. We have described their movement as if
it had been an isolated one; but it was not so. The right of Sumner’s
corps, the division of “Old John” Sedgwick, was carrying everything
before it. It swept in solid form across the glade, and pushed out of
our sight into and through what we have called the western wood, and
into the open land beyond.

The violence of this attack outran discretion and the division found
itself out in the open fields with no support on either flank, and met
by fresh troops of the enemy. Falling slowly back it came into line
with the division of General French, but leaving a great gap between,
into which the advancing forces of the enemy hastened to drive a
cleaving wedge.

It was now one o’clock P. M., and we held the whole of the right and
centre of General Lee’s original position, but not firmly. Besides the
danger at the gap between Sedgwick and French, the latter was short of
ammunition and Sedgwick’s right was feeble.

At this time, most opportunely, McClellan ordered forward his
reserve, the corps of General Franklin; and that officer dividing
his command, closed up the threatened gap, re-inforced French’s line
and strengthened Sedgwick’s right, welding the whole to such tough
consistency that no further impression could be made. What we had won
we held.

Three o’clock in the afternoon and nothing seen of Burnside yet.

The most untutored of those who had watched the varying fortunes of the
field could see that if Lee’s right had been attacked while McClellan
was thus hammering on his left, either his right or left must have
yielded. We had seen troops moving from the one flank to reinforce the
other, until it seemed as if none could remain to hold the right. From
officers about the headquarters we knew that McClellan, in person, had
the night before advanced the division of Burnside’s corps close to the
bridge, and that he had told that general to reconnoitre carefully, in
readiness for attacking in the morning. We knew that at six o’clock he
had been ordered to form his troops for the assault upon the bridge,
and that at eight o’clock orders had been sent to carry the bridge,
gain the heights, and move upon Sharpsburg.

General McClellan himself looked not more anxiously for movement on the
left, than did we who saw the gallant fighting of the right; but five
hours had passed before the capture of the bridge by the twin 51sts of
New York and Pennsylvania, and since then two more of those priceless
hours had passed away. Oh! if Sheridan or our Griffin could but have
been commanding there.

The last peremptory order to advance and “not to stop for loss of
life” produced the wished-for movement, but it was too late and too
hesitating to accomplish great results.

When, at last, the heights were gained, the division of A. P. Hill had
arrived to reinforce the enemy, who could also spare something from in
front of our now-weakened right.

Burnside’s men fought well--gave only slowly back, and that not far.
Six battalions of regulars from our corps moved to the front, joining
the right of Burnside’s corps to the left of Sumner’s, and leaving
our (Morell’s) division, in the rear of the advanced line, the only
reserve force of McClellan’s army. One brigade was sent to the left to
strengthen Burnside, and at five P. M., our own, the last, was marched
toward the right, but the declining sun already showed that the contest
for the day must soon be ended. Just as it reached the horizon there
was one roaring _feu d’enfer_ along both lines, and almost of a sudden
the firing ceased, and the battle of the Antietam had filled its page
in history. It was an important victory. By it Washington, Maryland,
and Pennsylvania were relieved from menace and the country for a time
was grateful.

Just as it appeared to the looker-on the battle of Antietam has been
described. What happened, before our eyes has been told, without
digressions, and the digressions may now be added.

The battle-field was all day long bathed in sunshine; hardly one
cloud appeared to throw even a passing shadow over the fair autumnal
landscape, of which the background was made up of shadowed tracts of
woodland, and into which were introduced blocks of rough pasture,
lawn-like vistas, rolling fields of corn ready for the harvest, with
just enough of distant spire and nearer farmstead to add a look
of human comfort to the natural beauty of the scene. Although the
foreground and the middle distance of this picture were occupied by the
various combatants--killing and maiming--wounded and dying--there was
present to our sight no blemish of horror. We saw no ghastly wounds, no
streams of flowing gore; we heard no groans nor sighs nor oaths of the
struggle, and rarely did the sound even of southern yells or northern
cheers penetrate the massive roar of ordnance to reach our ears; and
yet before our eyes was fought a battle in which four thousand men were
slain, and fifteen thousand more were disabled by savage wounds.

So entirely were the sadder sights of bloody war excluded from our
minds, that when two men of our Regiment were badly wounded by the
accidental discharge of a falling rifle, the incident created almost as
much excitement as one like it might have done at a muster of militia
here at home.

It must not be imagined that any one of us stood throughout that
equinoctial day gazing upon the sunlit scene beyond the Antietam, for
in time even the terrible events of battle fall tamely upon eye and
ear. In the long pauses between the rounds of infantry fighting we sat
down upon the green sward and ate our lunch, or strolled away to talk
with the staff officers about the headquarters, or over to one of our
other brigades to discuss the incidents of the action, or to hear or
tell the news of its latest casualties.

The rank and file who had not the same liberty to stray away, and
who, screened from the field by the knoll on which our batteries were
planted, saw little or nothing of the fight--passed the time in chat
with laugh and story, as they stood, or sat, or laid, keeping in some
sort the form of the massed column which was more distinctly marked by
lines of rifles in the stack. Every man of them knew that at any moment
he might be called to be reaper or grain in the harvest of death so
near at hand; but men cannot keep themselves strained up to the pitch
of heroic thought or wearing anxiety, and so within the line of battle
our men joked and laughed and talked and ate, or even slept in the warm
sunshine.

No heartier laugh ever rewarded Irish wit than that which shook
our sides when Guiney, the handsome Colonel of the Massachusetts
9th, bedecking himself in the gorgeous apparel of a brilliant sash,
was reminded that it would make him a capital mark for the enemy’s
sharp-shooters, and replied, “and wouldn’t you have me a handsome
corpse?”

Early in the day, as soon as we were in position in rear of the
batteries, some of our mounted officers naturally desiring to get a
correct idea of the lay of the land and the order of the battle,
rode at a foot pace to the summit of the knoll in front, and from
their saddles were quietly examining the position of affairs through
field-glasses, and pointing hither and yon as they conversed, when
the chief of some rebel battery, possibly suspecting them to be big
generals and high functionaries, began from two guns some practice
with round shot, using the mounted officers for the bull’s-eye of the
target. In their innocence they assumed that this sort of thing was a
matter of course on such occasions, and for a time they went on with
their observations.

It was not long however before the aim became more accurate, and our
officers suddenly became aware of the scared looks of the German
gunners, who, watching for the smoke of the rebel guns, dodged
behind the trail of their own pieces until the shot had passed by,
and presently a sergeant ventured to suggest that the gentlemen were
drawing the fire on the battery, and to prefer the request that
they would send away the horses and pursue their study of the field
dismounted, which not unwillingly they did.

Not far from mid-day, in an interval of comparative quiet along the
lines, most of us stretched at full length basking in the sun and
waiting for “what next?” enjoyed a beautiful sight in the endeavor of
the enemy to shell our division.

As we were hidden from his view no direct shot could reach us, and he
seemed to have calculated that by exploding his shells high in the air,
the fragments could be dropped among our ranks. What became of the
fragments we did not know, hardly one of them fell near us, none of
them did us injury; but we watched for the shells with interest, and
were sorry when they came no more. Gazing up into the clear blue sky
there would from time to time suddenly appear a little cloudlet, which
unfolding itself drifted lazily away, and soon melted in the air. Each
of these cloudlets was the smoke from an exploding shell, the rapid
flight of which gave no other evidence of its existence to the eye, and
all sound was lost in the general tumult. Each seemingly miraculous
appearance of the cloudlet was hailed with admiration, and we were
quite ready to enjoy the entertainment as long as our friend the enemy
chose to supply it, and were inclined to be gruff with him when it
stopped.

While the divisions of Generals Richardson and French were advancing
on the Confederate centre, a gun from one of Porter’s horse batteries
was run out quite a distance to the left, where, from a little swell
of land, entirely unsupported, it opened upon the rebel infantry. The
rake upon the enemy’s line was so complete that after the first few
shots we could see them breaking; but the position was untenable and
after the gun had been discharged perhaps a dozen times, the enemy got
two guns to bear upon it, whereupon our gun was hastily limbered up and
went scampering back to cover as fast as four horses could run with it,
and as it went rebel shots could be seen striking up the dust all about
its track, as the stones strike about an escaping dog when boys are
pelting him.

When such an incident occurred we could hardly refrain from cheers.
And when--as was once or twice the case--we could see some movement of
the enemy against our lines which was unseen to those it menaced, it
was almost irresistible to cry out a warning, and several times shells
from the batteries of our division gave to the Union troops the first
warning of a threatening movement.

Twenty-five days after the battle our Company C on detached service
encamped for a night on the plateau, the summit of the heights which
were won by Burnside’s charge, and Captain Fuller observing that the
line of battle could even then be traced by the cartridge papers
which lay in winrows on the ground, wondered that troops which had so
gallantly charged up the steep ascent should have halted in this place
long enough to have used so many cartridges.

On the 18th of September, Porter’s corps relieved Burnside’s at the
lower bridge, and then we saw only too many of the woful sights which
belong to battle, and saw them without that halo of excitement which in
the midst of the contest diminishes their horror.

On the 19th, at dawn, we were in expectation of immediate participation
in a second battle, but the enemy had retreated. In the pursuit
Porter led the way. After passing through the town of Sharpsburg, the
artillery occupied the roadway, the infantry moving along the fields
on either side. At each rise of the land, a few pieces dashed to the
summit and shelled the nearer woods, the infantry forming in the hollow
in the rear, and so we felt our way a mile or two down to the Potomac.
The rear guard of the enemy had just crossed the river, and General
Griffin with parts of two brigades followed closely, capturing some
prisoners and much property, among which were the very guns that were
lost on the Peninsula from the battery he then commanded.

Returning, he reported the enemy as in full flight, and on the 20th
Porter prepared to give immediate chase. A part of one of his divisions
had crossed the ford and gained the bluffs on the right bank. Our own
brigade was on the high lands of the other bank, when, looking across
we saw the woods swarm out with rebel infantry rushing upon our little
force. A sharp cannonade checked them and covered the return of nearly
all our regiments, but the 108th Pennsylvania was cut off from the
road to the river crossing, and forced to retire up a rising ground,
terminating at the river in a high bluff, from which the only escape
was to scramble down the steep cliff and thus to gain the ford.

The men poured like a cataract over the edge and down the declivity,
and so long as they stayed at its immediate base they were tolerably
safe, but their assailants soon gained the edge of the bluff and lying
flat, could pick off any who attempted to cross to the Maryland side,
and many were killed or wounded and drowned before our eyes.

Our brigade was formed near to the ford; sharp-shooters were placed
along the river bank, and the artillery rattled solid shot upon the
summit of the bluff. After a time the Pennsylvanians began to run the
gauntlet of the ford, but it was several hours before all of them had
left the other shore.

In this time many gallant acts were performed, but none more daring
than that of the Adjutant of the 108th, who, after reaching the
Maryland shore, walked back upon the plate of the dam just above the
ford, and standing there midway across the river, exposed from head
to heels, shouted the directions to his men as to the manner of their
escape from their awkward fix.

When this fight at the ford was over it was near nightfall, and the
army encamped along the river side, the pickets of each army occupying
its own bank, and for weeks it was all quiet on the Potomac.




VII.

_AFTER ANTIETAM._


The life of a soldier in war-time is made up of alternating seasons of
severe toil and of almost absolute idleness. For a few weeks he will
be marched to the utmost limit of endurance--will be set to felling
forests--building bridges or roads--constructing defences--and then may
follow other weeks when his heaviest occupations are made up of drills,
parades, and drawing or eating rations.

Such a time of repose was that which we passed on the banks of the
Potomac, near Sharpsburg, guarding the line of the Potomac which for
lack of heavy autumnal rains was fordable almost anywhere. Generals,
quartermasters and commissaries may have been busy, but it was an idle
time for the bulk of the army. Stretching for some fifteen miles along
the course of the river, the various corps were encamped in due form,
the entire regularity of which could be seen from any neighboring
eminence. From some such points one could take into view a landscape
brilliant with the colors of autumn made yet brighter by the gleam of
the orderly array of white tents, and could see the bounds of each
regiment, brigade, or division, as if marked upon a map. At night,
before tattoo, the lines of lighted tents would show from a distance,
like an army of glow-worms.

To supply the wants of the army of men, another army of wagon trains
was kept in constant occupation, and the road was soon covered with
fine dust, which rose in clouds when it was stirred by the movements
of the trains, or by the horses of mounted officers or men; and as
these roads extended everywhere among the camps, we lived all day long
in an atmosphere of dirt, which when moved by fresh winds, drove and
drifted about to our exceeding discomfort. As the weather grew cooler
this was increased by the smoke of the camp-fires, until everybody was
habitually clothed in dust, and red about the eyes.

Along the picket lines the men of both armies, having agreed not to
fire without previous notice, lolled in the sunshine, chaffed each
other over the water, and occasionally traded newspapers even, or union
coffee for confederate tobacco.

Once in a while there was a foraging expedition or a reconnoissance
across the river. In one of these we captured quite a number of
prisoners at Shepardstown, chiefly officers and men absent on leave
and visiting their friends in that vicinity. One reconnoissance to
Leetown occupied two days, and was followed back right sharply by a
strong force of the enemy. We remember particularly the fact that on
the advance we found where a long-range shell had exploded among a card
party of the enemy’s men, one or two of whom lay dead with the cards
still in their hands.

This uneventful life, aided no doubt by prevalent but not serious
bilious disorders, developed in our Regiment a general tendency to
homesickness and “hypo.” To counteract it several attempts were made to
initiate games and athletic exercises among the men, and the officers
were requested to set an example to the men by organizing amusements
among themselves--but it amounted to nothing, it seemed impossible to
induce the men to amuse themselves.

We kept no very careful note of time. One day was pretty much like
every other. Sundays were noticeable only for the absence of drills
and a little more stupidity. To go home was the height of anybody’s
ambition.

Private Callahan, of K Company, sought to be discharged for
disability--the disability was beyond question, for he was born with
it, and he was told by the Surgeon that he ought not to have accepted
the bounty for enlistment; that he “ought to be hung” for doing it, to
which somewhat severe criticism the soldier retorted that he “would die
first.” It may not be necessary to state that Callahan was Irish. At
Fredericksburg he lost a finger and obtained his coveted discharge.

We were so long here that, as the season advanced, we began to
construct defences against the weather, and the acting adjutant even
dreamed of a log hut, with a real door and real hinges. The only
artificer at his command was his negro servant, a man who could admire
but could not comprehend long dictionary words. The Adjutant, directing
the negro as to the construction of the door frame, told him certain
parts were to be perpendicular, others horizontal, and others parallel;
but the black man’s face showed no evidence of comprehension, until
after a dozen different forms of the same instruction had been resorted
to and the master’s patience was exhausted, the idea penetrated the
darkened mind of the servant, who turned upon the officer with the
pertinent remark, “Why, massa, what you wants is ter have it _true_,
ain’t it?”

New orders of architecture were rapidly developed, and the manufacture
of furniture became an extensive occupation. It was quite wonderful
what results could be obtained in both of these industries by the use
of barrels and hard-bread boxes. Of the barrels we made chimneys and
chairs; and of the boxes, tables, washstands, cupboards, and the walls
and clapboards of our dwellings.

We were really getting to be very comfortable in the latter days of
October, 1862, when the orders began to intimate that we would not live
always in that neighborhood. First, our Company C was detached for a
guard to the reserve artillery, where it served for ten months. Then,
on the 30th, the whole army drew out like a great serpent, and moved
away down the Potomac to Harper’s Ferry, crossing the river there, then
up on the Virginia side, and along the foot hills of the Blue Ridge.

It was lively times again, and the march was rapid--often forced; but
the weather was cool and bracing, and the men were glad of the change.
From the 2d to the 15th of November we were on the eastern slopes of
the Ridge, and Lee’s army in its western valley, racing each for the
advantage over the other.

At each gap there was a lively fight for the control of the pass, but
we were always ahead, and possession is as many points in war as it is
in law. Holding these passes, our movements could be, to a considerable
extent, masked from the observation of the enemy, while his were known
to our General, whose object was to keep the army of the enemy strung
out to the greatest possible length, and at a favorable moment to
pounce upon its centre, divide and conquer it.

With the sound of guns almost always in our ears, we raced away
through Snickersville, Middlebury, White Plains, and New Baltimore
to Warrenton, with little to eat and plenty of exercise. Near White
Plains, on the 8th, we marched all day in a snow-storm, and at night,
splashed and chilled, bivouacked in a sprout field, making ourselves as
comfortable as might be on three or four inches of snow.

Throughout this march the orders were very stringent against straggling
and marauding. No allowance was made for transportation of regimental
rations except the haversacks of the soldiers, and on the march in
cold weather it is a poor (or good) soldier that does not eat three
days’ rations in two. Our changes of base left us often very short of
supplies, and it was not in the most amiable mood that we came to our
nightly camp.

Acting-quartermaster Dana, hungering for fleshpots, was tempted by the
sight of a fat turkey on a barn-yard fence. The road was a by-way, and
not a soul in sight. Before he could recall the tenor of the orders,
he had covered the bird with his revolver, but at that moment General
Butterfield, with his staff and escort, following the abrupt turn of
the road, came upon the quartermaster in the very act, and scared the
bird, which flopped heavily down from the fence and disappeared. To the
General’s angry demand for an explanation, Dana quietly replied that he
was about to shoot that “buzzard.”

“Buzzard!” roared the General, “that was a turkey, sir.” “Was it,
indeed?” replied the innocent officer; “how fortunate, General, that
you came as you did, for in two minutes more I should have shot him
for a buzzard.” Dana thought that, amid the laughter which succeeded,
he heard the General describe him as an idiot, but he was not
sufficiently certain about it to warrant charges against the General
for unofficer-like language.

The hurried march from Sharpsburg to Warrenton was fruitful in cases
of marauding for court-martial trials, but these courts very generally
refused to convict, on the ground that the men had been so ill-supplied
from our commissariat, that some irregularity was excusable.

One of our sergeants, a butcher by trade, strolling about the woods,
came upon a party of men who had captured and killed, and were about
cutting up, a rebel pig. Shocked at the unskilful way in which they
were operating, our sergeant volunteered his advice and services, which
were gratefully accepted. In the midst of the operation the party
was surprised by one of the brigade staff, and the non-commissioned
officer, being tried by court-martial, was by its sentence reduced to
the ranks and deprived of six months’ pay. The story ends sadly, for
his mortification from loss of rank, and possibly his anxiety from fear
that his family might suffer from the loss of pay, caused him to droop
and die.

One of our men, returning from a private foraging expedition laden with
a heavy leg of beef, was captured by the provost guard, and, by order
of General Griffin, was kept all day “walking post,” with the beef
on his shoulder, in front of the headquarters’ tents. As the General
passed his beat he would occasionally entertain him with some question
as to the price of beef, or the state of the provision trade, and at
retreat the man, _minus his beef_, was sent down to his regiment “for
proper punishment,” which his commanding officer concluded that he had
already received.

Yet another soldier was sent to our headquarters by the Colonel of the
Ninth Massachusetts, with the statement that he had been arrested for
marauding. Upon cross-examination of the culprit it appeared that
he had been captured with a quarter of veal in his possession by the
provost guard of the Ninth Regiment. A regimental provost guard was
a novelty in the army, but when, on further questioning, it appeared
that the offending soldier had been compelled to leave the veal at
Colonel Guiney’s quarters, the advantage of such an organization in
hungry times to the headquarters’ mess was apparent, and our Colonel
at once ordered a provost guard to be detailed from the Thirty-second,
with orders to capture marauders and turn over their ill-gotten plunder
to his cook. Unhappily, within the next twenty-four hours, some high
General, whose larder was growing lean, forbade regimental provost
guards in general orders.

It was during our stay at Warrenton that General Griffin requested
the attendance of Colonel Parker and told him, not as an official
communication, but for his personal information, that three officers
of the Thirty-second had, during the previous night, taken and killed
a sheep, the property of a farmer near by. Of course the Colonel
expressed his regret at the occurrence, but he represented to the
General that, inasmuch as the officers of our regiment were not
generally men of abundant means, and inasmuch as they had received no
pay from their Government for several months, and inasmuch as it was
forbidden them to obtain food by taking it either from the rations of
their men or the property of the enemy, he (the Colonel) would be glad
to know how officers were to live? The General, utterly astonished
at the state of affairs thus disclosed, asked in return for some
suggestion to relieve the difficulty. The suggestion made that officers
should be allowed to buy from the commissaries on credit, was, at the
request of General Griffin, embodied in a formal written communication
to him, and by an order the next day from the headquarters of the army,
it became a standing regulation until the end of the war.

On the 10th of November the Army of the Potomac was massed near
Warrenton as if a general action was at hand, when everybody was
surprised by the announcement of the removal of General McClellan from
its command. It was a sad day among the camps. The troops turned out at
nine o’clock, bordering the road, each regiment in doubled column, and
General McClellan, followed by all the generals with their staffs, a
cortege of a hundred or more mounted officers, rode through the lines,
saluted and cheered continually.

It happened that the 32d was the first regiment to be reviewed. Being
a regiment of soldiers, it was accustomed to salute its officers in a
soldierly way, and on this occasion was, probably, the only battalion
in the army that did not cheer “Little Mac,” but stood steadily, with
arms presented, colors drooping, and drums beating. From the surprised
expression on the General’s face, it was evident that for a moment he
feared that he had overrated the good-will of his troops. The incident,
though really creditable to the Regiment, was considered as a slight
to the General, and for a time was the cause of considerable feeling
against the 32d. Even the politics of its commander could not prevent
its being stigmatized as an “Abolition concern.”

At noon the officers of the Fifth corps were received by General
McClellan, who shook hands with all, and at the close of the reception
said, his voice broken with emotion: “Gentlemen, I hardly know how to
bid you good-bye. We have been so long together that it is very hard.
Whatever fate may await me I shall never be able to think of myself
except as belonging to the Army of the Potomac. For what you have done
history will do you justice--this generation never will. I must say it.
‘Good-bye.’” And so the army parted from the first, the most trusted,
and the ablest of its commanders.




VIII.

_TO FREDERICKSBURG._


General Burnside assumed the command and we remained quiet for a week,
then moved slowly away toward Falmouth and Fredericksburg, where we
arrived on the 22d of November, and encamped near Potomac Creek, at a
place afterwards known as “Stoneman’s Switch.” This camp was destined
to be our home for nearly six months, but the popular prejudice against
winter quarters was so great that we were never allowed to feel that it
was more than a temporary camp.

On several occasions we had suffered for want of supplies, generally
not more than for a day or two, and when on the march; but for ten
days after our arrival near Fredericksburg, the whole army was on
short allowance. Our base was supposed to be at Acquia Creek, but the
railroad was not reconstructed and what supplies we got were wagoned
up some miles from Belle Plain, over or through roads which were
alternately boggy with mud, or rough with the frozen inequalities of
what had been a miry way.

Little by little the scarcity became more severe; for a week there
had been no meat-ration, nothing was issued except hard-bread, and
on the morning of Thanksgiving Day, there was absolutely no food for
the Regiment. The evening previous, one box of hard-bread, the last
remainder of the supply of the headquarters’ mess was issued to the
Regiment, giving one half of a cracker to each man, and this was
gratefully received.

That Thanksgiving Day dawned upon a famished and almost mutinous army.
Rude signs were set up in the camp, such as “Camp Starvation,” “Death’s
Headquarters,” “Misery.” Every General as he appeared, was hailed with
cries for “hard-bread, hard-bread!” and matters looked threatening.
In the 32d there was no disturbance, but the men sat about with moody
looks and faces wan with hunger. Officers had been despatched in
every direction in search of food but, it was high noon before even
hard-biscuit could be obtained. Then twenty boxes were procured by
borrowing from the regular division, and they were brought to our camp
from a distance of two miles, on the shoulders of our men.

That morning the breakfast table of the field and staff mess, exhibited
a small plate of fried hard-bread and another of beefsteak, obtained
by incredible exertions of the Adjutant the day before, in order to do
honor to the festival. One must be very hungry to know how sumptuous
the repast appeared, but none of us could eat while the soldiers were
starving, and the breakfast was sent to the hospital tent.

One man refused to do duty, declaring that the government had agreed
to pay, clothe, and feed him, and having left him penniless, ragged,
and starving with cold and hunger, he could not be expected to keep his
part of the contract. With this one exception the bearing of our men
was superb, and was in remarkable contrast with that of the army in
general.

At the company roll call at “retreat,” the soldier just referred to,
who had been in confinement all day, was marched through the camp under
guard, and made to face each company in succession, while a regimental
order was read acknowledging and thanking the men for their good
behavior under trying circumstances, and closing with the declaration
that “if on this day of Thanksgiving we have failed to enjoy the
abundance which has usually marked the festival, we have at least one
reason for thankfulness and that is, that when all of us were hungry
there was only one man who desired to shirk his duty, leaving it to be
done by his equally-hungry comrades, and that the name of that man was
---- ----.”

Notwithstanding the repeated declarations that there would be no winter
quarters short of Richmond, the army proceeded to make itself as
comfortable as possible. The woods melted rapidly to supply the great
camp-fires, now needed for warmth as well as cooking; and the soldiers,
organizing themselves into messes, built shelters more satisfactory
than the canvas which was provided for that purpose.

Great variety of ingenuity was exhibited in the construction of these
quarters. A few were content with an excavation in the ground, over
which would be pitched a roofing of tent cloth; but some of the
quarters rose almost to the dignity of cottages, having walls of logs,
the interstices closed by a plastering of clay, and roofs of rough-hewn
slabs, or thatched with branches of pine. Windows were covered by
canvas, and chimneys were built up cob fashion and plastered inside,
and comfortable fires blazed upon the hearths.

About the headquarters of the generals were enclosing fences of sapling
pines set into the ground upright, and held firmly in that position.
Within the enclosures were grouped the tents of the general, his staff,
and their servants, some of them having outer walls of boards enclosing
the sides of their wall tents.

The weather was of a variety indescribable, except as Virginia
weather--alternating periods of cold so severe as to freeze men on
picket duty, and so warm as to make overcoats an insupportable burden.
The rains made the earth everywhere miry, then it would freeze the
uneven mud to the hardness of stone, then a thaw made everything mud
and all travel impossible, and presently dry winds would convert all
into dust and blow about in clouds.

One of the wonders of these times was the army cough; what with the
smoke of the camp fires, the dust of the country, and the effect of the
variable weather upon people living out of doors, there was a general
tendency to bronchial irritations, which would break out into coughing
when the men first awoke, and it is almost a literal fact, that when
one hundred thousand men began to stir at reveille, the sound of their
coughing would drown that of the beating drums.

Here for three weeks in preparation for another movement “on to
Richmond,” we drilled, were inspected and reviewed--relieving these
severer duties by chopping, hauling, and burning wood.

Those of us who had the opportunity, occasionally went over toward the
river, where from the high lands we could watch the Confederate lines,
and look on to see them getting the opposite heights good and strong in
readiness for our attack.

On the 10th of December, the orders began to read as if they really
meant fight, and the great point of interest in our discussions was as
to the direction of the next movement--whether we were to flank Lee
by way of the fords of the Rappahannock as was generally believed, or
whether, as some said, we were to embark for Harrison’s Landing or City
Point, and flank Richmond itself.

No voice was heard to intimate that any such consummate folly could
be intended as to attack squarely in face those defenses which we had
apparently been quite willing to allow our enemy to construct, and for
weeks most deliberately to strengthen. But such was indeed the forlorn
hope imposed upon the Army of the Potomac.

December 11th, 1862.--Reveille sounded at 3 A.M. The morning was cool
and frosty, the ground frozen, the air perfectly still--so still and
of such barometrical condition that the smoke of the camp-fires did not
rise to any considerable height, and was not wafted away, but murked
the whole country with its haze, through which objects when visible
looked distorted and ghostly, and the bugles sounding the assembly had
a strange and impressive tone.

The first break of day found the brigade formed for the march. The
troops wore their overcoats, and outside of them were strapped
knapsacks, haversacks, cartridge-boxes, and cap-pouches, all filled to
their utmost capacity; and in rolls worn sash-like over one shoulder
and under the other, were their blankets and the canvas of their
_tentes d’arbri_.

The dull boom of two guns from the westward was evidently a signal, and
the bugle sounded “forward.” That day it was the turn of our Regiment
to lead the Brigade, and of our Brigade to lead the Corps, and we were
at once _en route_ in the direction of Fredericksburg, which was three
miles away. Soon after the march began the sun rose, showing at first
only its huge, dull-red disk, but soon rising above the haze, throwing
its bright beams athwart the landscape, making it and us cheery with
their warmth and shine. With the sunrise came a gentle movement of
the air, pushing away the smoke from the uplands, but leaving the
river valley thick with fog. Midway between our camp and the river
we crossed the summit of a round-topped hill, from which, by reason
of the sweep of the river, we could see for a distance the rolling
lands of Stafford Heights, which on its left bank form the immediate
valley of the Rappahannock, and over all these hills, now glowing in
the sunlight, were moving in columns of fours, converging, apparently,
toward a common centre, the various corps and divisions of the Army of
the Potomac, more than a hundred thousand men.

Across the river could be seen, but not as yet distinctly, the
fortified line of hills occupied by Lee’s Army of Virginia. Between us
and them, the river and the river bottoms on the farther side, with all
of the town of Fredericksburg except the church spires and the cupola
of its Court House, were shrouded in vapor.

General Burnside had established headquarters in the Phillips house, a
fine brick mansion overlooking the valley and the town, and our grand
division was massed near by in a large field of almost level land,
entirely bare of tree or shade, and here we passed the whole day under
a warm December sun, which softened the ground into mud, glared in our
eyes, and baked our unprotected heads.

Before we reached this spot the dogs of war were in full cry. Down by
the river side there were frequent sputterings of musketry, and the
hills on either side of the river were roaring with the sound of the
great guns from their earth-work batteries.

About the Phillips house, on its piazza and in its rooms, there were
gatherings of general and field officers, discussing with more or less
warmth the situation and the probabilities. Occasionally a mounted
officer or orderly would come dashing up from the river side, looking
hot and anxious, and after delivering or receiving reports or orders,
would hasten down again to his station; but, on the whole, things were
very deliberately done.

When the fog lifted, below us, and directly on our bank of the stream,
could be seen the hospitable-looking Lacy house with its low wings,
under the lee of which, sheltered from the fire of the enemy, were
groups of officers, their horses picketed in the dooryard. On the
opposite side of the river, its houses coming close down to high-water
mark, lay the compactly built town of Fredericksburg; beyond it a space
of level land, narrowing at the upper end of the town to nothing, but
opening below into a wide plain, which, so far as we could see, was
everywhere bounded to the west by a rise of land more or less abrupt,
forming the lip of the valley there. This rising land terminated just
above the town, in a bluff at the river bank.

The right and centre grand divisions of Burnside’s army occupied the
heights on the eastern side of the river. Lee’s forces were entrenched
in those on the western side. Between them, the River Rappahannock and
the city of Fredericksburg.

The left grand division, under Franklin, one or two miles down the
river, before 10 o’clock had laid pontoon bridges and secured a
foot-hold on the opposite shore. Between him and the enemy was a nearly
open plain, the extent of which, from the river to the rising ground,
was more than a mile. On our left everything had gone smoothly and
well; all opposition to the crossing had been easily overcome, but in
the immediate front of the town it was quite another story.

At early dawn the engineers were ready and began to lay the pontoon
bridges opposite the town. A dozen or more of the boats had been moored
into position, and men were actively at work laying plank across,
when Barksdale’s Mississippians opened fire and drove the Union men
to cover. Calling up a brigade of Hancock’s men to cover the work,
repeated attempts were made to bridge the river, but the Confederates
occupying the houses on their bank could fire from windows without
being seen themselves, and the endeavors of the engineers, although
gallantly made, were unsuccessful.

Then followed a long consultation at headquarters, which resulted in
an order to concentrate the fire of our artillery on Fredericksburg,
and for an hour or more a hundred and fifty guns played on the town.
Fires broke out in several places and raged without restraint. During
and after the cannonade our troops essayed again and again to moor the
boats and lay the bridge, but the fire of the enemy, although reduced,
was yet too fierce, and at last, about four, P. M., two or three of
the boats of the pontoon train were loaded with volunteers and pushed
across the river at a bend above the buildings, the rebels were flanked
and driven from their shelter, and the bridge was speedily constructed.

To us, three-quarters of a mile away, the delay finally became irksome
and the Colonel and Major, moved by curiosity, rode down to the river.
The Rappahannock here lies deep between its banks and they rode to
the edge of the bluff, peering over, up and down the stream, to see
what might be seen. The firing for the time had ceased, and all
seemed quiet except the crackling flames of the burning buildings.
The gunners of the two-gun battery close by were chatting, leaning
lazily against the gun-carriages. Below, the river, waiting the turn
of the tide to flood, was still and smooth. Opposite, the warehouses,
thrusting their unhandsome walls down to the line of tidal mud, seemed
utterly deserted; two or three of them were yet burning, a few were
badly battered, but on the whole the storm of shot and shell had done
wonderfully little harm.

A rifle ball, passing between the two officers, singing as it went,
reminded them that everything was not as peaceful as it seemed, and
they turned away just as the battery joined the renewed bombardment to
cover the forlorn hope in their boat crossing.

That night we bivouacked in a neighboring wood, where we remained also
the next day and night, while Franklin on one side of us, and Sumner
on the other, were crossing and deploying their commands below and in
the town, covered for the greater part of the day by a dense fog which
allowed neither the enemy nor us to see much of the movements.

General Burnside would seem to have had an idea that he could push his
army across the river, attack Lee’s army and win the heights, before
Jackson, from his position eighteen miles below, could come to aid his
chief. This possibly might have been done by flanking, if he had been
content to cross the Rappahannock where Franklin, at 9 o’clock on the
11th, had succeeded in establishing his bridges; but before the upper
pontoon bridges could be laid, the rebel right wing, under Jackson, had
effected its junction with the lines of Longstreet, and Lee’s army was
again united.

December 13th, 1862,--the day of the battle of Fredericksburg,--opened
clear and bright, except that over the lowlands bordering the river
was stretched a veil of vapor which laid there until 9 o’clock. The
grand divisions of Sumner and Franklin were over the river and ready
for battle--Sumner in the streets of Fredericksburg, which ran parallel
to the river, and Franklin in the open plain below the town. Our
(Hooker’s) grand division yet occupied the heights on the eastern side
of the Rappahannock, from which--except for the fog--could be seen the
slightly undulating plain, which was to be Franklin’s field of battle,
but from which the greater part of Sumner’s field was hidden by the
town itself.

The letter A may be used to demonstrate the topography of the battle.
The left limb of that letter may represent the line of higher land
occupied by the Confederates, the right limb the line of the
Rappahannock river, and the cross-bar the course of a sunken creek
which separated the lines of Sumner’s troops from those of Franklin,
but which offered no advantage to our troops, and no impediment to
the fire of either of the combatants. Below the cross-bar of the A,
the space between the limbs may have averaged two-thirds of a mile in
width, over which Franklin’s men must advance to the attack, almost
constantly exposed to the fire from the batteries of the rebels, and
for at least half the way to that from the rifles of their infantry.
Within the triangle--the upper portion of the A--was included the city
of Fredericksburg and Sumner’s _aceldama_, and here the lines of the
enemy were strengthened by earthworks on the summit of the heights,
(not fifty feet above the level of the plain), and by stone walls and
rifle pits along their base. Here the space between the foremost rebel
line, and the nearest blocks of houses in the town was nowhere two
thousand feet, and within this narrow space, under the fire of a mile
of batteries, and at least ten thousand rifles, the Union lines must be
formed for the attack.

What we saw of Franklin’s battle was what happened before noon, and
after 9 o’clock,--at which latter hour the fog disappeared, revealing
to us and to the enemy the advancing line of Meade’s division, to
us a moving strip of blue on the dun-colored plain. We saw it halt,
covered no doubt by some undulation of the land, while a battery on the
left was silenced by the Union guns--then the line moved on, fringed
sometimes with the smoke of its own volleys, at other times with the
silver-like sheen of the rifle barrels. We saw the smoke of the rebel
rifles burst from the woods that covered the first rise of ground--saw
Meade’s line disappear in the woods, followed by at least one other
line,--then our bugles called “attention! forward!” and we saw no more
of Franklin’s fight.

Early in the morning two of Hooker’s divisions had been sent to
strengthen Franklin, and now two others, Humphrey’s and Griffins’
(ours) were ordered to the support of Sumner. A new boat-bridge had
been laid, crossing the river at the lower part of the town, just below
the naked piers of what had been and is now the railroad bridge, and
just above the outlet of a small stream. The two divisions were massed
on the hill-side near this bridge--an attractive mark for the rebel
cannoneers, who however, having food for powder close at hand, spared
to us only occasionally a shell. The crossing must have occupied an
hour. Down the steep hill-side and the steeper bank; over the river
and toiling up the western side; with many waits and hitches--the
serpent-like column moved tediously along. Once up the bank, and the
rifle balls whistled about us and our casualties began; but we wound
our way, bearing a little to the left, through the lower portion of the
town, where the buildings were detached and open lots were frequent,
availing ourselves of such cover as could be used, until in a vacant
hollow each regiment as it came up was halted to leave its knapsacks
and blankets. These were bestowed in heaps, and the men and boys of the
drum-corps were left to guard them. Here too, by order of the Colonel,
the field and staff officers dismounted, leaving their horses in charge
of servants. Then in fighting trim we moved forward past the last
buildings, out upon the field of battle. Here was still between us and
the enemy a swell of land, six or eight feet in its greatest height,
affording some slight protection, and we trailed our arms to conceal
our presence from the enemy.

The confusing roar of the battle was all about us. Our own batteries
of heavy guns from Stafford Heights were firing over us--a few of our
field pieces were in action near by. The rebel guns all along their
line were actively at work--their shells exploded all around us, or
crashed into the walls of neighboring buildings, dropping fragments at
every crash; whatever room there might have been in the atmosphere for
other noise, was filled by the rattle of musketry and the shouts of men.

No words can fully convey to a reader’s mind the confusion which
exists when one is near enough to see and know the details of battle.
One reads with interest in the reports of the generals, the letters
of newspaper correspondents, or in the later histories constructed
from those sources, a clear story of what was done; of formations
and movements as if they were those of the parade; of attack and
repulse--so graphically and carefully described as to leave clear
pictures in one’s mind. But it may be doubted whether one who was
actively engaged, and in the thick of the fight, can correctly describe
that which occurred about him, or tell with any degree of accuracy the
order of events or the time consumed.

The reports of the battle of Fredericksburg describe occurrences
that never happened, movements that were never made, incidents that
were impossible. “History” tells how six brigades formed for attack
on our right, in column of brigades, with intervals of two hundred
paces--where no such formation was possible, and no such space existed.
And at least one general (Meagher), in his reports must have depended
much upon imagination for the facts so glowingly described.

To the memory now comes a strange jumble of such situations and
occurrences as do not appear in the battles of history or of fiction.
Of our Regiment separated from the rest of the brigade, getting into
such positions that it was equally a matter of wonder that we should
ever have gone there, or having gone should ever have escaped alive--of
rejoining the division, where, one behind the other and close together
in the railroad cut, were three brigades waiting the order for attack.

We recall the terrific accession to the roar of battle with which the
enemy welcomed each brigade before us as it left the cover of the cut,
and with which at last it welcomed us. We remember the rush across
that open field where, in ten minutes, every tenth man was killed or
wounded, and where Marshall Davis, carrying the flag, was, for those
minutes, the fastest traveller in the line; and the Colonel wondering,
calls to mind the fact that he saw men in the midst of the severest
fire, stoop to pick the leaves of cabbages as they swept along.

We remember how, coming up with the 62d Pennsylvania of our brigade,
their ammunition exhausted and the men lying flat on the earth for
protection, our men, proudly disdaining cover, stood every man erect
and with steady file-firing kept the rebels down behind the cover of
their stone wall, and held the position until nightfall. And it was a
pleasant consequence to this that the men of the gallant 62d, who had
before been almost foes, were ever after our fast friends.

Night closed upon a bloody field. A battle of which there seems to have
been no plan, had been fought with no strategic result. The line of
the rebel infantry at the stone wall in our front was precisely where
it was in the morning. We were not forty yards from it, shielded only
by a slight roll of the land from the fire of their riflemen, and so
close to their batteries on the higher land that the guns could not be
depressed to bear on us. At night our pickets were within ten yards of
the enemy.

Here we passed the night, sleeping, if at all, in the mud, and
literally on our arms. Happily for all, and especially for the
wounded, the night was warm. In the night our supply of ammunition was
replenished, and toward morning orders were received not to recommence
the action.

The next day, a bright and beautiful Sunday, there was comparative
quiet along the lines, but to prevent the enemy from trees or houses or
from vantage spots of higher land bringing to bear upon our line the
rifles of their sharp-shooters, required constant watchfulness and an
almost constant dropping fire from our side.

Several attempts were made to communicate with us from the town, but
every such endeavor drew a withering fire from the enemy. None of us
could stand erect without drawing a hail of rifle balls. A single
field-piece from the corner of two streets in the city exchanged a few
shots over our heads with one of the batteries on the heights, but soon
got the worst of it and retired.

Sergeant Spalding, in a printed description of this day, says: “It was
impossible for the men in our brigade to obtain water without crossing
the plain below us, which was a hazardous thing to attempt to do, as he
who ventured was sure to draw the enemy’s fire; nevertheless, it was
not an uncommon thing to see a comrade take a lot of canteens and run
the gauntlet.” Seldom were they hit, but in a few instances we saw them
fall, pierced by the rebel bullet.

“I remember seeing a soldier approaching us from the city, with
knapsack on his back and gun on his shoulder. I watched him with
special interest as he advanced, knowing that he was liable to be fired
upon as soon as he came within range of the enemy’s rifles. He came
deliberately along, climbed over the fence, and was coming directly
towards where we lay, when crack went a rifle and down went the
man--killed, as we supposed, for he lay perfectly still. But not so, he
was only playing possum. Doubtless he thought that by feigning to be
dead for a few moments he would escape the notice of the enemy. So it
proved, for unexpectedly to us, and I doubt not to the man who shot him
(as he supposed), he sprang to his feet and reached the cover of the
hill before another shot was fired.”

The day wore away and the night came again, and we, relieved by other
troops, returned to refresh ourselves by sleeping on the wet sidewalks
of one of the city streets.

The next day three lines of infantry were massed in this street, which
ran parallel to the river, but the day passed without any renewal of
the battle. It was not pleasant, looking down the long street so full
of soldiers, to think what might happen if the rebel guns, less than
a thousand yards away, should open on the town--but it was none of
our business. As it came on to storm at nightfall we took military
possession of a block of stores, and the men, for the first time for
many months, slept under the cover of a roof. It was a fearfully windy
night, and whether it was the wind, or anxiety about the situation,
the Colonel could not sleep. His horses were kept in the street
conveniently at hand, and once or twice he rode out to the front and
heard Captain Martin objurgating the General for his orders to entrench
his battery with one pick and one shovel.

About 3 A. M. came an orderly seeking the commander of the brigade,
whom nobody had seen for the past two days. The Colonel was inclined to
be gruff until he learned that the orders were to move the brigade back
over the river; then, indeed, he was sprightly. Declaring himself the
ranking officer of the brigade, he receipted for the order and, sending
his orders to the other regiments, began to retire the brigade to the
easterly bank, and thence ordered the regiments to their old camps at
Stoneman’s Switch, where the real brigadier found them soon after dawn.

At 8 A. M. Burnside had withdrawn his entire army and taken up his
bridges. The storm was over, but again the fog filled the low lands.
As it cleared away, some of us, from the piazza of the Phillips House,
saw the rebel skirmishers cautiously creeping toward the town, and
it was not long before the shouts from their lines told that the
evacuation was discovered. In the battle of Fredericksburg the 32d lost
thirty-five killed and wounded. Among the killed was Captain Charles A.
Dearborn, Jr.




IX.

_BETWEEN CAMPAIGNS._


With the close of the year 1862, Colonel Parker resigned the command,
Lieutenant-Colonel Prescott was promoted to the Colonelcy; Major
Stephenson was made Lieutenant Colonel, and Captain Edmunds, Major.

A vacancy occurred also in the medical staff, by the resignation of
Assistant Surgeon Bigelow, and an elderly, but very respectable M. D.
was gazetted in his place. It happened that the new doctor reported
for duty on the eve of a movement of the corps. He had no horse; said
he had left his trunk at “the depot,” meaning by the roadside, at
Stoneman’s Switch, and when told that he must march with the Regiment
next day he undertook to hire a buggy. The young gentlemen of the
Regiment kept him floundering about for a good part of the night in
search of an imaginary livery stable, and even sent him up to division
headquarters to borrow the General’s barouche. One day’s experience was
enough for him, and the next morning he declined to be mustered in and
went back--he and his trunk--to the more congenial white settlements.

After the disastrous attempt upon the heights of Fredericksburg, the
Regiment had remained in their old camping-ground near Stoneman’s
Switch, in the neighborhood of Falmouth. Excepting the reconnoissance
to Morrisville and skirmish there, with that terrible march on the
return when our brigadier, Schweitzer, led his “greyhounds,” as he
termed them, at such a terrific pace for twenty-five or thirty miles,
nothing occurred to break the monotony of camp life. The night of the
31st December, 1862--that of the march above alluded to--was extremely
cold, and the men, in light marching order, without knapsacks or
necessary blankets, compelled to fall out from inability to keep the
pace, suffered terribly from exposure, and many lost their lives in
consequence.

For two months, or since November 22d, 1862, we had been comfortably
encamped (including the episodes of the battle of Fredericksburg, and
the march and skirmish of Morrisville above-mentioned) near Stoneman’s
Switch--two months! which seemed so near an age, a cycle, or an
eternity of time in the Army of the Potomac in those days, that we had
prepared ourselves as if to remain forever. Our tents were converted
into comfortable huts, with wide chimneys and wooden floors; we had
tables and camp-chairs and bedsteads and looking-glasses--all rather
rudely constructed, perhaps, but to our minds luxurious to a degree
unprecedented. When, however, we got marching orders, every man seemed
to vie with his neighbor in displaying his contempt for all this
effeminacy, and his readiness to quit these “piping times of peace,”
by destroying all his possessions that savored of luxury, and throwing
away whatever could not be carried in knapsack or saddle-pack.

Adjutant Cobb was a sound sleeper. He did not average to sleep so long,
perhaps, as many others, but he would owl over his work or his letters
night aft

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