It was the old story. A young man, the son of an officer of our regiment who had been the leading merchant of—well, a smart town not a hundred miles from Watertown, well educated, with prospects in life that were the best, and now the follower of a circus. Always going somewhere and never getting anywhere was the way he put it. Still, my comrade.
I think he held my hand five minutes, and memories of other days were kindled anew. He had forgotten nothing. It was safely stored away in memory and the meeting had tapped it.
Graphically he portrayed the incidents of our Bull Run ride to the amusement of clerks and customers. All at once he recalled that he was in the presence of ladies, and bowing and smiling he gallantly tiptoed his way to the front part of the store and apologized for forcing an old soldier’s story upon them.
No one could have done it with more ease and grace, for, as I have stated, George’s early associations had been of the best. His family was in the swell set of the town in which they lived, and his father was a gentleman of the old school and noted for his polished manners.
“You see, ladies,” said he, “I haven’t been in your beautiful city since war times until this morning. Struck town with Barnum & Bailey’s greatest aggregation on earth.”
“Perhaps traveling with a circus does not meetyour approval. I like it, though. Something like soldiering. Always under marching orders. Plenty of fresh air and one never sleeps so good as he does on the ground with only a strip of canvas between him and the heavens.
“When the band is playing and them Wild West fellows are galloping around the ring with the scabbards of their sabres clanging against the stirrup-irons, I just close my eyes and imagine I am with the old second corps again and Gen. Hancock is riding down the lines.
“Suppose you have all heard about the general? Handsomest man and greatest fighter that ever straddled a horse.
“The general and the second corps never missed a fight. Yes, we were with them through it all.
“Gettysburg? Sure! Rube, here, got a couple of bullet holes when we were beating back Pickett’s men that afternoon. The general went down that day, too, and I can shut my eyes and see it all and hear the cheers of the Irish brigade boys when they realized that the battle was won.
“Beg pardon, ladies, but I am in something of a reminiscent mood today, being as I met an old comrade. We have been holding a little reunion. Yes, took a little something in honor of the event.
“‘Del’—er Mr. Miller—was with us from start to finish. Wasn’t much of him but his drum and grit. Legs so short the boys had to carry him across all the creeks. He stuck though andtapped ‘lights out’ down side of Lee’s ‘last ditch’ at Appomattox.”
********
That evening the two veterans of the old second corps partook of the best that the Woodruff house could give and smoked several of Nill & Jess’ Pinks at the expense of one who was glad to do it, “Just for old acquaintance sake.”
WAR IS HELL.
To fully appreciate Gen. Sherman’s definition of war, one needs to be at a field hospital on the outskirts of some great battlefield where the ghastly surroundings of death and suffering are more terrible than on the battlefield itself.
The day after our retreat from Bull Run our regiment was ordered to proceed by train to Fairfax station, where all the wounded were sent for transportation to Washington. We rode on the top of freight cars, every man with a loaded musket ready to shoot any of Mosby’s men who might try to wreck the train. The cars were filled with cots, stretchers, blankets and other supplies for the wounded.
The night was a dark and rainy one, and as we jumped off the cars at the station, which was located in some dense woods, we saw the horrors of war spread out on every side. Acres of ground were covered with bleeding, mangled soldiers, whobut a short time before had stood amid the storm of shot and shell, now just as bravely enduring suffering.
The surgeons and their assistants at the amputating tables with coats off and shirt sleeves rolled up, their hands red with blood, worked swiftly to save life, for it is the “first aid” to the wounded that counts.
The spectacular effect was heightened by piles of blazing pitch pine knots, torches and lanterns suspended from the limbs of trees, which imparted a strange wierdness to the scene.
All night long the interminable trains of ambulances and wagons from the battlefield came bringing their loads of sufferers with the smoke of battle upon them. Many were so exhausted that it was necessary to give them stimulants before they could be lifted from the wagons.
The United States Sanitary and Christian commissions were represented by a large number of workers. Women of culture and refinement, from some of the best families in the land, were cutting off the blood-drenched clothing, bathing and bandaging shattered limbs, giving nourishment to the fainting, speaking comforting words and listening to the messages of the dying; and all this going on within the sound of rattling musketry and booming cannon, for it was the night of the fight at Chantilly, when Gen. Jackson attemptedto flank Pope’s army and reached a point not far from Fairfax court house.
Our regiment stood in line in a wheat field, just outside of the woods, a good part of the night with the rain falling in torrents and heaven’s artillery vieing with that of the forces engaged.
A drummer boy of our company who had lost his drum at Manassas, was carrying a musket that night and stood in the ranks with his father who was a sergeant in the same command. I need hardly say that the events of that night are graven as with an iron pen on his memory.
The authorities at Washington were fearful of risking any more fighting so near the capital and Gen. Pope was ordered to withdraw his army within the defenses of Washington and the wounded were hurried away from Fairfax station in every kind of conveyance, even hacks and carriages being sent out from Washington.
Our regiment remained until the last wounded man had been sent forward and then set fire to the immense quantities of supplies stored there, to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy.
Our casualties in the second Bull Run affair were comparatively small, we being engaged only in the first encounter at Manassas Junction, which was merely preliminary to the great battle.
Gen. Stuart’s cavalry did, however, manage to take as prisoners about two hundred of the regiment.
WASHINGTON IN THE SIXTIES.
Washington in the sixties was not the beautiful city that it is today. The nation’s capital was one vast camp of armed men and the city was circled with a cordon of forts and earthworks. Early in the war the Confederate flag could be seen from the dome of the capitol, flying on Munson’s hill, while the exchange of shots by the pickets was heard at the White House more than once.
“‘All quiet along the Potomac,’ they say,Except now and then a stray picketIs shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,By a rifleman hid in the thicket.”
Pennsylvania avenue, that grand thoroughfare with its wide, long stretch of asphalt, was then supposed to be paved with cobblestones, but they had nearly been crushed out of sight by the heavy government wagons, cannon and artillery caissons, which had cut such deep ruts that the street was almost impassable in muddy weather.
Guards patrolled the sidewalks; troops wereconstantly passing through the city on their way to Virginia; officers and their orderlies were riding to and fro, and it was said that a boy could not throw a stone at a dog without hitting a brigadier general.
Probably few of the present generation are aware how much of the great civil war was fought within an easy day’s journey of the city. Two of the most celebrated battles of the war, in which 25,000 men were killed and wounded, were fought but twenty-five miles away, and at Arlington there is a monument that marks the resting place of the remains of over 2,100 unknown dead gathered along the route of the army from the Potomac to the Rappahannock.
There is no greater blessing vouchsafed to man than memory, which enables one to live over again the past, and so I recall with pleasure the many happy days in my early army life, when we were doing duty in the forts around Washington, and before the gold plating of a soldier’s life had been worn off by the stern realities of active service.
The city was then encircled by a chain of forts. But time and the elements have nearly obliterated the defenses of Washington, and pretty little villas with sweet and romantic names such as: Rosslyn, Ivanwold, Buena Vista, Carberry Meadows, etc., have replaced them. The prattle and innocent laughter of happy children is heard on theheights or Arlington, instead of bugle calls, the music of bands and the booming of cannon.
Looking backward from a distance of forty years one must admit that it was much more comfortable soldiering around Washington than at the front with such fighters as Grant, Sheridan, Hancock, Warren, Wright, Gibbons and others “pushing things.” It was monotonous, however, and the men grew tired of drills, fancy guard mountings, dress parades, brightening of guns and polishing of brass buttons, and were troubled with the thought that the war might be brought suddenly to a close before they would have an opportunity to win any laurels. But everybody had their ambitions gratified before Lee surrendered, for there was fighting enough to go all around in that affair.
SOME OF THE OLD FORTS.
My first army home was at Fort Worth near Fairfax Seminary, about three miles from Alexandria.
The site of old Fort Worth was a beautiful spot, about three hundred feet above the Potomac, and from its warlike parapets one could behold an entrancing panorama of country. To the south the Fairfax “pike” and the Orange and Alexandria railroad wended their way through as beautiful a little valley as the sun ever shone upon. Twenty-five years after the war I visited the place. Theowner of the land on which the fort was built, and who served as a colonel in the Confederate army, then had a beautiful home on the site and utilized the old bomb-proof for an outside cellar. Near his barn was a little of the old parapet remaining and our party stood on the earthworks while our old regimental bugler, a man bent with the weight of more than three score years, sounded reveille, tattoo, and lights out. There were no dry eyes in the party when the last bugle notes echoed and re-echoed through the charming Virginia valley leading out toward Fairfax.
REMORSE REVEALS A CHIVALROUS ACT.
It is hardly necessary to say that we did some pretty deep thinking as we met that day on the old camp ground.
Our comrades stood before us again—boys who had been schoolmates, the companions of our youth. We could almost hear their familiar voices, their songs and sayings, and we thought of where we parted with many of them, here and there along the way from Washington to Appomattox. The thoughts brought keen pangs of sorrow to us, yet withal there were many pleasant recollections revived.
Looking off to the south we saw the same fine old southern mansion that was there in war times. We felt remorse for many foraging expeditions in which the fruit, sweet potatoes, ducks andchickens had been confiscated for the cause of Uncle Sam.
We thought we would go and call on our old neighbors and make theamende honorable.
The fine old southern lady freely forgave us with a graciousness characteristic of the women of the south. An invitation to lunch was extended and accepted. George, a colored boy, was told to go down the “Run” to the mill and tell her son, the colonel (no rank under a colonelcy is recognized in Virginia), to come up to the house and meet some of the old Second New York.
We lunched on the broad veranda and exchanged reminiscences of the days when we were neighbors and enemies, and as the colonel sipped that favorite and refreshing beverage of the south, a mint julep, he told of his wounds at Manassas and how friends had helped him through the lines and back to his old home right under the guns of our fort, where he was secreted until his recovery. His presence there was not unknown to the general commanding the Union forces, who, like a chivalric knight of old, kept the secret for the sake of the mother, and furnished guards to keep intruders away from the house.
The reader must not infer that there was one drop of traitorous blood in the officer’s veins. His name I am not at liberty to divulge, but it is no breach of confidence to say that he was one of the most brilliant generals in the army of the Potomac,whose loyalty was proven on many a bloody battlefield.
Across the valley to the east from Fort Worth, on the Mount Vernon road, was a large fort called Fort Lyon, where the gallant old 94th New York Infantry spent the winter and spring of ’62. An explosion of ammunition in one of the magazines nearly destroyed the fort in 1863, killing and wounding many of the garrison and causing the earth to tremble for miles.
Fort Lyon was nearly on the left of the defenses south of the Potomac, while Fort Marcy, about four miles west of Georgetown and near the famous Chain bridge, guarded the right flank.
Between the two, running parallel with the Potomac, along Arlington heights, was a perfect chain of forts and earthworks, the names of which many northern New York veterans will recall, such as Forts Ellsworth, Ward, Blenkner, Albany, Runyon, Corcoran, Haggerty, Tillinghast, Whipple, Woodbury, Greig, Cass, Dekalb (afterwards Fort Smith), Strong and many others. The Fifth New York Heavy Artillery assisted in the erection of the last named.
The 35th New York, which was the first organization in this section to respond to President Lincoln’s call for troops, garrisoned Fort Tillinghast for a time and assisted considerably in its completion as well as the cutting away of timber in front of the forts south of Arlington.
One of the most prominent forts near Arlington was Fort Corcoran, so named in honor of Col. Michael Corcoran, who led that famous Irish regiment, the 69th New York, to the war, and was captured at the first battle of Bull Run.
This fort was the headquarters of the Second New York Artillery for more than a year and the regiment while there assisted largely in the construction of Fort Whipple, which is now known as Fort Myer, and is kept as a military post by the government. All visitors to Arlington via the Georgetown bridge pass by it.
Fort Stevens, originally called Fort Massachusetts, attained prominence during Gen. Early’s raid in 1864 by reason of having been the scene of some stubborn fighting. It is only about five miles from the capitol and but for the timely arrival of the fighting Sixth corps which Grant sent back from Petersburg, it is probable that the Confederate forces would have entered the city. It was on the ramparts of Fort Stevens that President Lincoln exposed himself to the fire of the enemy.
There were some formidable forts east of the capitol across the “East Branch” on Boone’s Ridge in Prince George’s County, Md. The names of Fort Mahan, Baker, Stanton, Carroll, Greble, Wagner and others will be recalled by all the survivors of that regiment, the pride of Jeffersoncounty, the 10th New York Heavy Artillery, which garrisoned many of them for a long period.
LINCOLN’S PETS.
The 10th New York Heavy Artillery has been referred to as the lucky regiment from Jefferson county. It was organized in September, 1862, and performed garrison duty in the defenses east of Washington until the summer of 1864, when it was ordered to the front. It joined the army at Cold Harbor at about the time Grant was preparing to transfer operations to Petersburg and Bermuda Hundred.
The 10th Heavy was sent around by water from White House Landing, while most of the army made a forced march across country.
The regiment participated in the first fighting at Petersburg. Later they were returned to the defenses of Washington where they remained until Gen. Early’s army was driven out of Maryland, when they were ordered to join Gen. Sheridan’s forces in the Shenandoah valley. They were a fine body of men, well officered, well drilled, and under perfect discipline, which probably accounted for their being such favorites with President Lincoln and Secretary Stanton.
DOG BILLY OF THE SECOND HEAVY.
When McClellan’s army left for the Peninsula a soldier sold to one of our boys his dog. He wasjust a plain every day sort of dog with chopped off tail and clipped ears, but in some respects the most knowing little fellow I ever saw, and he soon became a great favorite with everybody in camp.
He learned the bugle and drum calls and took special delight in dress parades. When the men were forming for that, Billy would run up and down the line barking and cut up all sorts of capers he was so very happy.
He seemed to be fond of brass band music and would lead the musicians up and down the line until the colonel ordered the sergeant major to drive him away. He charged on Billy with drawn sword and the knowing little fellow kept behind the line ever after that.
There was a nice large “swimmin’ hole” in “Four Mile Run,” not far from camp, where we used to go bathing frequently. Billy always went, too, and had great sport with the boys. Nothing pleased him more than to have some one pick him up and throw him headlong into the water.
Old “Lige” Moyer used to come out in front of his cook tent almost every evening and play the fiddle, and, if you will believe it, “Lige” learned Billy to waltz, rewarding him with liberal rations after the performance. Billy always stood guard with his master, keeping him company in his lonely night watches.
The crack of a rifle did not disturb him the least bit, but the booming of the heavy guns were toomuch for his nerves, and he would go and hide in his owner’s tent.
When we were ordered out to the front for the Bull Run campaign Billy went along, too. He used to curl up under the same blanket with Joe, his master. The morning that the battle of Manassas opened our regiment was subjected to a severe artillery fire for two hours. Billy became a skulker and went to the rear. In the skedaddle and panic that occurred later in the day, Joe, with many others, was taken prisoner by the Johnnies.
A couple of weeks later our regiment was sent back to the forts. Billy was not with us and no one had seen him since the morning at Bull Run. We concluded that he must have been taken prisoner, too, but a few days later Billy appeared in camp. He was a sorry looking dog, thin as a razor and his hair turned toward his head. The distance to Manassas was about twenty-five miles, but he had probably tramped much farther in finding his way back to camp.
All were glad to see him again, and he seemed pleased enough to see us until he found that Joe was not there. No more the bugle calls aroused him, and even the music of the band had lost its charm. He would just go looking in the different tents and keep up a continual whining.
One day he got tired waiting for Joe to comeback and he left us, and that was the last we ever heard of dog Billy.
THE OLD WAR SONGS.
“I cannot sing the old songs, I sang long years ago,For heart and voice would fail me and foolish tears would flow;For by-gone hours come o’er my heart with each familiar strain;I cannot sing the old songs, or dream those dreams again.”********
How many of our readers remember the old songs and melodies that were so popular in the sixties? People sang them in their homes and the soldiers in the camps and on the march, and they furnished inspiration for many a tired regiment to go into battle.
As I write there comes to my mind snatches of many of the old favorites such as “We’ll Rally Round the Flag, Boys,” “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching.”
A story is told of a regiment who went into battle nearly one thousand strong and came out with less than half the number, but the survivors with their blood-stained banners and smoke-begrimed faces marched to another position in the line singing
“We’ll rally round the flag, boys,We’ll rally once again, shouting the battle cry of freedom.”
“When Johnnie Comes Marching Home Again” was always a favorite in the ranks, but in the quietof camp the songs were a little more sentimental and suggestive of home and the loved ones. Some of the old time favorites were:
“Sweet Alice Ben Bolt,” “Hazel Dell,” “Annie Laurie,” “Kathleen Mavourneen,” “Tenting Tonight,” “The Faded Coat of Blue,” “The Vacant Chair,” “Just Before the Battle, Mother,” “Write Me a Letter from Home,” etc., etc., and an evening camp concert, with perhaps a hundred or more voices in the choruses would wind up with “The Shining Shore,” “Jesus, Lover of My Soul,” and “Nearer, My God, to Thee.”
OUR FIGHTING COLONEL.
After the Bull Run campaign our regiment was detailed for garrison duty again and sent to some forts near Arlington where we remained for a long time.
Our colonel (with a foreign military experience?) was relieved of his command immediately after Bull Run and there came to us a commander who proceeded to jerk things straight in the regiment. His name was Jeremiah N. G. Whistler and he had been in the regular army since he was a day old, having been born in camp. He was all military, through and through, and a disciplinarian of disciplinarians.
He drilled the regiment six days in the week and then had a Sunday inspection, and succeeded in bringing the command to a high state of perfection. He was a man of fiery temper and when anything touched it off he could let out a string of oaths—of which he had a choice and inexhaustible selection—that would produce a sulphurous atmosphere.
One Sunday morning when our company was marching by the colonel’s tent to go out for inspection he noticed one of the men swinging his left arm, and the next thing that the Co. H man knew the colonel had him by the coat collar and was shaking him. Then leading him back to his place in the ranks admonished him about repeating the arm swinging again.
But taken all in all he was a good officer and when we went to the front again, excited the admiration of the men by his bravery under fire.
At Petersburg he was wounded and later was breveted for gallant and distinguished service.
He re-entered the regular army after the war and at the time of his death was a colonel.
Judging by the experience we had with three or four colonels, I should pick out a regular army officer every time for a commander. They expect the men to obey orders and do their full duty, and on the other hand a man can depend on getting all that belongs to him and justice on all occasions.
ATE THE COLONEL’S DINNER.
Col. Whistler was fond of good feeding and one day his cook served up his dinner about the time that a staff officer from the brigade headquarters rode up with a message for him. While he was on the outside reading it one of the men happened along back of the tent and noticed the tempting eatables waiting for an eater, and, being hungry,he slipped in and proceeded to stow food away as only a hungry soldier can. He was so busy about it that he did not notice the officer peering in the front of the tent. The brazen effrontery of the man had rendered the officer speechless. Finally he recovered himself enough to exclaim: “Do you know, you d—d rascal, whose food you’re eating?” The man looked up as he helped himself to another chicken wing, and said: “No, colonel, and I’m jiggered if I’m the leastways particular about such things when I’m hungry and rations are scarce.” The colonel admired the cheek and coolness of the man and told him to eat his fill and if he ever heard of his telling of the affair he would have him courtmartialed.
LOVE AND WAR.
While we were doing duty at Arlington many of the fair sex of Washington and Georgetown frequently honored us with their presence at our dress parades, and among them was the beautiful and charming daughter of Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, the gifted authoress, who resided in a pretty rose-embowered cottage that nestled among the trees and shrubbery on Georgetown heights, and just across the Potomac from our fort.
Adjt. Lawrence of the Second New York was about as slick a looking officer as ever walked out in front of a regiment on dress parade, and it isnot strange that Miss Southworth fell in love with him, and an intimacy sprang up that resulted in the fair young southern girl changing her name to Mrs. James V. Lawrence.
During the preliminaries the writer was the bearer of many presumably tender missives over to the Georgetown cottage, and as he had to wait for the sweet-scented replies he was entertained by Mrs. Southworth, who probably knew just how fond a young, growing boy is of lemonade, cakes and other sweet things, and the charming lady took it upon herself to make life very pleasant to the youngster during the brief visits at her home. Soon after the marriage of the young couple Lieut. Lawrence was detailed on staff duty and was never returned to our regiment.
CHRISTMAS IN CAMP.
How well I remember my first Christmas in camp. Our company was at Fort Haggerty on the road leading from the Acqueduct bridge to Arlington. Capt. Smith’s home had been one of the handsomest in Carthage before the war and under his command the fort had been transformed into one of the slickest ones in the defences of Washington.
Christmas morning in 1862, after the calling of the roll our company formed in line and marched up in front of the captain’s quarters. Several of the boys had provided themselves withsome nice evergreen trees, and when the captain appeared the command was given “present arms” and the movement was executed with the trees. The fifer and drummer of the company then played “Hail to the Chief” and “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”
The captain appeared mightily pleased and made us a nice little speech, and said that he wished that he could send us all home for the holidays but as that was an impossibility he had planned to make us as happy as circumstances would permit, and the quartermaster had been furnished money to get up a dinner in keeping with the occasion. Cheers and a tiger were given for our kind-hearted commander, and then the voice of one who has several times been mentioned by the writer spoke out: “Pardon me axin’ the question, cap’n, but would there be a wee drop for anny so inclined?” The captain smiled and nodded affirmatively.
Our camp was near where there had been a brick yard, and with old bricks that had been dug out of the ground a tasty little house had been built for the captain and a brick oven for the cooks. In this turkeys had been roasted and rice puddings and potatoes baked. There was also oyster stew, oysters and clams on the half shell and mince pies that some soldier’s wife had made for us. None of old Co. H will ever forget that Christmas. After the feast pipes, tobacco and cigars were passed,and then pails of milk punch went round for those “so inclined.”
A Group of Co. H. Boys.Pat Devereaux and Author in Foreground.
Ah, dear, brave old Co. H, what would I not give to see you line up once more as you did on that Christmas day in the long ago.
For more than twenty-five years I could, from memory, call the roll of the original company, just as I had heard our old orderly, Tom Murphy, call it so many times. Poor Tom earned his shoulder straps but sleeps in a southern grave.
Of the boys who made merry with us in old Virginia on the Christmas day of long ago, many gave up their lives on the battlefields of the south, Potter, Williamson, Zeigler, Clapsaddle and Lieut. Roff at Cold Harbor; Ed. Roland, Smith, Thurston, Slater, Crowner, Symonds at Petersburg; Billy Cook, Frank Farr, Tom Murphy and several others between there and Appomattox.
No, old Co. H will never again fall in for roll call on this side of the “deadline.” The tents are folded, the implements of war are rusting, I find that the cords and snares on my drum are fraying with age, “All is quiet on the Potomac.”
’Tis but a memory.
VETERAN VOLUNTEERS.
A grave problem confronted the government in 1863 for within a few months it would lose the services of most of its tried and seasoned soldiers by reason of expiration of service. A propositionwas made to the three years men that if they would re-enlist they would receive $402.00 bounty and a thirty day furlough. The proposition was accepted by a majority of the old soldiers and the old organizations were retained with their officers.
The most of our company and regiment re-enlisted. They sent us home in squads, and when it came my turn I was laid up with the mumps and could not go with my father.
While I was north on my furlough Gen. Grant assumed command of the army confronting Gen. Lee and preparations were made for active operations.
My father wrote me that our regiment had received orders to be ready to go to the front at an hour’s notice.
My furlough had several days to run but I took the first train for Washington and in twenty-four hours walked into camp.
I found our regiment all ready and awaiting orders. Field tents, rubber blankets and other things were issued to us which indicated that we were to take the field.
OFF FOR THE FRONT.
The next day we assembled at Fort Corcoran. The regiment had been filled up with recruits until there were about 1,800 men on the rolls. Probably 1,500 were present for duty when we left to join the Army of the Potomac.
We were ordered to “fall in” at noon and in a few moments we marched away with colors flying and the band playing a lively quickstep.
It was like leaving home to go away from the forts we had learned to love so well, the huge walls of which had been cemented with the sweat from the brows of most of the men.
The weather was fine when we started but after we had gone about two miles one of those drenching Virginia showers overtook us and we were wet to the skin.
It does not need to rain over fifteen minutes in Virginia to make the mud from six to twelve inches deep, so we had to wade in the red clay mud the other seven miles to Alexandria.
Much has been said and written about Virginia mud, but to appreciate its sticking qualities one needs to march and lie down and sleep in it.
The boys used to wish that the editors who were writing the “On to Richmond” editorials could be compelled to take a twenty-five mile march in the mud loaded with a thirty or forty pound knapsack, a musket, forty rounds of ammunition, canteen and haversack with five days’ rations.
At Alexandria we boarded an old transport and made ourselves as comfortable as possible, lying out on the open decks in our rain-soaked clothing. I do not know that I ever slept sounder than that night, and when I opened my eyes in the morning found that we were at Belle Plain landing on the Potomac, the base of supplies for Gen. Grant’s army. The river was filled with boats of every conceivable kind waiting to discharge their loads.
During the forenoon we went ashore and were marched up on some high ground overlooking the river. We eyed with as much curiosity as a small boy would his first circus two or three thousand rebel prisoners captured at Spottsylvania.
The next morning, May 17th, 1864, we fell in bright and early, and at the command “fours right” marched in the direction of Fredericksburg.
The day was a fearfully hot one and the dust rising in clouds filled our mouths and nostrils, thoroughly impregnated our clothing, hair andskin, producing intolerable thirst. At the sight of a house or brook the men would make a break from the ranks and run for dear life to get a chance at the water.
GOOD-BYE KNAPSACK.
My first forenoon’s struggle with a knapsack convinced me that I had got enough of it. Selecting a shirt, towel, a pair of socks, soap and writing portfolio I rolled them up in a blanket which I slung over my shoulder and went it more comfortably.
Many others imitated my example and the roadside from Belle Plain to Spottsylvania was strewn with blankets, knapsacks, overcoats, etc. We passed through Fredericksburg about sunset and assumed that a halt would be made near the city, but they did not halt us to even boil coffee, so we plodded on in the darkness, nibbled our hard tack and wondered how much that they thought we could stand.
At midnight we had caught up with Grant’s army after a march of thirty-five miles.
IN A BIG FIGHT WITH HANCOCK’S VETERANS.
The next morning we were awakened by the booming of cannon and clash of musketry. As we got up off the ground we could see smoke curling up from the tops of the trees on a hillside a mile or more to the south of us. We were foot-sore and covered with dust from our big march of the previous day, and few of us had any water in our canteens. Before we had time to find any or make coffee we got the command “fall in” and were soon advancing toward the firing line.
On every hand there were evidences of the terrific fighting that had been going on for several days. The fields were strewn with clothing, knapsacks, canteens, muskets, dead horses and broken artillery caissons, and the trees were riddled with bullets, shot and shell. The dead had been buried but with such haste that in many places the bodies were scarcely covered. One time as we came to a halt I was horrified to see a human hand protruding from the earth near my foot.
We had not gone far before we began to meet the wounded, some able to walk, while others were borne on stretchers and blankets. It surely began to look like real warfare. Our men grew silent and their faces took on a serious expression. We knew that our time had come and that the regiment with its full ranks was to strengthen the thin line in front.
On our march the day before there had been much discussion among the musicians as to what we would do in case of a battle. No instructions had been given us and we had rather come to the conclusion among ourselves that when we got to close quarters we would drop out and keep as much out of range as possible.
Our anxiety about the part we were to take in the conflict increased as we approached the front. Occasionally some of the boys would suggest to Harry Marshall, our drum major, that it was about time for us to fall out. There was “no use of us going up to get shot at when we had nothing to shoot back with.”
Finally when we paused for a few moments Harry approached the colonel and, saluting, asked if there was any use of us needlessly exposing ourselves.
“Needless exposure,” yelled the colonel. “What in —— did you enlist for? Your place is with the regiment and I’ll see that you are instructed as to your duties.” And, turning to our surgeon, hesaid: “Major, I want you to take charge of the musicians and in case of a fight see that the young rascals do their duty.”
I have always thought that but for this incident we should have seen less of the front line than we did that summer.
Dr. Payne, our surgeon, was a fine fellow and he had seen much service before being assigned to our regiment. He immediately told us to fall out to one side and proceeded to tear up some red flannel in small strips which he tied around our right arms, explaining that this was a badge the enemy would respect when we were caring for the wounded.
While the doctor was fixing us up our regiment marched by and there is nothing in all my war memories that made a deeper impression on me than that scene.
I see them now as I saw them on that bright May morning—father, friends, comrades, marching with steady step, shoulder to shoulder, on to meet the foe in mortal encounter.
We followed in the rear of the regiment and were halted just under the brow of a hill, where we stood in line nearly two hours. Bullets clipped small branches from the trees and shells went swishing through the air over our heads. A couple burst in front of us and an occasional solid shot would go rolling down the hill.
Probably there is no more trying situation fortroops to be placed in than to be held as a reserve during a battle. The tension on one’s nerves is something awful. If one is going to be shot it is something of a satisfaction to be able to return the compliment.
While the regiment was in line a few of us hunted up a spring and carried water to our friends who could not leave the ranks. One of the few times that I remember seeing tears in my father’s eyes was when I handed him a canteen full of water that morning.
The fighting in our front ceased about ten o’clock and we were moved about two miles to the left. In the afternoon we settled down in some woods and were permitted to take the rest we so much needed, and the next morning we were a jolly lot as we sipped our coffee and nibbled hardtack.
Some of the men grumbled, however, because we did not get a chance to take a hand in the affair of the day before.
The forces of Grant and Lee, numbering some 200,000, had been hammering away at each other for about ten days and the carnage had been great, but the forenoon of the day in mind was as quiet and peaceful as if there was not an armed man within ten miles.
It was but the calm before a storm, and scores of our regiment who were so full of life and hope that bright May morning were weltering in their blood before sundown.
About two o’clock in the afternoon an orderly with foam-covered horse rode up to our colonel and handed him a message. The men noticed that the color came to the officer’s face and they held their breath for the command that they knew was coming.
Gracey, our little Swiss bugler, who was selected by Gen. Hancock a few weeks later to sound the charge for the Second Corps at Cold Harbor because his bugle could be heard farther than any other, blew a blast on his silver trumpet that brought every man to his feet and in less than five minutes the Second Heavy were standing in line at “attention.”
The colonel rode out in front of the regiment and said “men of the Second New York, the time has come when you will have an opportunity to show your mettle. Keep together; don’t let your lines be broken; keep cool; obey orders and you will be all right.”
The men started a cheer for the colonel, but he motioned silence. Then came the command “Fours right, march!”
We soon came to a nice smooth road which ran through the woods and then we got orders to “double quick.”
Then we heard heavy musketry firing which increased in volume continually and we thought the whole rebel army were taking a hand in.
The boys in the ranks made sundry commentsas we rushed along, such as “Guess we’ll get initiated this afternoon.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be back in the forts now?” “Keep step there, Jimmy.” Jimmy West was a little Irishman who could never keep step.
When we emerged from the woods into a large open field we could see a long line of battle on a hillside probably half a mile away.
Our regiment was quickly formed in column by battalions, our colors unfurled, and as we double quicked across that field 1,500 strong, with perfect alignment as if it were a review, it was thrilling, inspiring and to have been there was to have the scene fixed in one’s memory forever. Other regiments besides our own were hurrying to the front. Batteries of artillery went by with the horses on the gallop and the drivers lashing them just as you have seen them in pictures.
Generals’ aides and orderlies rode like mad to and fro directing the troops to positions, for Gen. Ewell had broken through the Union lines in a desperate effort to turn the right flank of Grant’s army.
THE PAGEANTRY OF WAR.
War certainly has its fascinations as well as its horrors, and there is an enchantment that thrills in the movements of large bodies of soldiery with their bayonets glistening in the sun, the flags and guidons flying, the trumpets of the cavalry ringingpiercingly and thrillingly, the field batteries rattling and rumbling along the road, with a score or more of bands playing. Nothing can make so striking or enchanting a picture. Artists can portray such a scene on canvas, but they cannot make you feel the thrill you experience when you are an active participant, touching elbows and keeping step with a thousand comrades whose hearts are young and gay.
An officer rode up to our colonel and gave him instructions to report to Gen. Tyler off to the right of the open field. We were assigned a position behind a low stone fence, where we waited for about fifteen minutes. While lying there the order was given to “fix bayonets.” If you have “been there” yourself you know all about it. If not, let me tell you in all sincerity that the clicking of the cold steel will make an impression on one that will send the chills down his spine every time he thinks of it in after years.
HORRIBLY SUGGESTIVE.
From our position behind the wall we could not see the fighting, but the din of the battle came rolling and crashing to us through the woods and the wounded from the front line kept coming to the rear, covered with blood and the smoke of battle.
The sight wasn’t pleasant, and moreover it was an object lesson that was horribly suggestive. Theaffair was getting too serious for much joking by the merrymakers in the ranks. The men were silent, but I know that they were doing a heap of thinking.
The orders to go forward did not come any too soon, for the suspense of waiting is ten times more trying to a man’s nerves than to charge the enemy’s lines.
We moved across another open field, where a Jefferson county battery (“C” of the 1st Artillery) was in position and shelling a piece of woods.
Gen. Tyler ordered our colonel to detail two companies to support the battery and our company was one of them. I had to go with the regiment, and my father stay with his company. There was not much time for leave-taking. The father drew his boy to his side, pushed his cap back, pressed his lips to his forehead. Neither spoke. It was not necessary. Each knew the other’s thoughts.
Capt. Smith, whose heart was tender as that of any woman,—“The tenderest are the bravest”—patted the drummer boy of Co. H on his shoulder as they parted and when a few feet had separated them called to him “good-bye,” and waved his sword in what might be the last farewell.
Our regiment took an advanced position to the left of the battery where we were ordered to lie down and the men loaded their rifles. “Begins to look like business, boys,” remarked Dave Russell.Little puffs of dust were kicked up here and there as the rebel bullets struck the ground in our front.
Soon they came nearer and finally began to go over our heads with a “zz-p-” or a “c-s-ss-s-” which indicated that the Confederates were crowding back the Union lines. “This ain’t a fair show,” observed one of the boys. “Let us lay here and get plugged full of lead and never see a reb or get a chance to shoot one.”
The surgeon ordered us to leave our knapsacks, drums, etc., in the yard of a house near by, and I will mention now that up to this time we have never seen that house again.
About the time we had got ourselves in fighting trim Gracey’s bugle sounded “forward,” and our regiment went across the field on a run and into the pine woods, the artillery behind us throwing shell over our heads. The woods were full of flying missiles and the first the Second New York knew they got a volley of musketry from the flank and rear. Investigation revealed the fact that the troops who had fired the volley were the Seventh New York. The woods were so dense and full of smoke that it was hard to discern a body of troops a short distance away. The enemy could only be located by the flash of their guns.
Our colonel was ordered by Gen. Tyler to hold a slight elevation near a ravine. Our lines were spread out and the men ordered to lie down.
“Steady, men, and don’t shoot too high,” sangout Col. Whistler. “Better order them rear rank fellows to aim higher or they’ll blow our brains out,” says one of the front rank men.
“Shut up; no talking in the ranks!” commanded Adjutant Corwin. All of this time men were getting hit by the rebel bullets. “Bill Wright’s killed,” someone said, and the news was passed along the line.
“If I was in command of this regiment I’d order a charge on the Johnnies and I’d drive them or git licked in the attempt,” said big Dave Russell.
One of the saddest sights of the day was to see the major of the First Massachusetts as he rode back through our lines with a bullet wound in his forehead and the blood streaming all over him, and he hardly able to hang on to his horse. He died a few moments later.
This regiment had about 350 casualties in the fight. Over one-third of that number were killed outright.
The contortions of one of our drum corps boys who was badly demoralized by the flying bullets, was so ludicrous that I should have laughed if I had been killed for it the next minute. Every time one of those “z-z-ping” minies came near him he would leap in the air and then fall flat on the ground.
Was I frightened? Hold your head down so that I can whisper in your ear and I will admit in strict confidence that I was never so scared inall my life. But I felt somewhat as one of our boys expressed it when he said: “By the great horn spoons, they’ll never know I’m afraid if I can help it.”
While we were lying there one of the old Pennsylvania Buck Tail regiments of the Fifth Corps passed over us to do some skirmish work. There were several of these regiments and they were famous fighters. The men all wore a buck’s tail on their caps.
Late in the afternoon our regiment took part in a charge and had to go over a rail fence. Our colonel tried to have his horse jump the fence but he would not do it until one of the men took a couple of rails off the top, and then he went over. Down in a ravine he got stopped again with a vine that caught him across the breast. Col. Whistler swore like a trooper and put the spurs to him, but the vine was too strong and men had to trample it to the ground. Col. Whistler elevated himself several degrees in the estimation of his men that day by going into the battle mounted. He had been a martinet when in camp, and was of a peppery disposition. But his conduct at Spottsylvania commanded the respect of all. “I tell you,” said one of the boys, “Jeremiah N. G. Whistler is an old fighting cock.” “He can’t forget his tactics, though,” said another. “Do you mind that when we got up to make that dash through theravine we did not get the command ‘forward’ until he had dressed us to the right.”
The fighting continued until well into the night and when the report of the last gun died out the troops laid down on their arms until morning.
The surgeons and their helpers worked all night removing the wounded. We carried them out of the woods in blankets.
In the rear of our division there were three amputating tables with deep trenches dug at the foot. In the morning those trenches were full of amputated limbs, hands and fingers, and the piles above the ground were as high as the tables. The confederate forces withdrew from our front in the night, leaving their dead on the field, which were buried by our men as they laid away their comrades.
The clash of arms in which we had had a part was no small affair. Probably more than 40,000 men on each side had taken part in the battle, but the country was so uneven and densely wooded that a participant saw but little of what was going on outside of his own regiment. In fact in almost every engagement the rank and file knew but little of the operations away from their immediate vicinity.
At our informal dress parade that night an order from Gen. Meade was read, complimenting the heavy artillery regiments for their soldierly conduct the previous day, and saying he wouldthereafter rely upon them as upon the tried veterans of the Second and Fifth Corps with whom we had fought our first great battle.
The day after a battle is always a sad one in a regiment. Men search for missing comrades and some are found cold in death who were full of life the day before. No jests are spoken. The terribleness of war has been forcibly impressed on all participants.
The surgeon said that our colonel praised the boys for their assistance in caring for the wounded, but part of us lost our drums, as after we followed the regiment into the woods the lines were shifted about so that we never again saw the house where we had left them. But drums were little used the next few months. Drills, inspections, dress parades, etc., gave place to marching, fighting, digging trenches and throwing up breastworks, for we were with Gen. Grant, who proposed to “fight it out on that line if it took all summer.”
“ON TO RICHMOND.”
Gen. Grant, having decided to change his base of operations, directed Gen. Hancock on the 20th to move his corps to the left as soon after dark as practicable. Gen. Horace Porter, who was one of Grant’s aides, says that he purposely detached the Second Corps from the rest of the army, his object being to tempt Lee to attack them.
Of course we poor mortals in the ranks knew nothing of the plans. The privates, nor even the drummer boys, are seldom consulted in such matters.
Probably if we had been told, in our then used-up condition, that we were setting out on a march that was to last all night and through the next day we should have felt that we could never endure it.
Before starting on the march our regiment was formally assigned to service with General Hancock the “Superb,” and his Second Corps, and it has always been a pride with me that the fortunes of war cast our lot with such a matchless leader.
If in my reminiscences I seem to be partial to this organization, I hope my comrades who fought bravely under other standards will forgive me. I mean no comparison. I am speaking of my own, and should we not love our own the best?
When we started, orders were passed through the different regiments that there must not be any talking or any unnecessary noise, and the officers took pains to impress upon us that the rebel cavalry might dash among us at any moment.
We marched for a long time down a densely wooded road. The night was a beautiful one with the moon, low in the sky, shining in our faces as we plodded along the road.
NAPS ON THE MARCH.
I made the discovery that night that one could sleep walking. Don’t you believe it? Ask any old soldier. But one would hardly get into a nice nap before there would be a halt away up at the head of the column and several thousand men would go bumping into each other.
Then everybody would drop right down in the road and try to get a rest there, but before we could get two winks it would be “fall in, fall in, boys,” and away we would go again.
A FUNNY PANIC.
A most ludicrous incident occurred during our march that night. A halt of perhaps five minuteshad permitted nearly all of us to drop off into the arms of morpheus when some general’s pack horse broke away from the rest and came tearing down the lines, his load of camp kettles and other culinary equipage making a great clattering and creating something of a panic. When I awoke I was running through the woods about three or four rods from the road, and everybody else was doing likewise. One of our band boys ran into a tree and smashed his horn. Others lost their caps, blankets, etc., and we were a very demoralized lot of soldiers for a few moments. But order was soon restored and the march was continued the balance of the night without any other event worthy of note.
About daybreak we heard musketry, and our brigade, which was then commanded by Gen. Nelson A. Miles, was rushed forward to support the cavalry, who were having a brisk little skirmish with the enemy at Guinea station. The rebels were routed, however, without the infantry firing a shot.
We halted long enough to make coffee and then resumed the march, passing that day through a part of the state that had not been ravaged by war.
IN A BEAUTIFUL LAND.
We marched along beautifully shaded roadways, and the air was fragrant with May blossoms. Herds of cattle grazed in luxuriant pastures.
The homes of the people were comfortable and everything looked peaceful and inviting to the thousands of poor, tired soldiers as they went marching by.
We only made one halt during the day, which was an intensely hot one. Strong men fell down by the roadside from sheer exhaustion, but the rear guards would drive them on when they came along, for to be left behind was certain capture, and there was not ambulance accommodations enough for the wounded.
Late in the afternoon we reached Milford and, crossing the Mattapony river at that point, intrenched ourselves on the south side, remaining there the next day, which gave us a much needed rest and afforded us an opportunity to bathe in the river.
It is said the Mattapony was so named because it is made up from four small streams which are called respectively, the: Mat-Ta-Po-Ny.
I was feeling quite down in the mouth, so to speak, when we halted that night, for when I had been taking a little nap in the shade of a rail fence at our midday halt some miscreant had stolen my haversack containing five days’ rations. But, thanks to my big hearted comrade, I did not suffer for food as long as he had a mouthful.
A GOOD CHUM.
“Will” Coleman was a comrade worth having.A little older than I, of splendid physique and health, brave, jolly and unselfish, and one who would stand by you until the last. All through the long marches, hardships and battles incident to the campaigns from Spottsylvania to Appomattox we shared our rations, drank from the same canteen and slept under the same blanket. Words are inadequate to express what such comradeship means. No crucible ever tested metal more thoroughly than army life tested human character.
Some that much had been expected of, when put to the test, shrunk in our estimation. Other modest souls developed into heroes when occasion demanded.
It was a grand experience and I believe with few exceptions all the survivors have been better men therefor.
THREE FAMOUS LEADERS.
On May 23 we resumed our march and Gens. Grant and Meade rode with Gen. Hancock at the head of our corps in the forenoon.
We reached the North Anna river in the afternoon and found the enemy in force with plenty of batteries in position on the south side. A spirited artillery duel took place and about six o’clock in the evening Gen. Hancock ordered an assault on the enemy, who had possession of the two bridges. They were driven across the river, but held the south end of one bridge during the night and madeseveral attempts to burn it, but a heavy thunder shower came up and partly frustrated their efforts.
We all got a thorough drenching, for we had no tents and had to lie on the ground and take it.
In the morning it was found that the enemy had abandoned their advanced works near the river and our division crossed over and prepared to attack them, but their intrenchments were found so strong the design was abandoned.
A FAMINE AND A FEAST.
The supply trains had failed to connect with the army, and we were almost destitute of rations. I heard many offers of fifty cents to one dollar for a hard tack. The only thing my chum and I had to eat in the forenoon was some corn we found scattered on the ground where horses had been fed.
In the afternoon the irrepressible Coleman went on a foraging expedition and brought back a small chicken, a piece of veal and a “hoe cake,” which made us a good meal.
That night the army recrossed the river again and we started out on another of our all-night marches with mud in places half way to our knees.
All of our movements that summer took the form of a half circle. We used to march twenty or thirty miles to change the front of not more than one-fourth of that distance, and the boys veryappropriately called the movements “Slewing to the left.”
The afternoon after leaving the North Anna river we brought up at the Pamunky, which we crossed on pontoon bridges. The enemy was strongly entrenched not far from the river and fired on our skirmishers. Everything indicated hot work. Our regiment was ordered into an advanced position and we built breastworks in plain sight of our adversaries, expecting that they would open on us with their artillery every moment, but for some reason they did not do so.
AN ASSAULT.
Early the next day our division, led by Gen. Francis C. Barlow—and a braver soldier never lived—assaulted the rebel lines and to do so had to cross a swampy ravine fully exposed to the fire of the enemy, who were protected by earthworks. The losses of our troops were severe.
INVITED TO COME FORWARD.
The musicians of our regiment were back under the cover of some woods and while the engagement was at its height we saw big George B.—our sergeant major—coming across the field on a run toward us. George explained his mission in a few words, which were about as follows:
“Col. Whistler wants you boys to come up on the fighting line and help the surgeons take care ofour wounded, and you better come p. d. q., too, for the old man was pretty mad when he missed you.”
It is needless to say we got there lively, but while we were carrying some wounded past our brigade commander he remarked that we were endangering their lives more by trying to remove them during an engagement than to leave them on the ground until the fighting was over.
We thought it the safest, however, to obey our colonel, and after that we took good care that he did not have to send an officer to hunt us up.
The casualties of our regiment in this engagement, which was called the battle of Totopotomy, were seven killed and seventy-seven wounded.
THE REBEL YELL.
It is seldom that one in the ranks has a chance to see much of a battle except what may be happening in his own regiment. Such an opportunity came to my chum and me at Totopotomy the afternoon of May 31st, 1864, when we witnessed the charge in open field of a Confederate division and heard for the first time the real Rebel yell, which was so unlike the cheers of the Union soldiers.
After the assault of our division in the forenoon, matters settled down and there was comparative quiet for a couple of hours. About 2 o’clock we heard some lively cannonading over to the right and Coleman, who was one of those boys that always wanted to see all that was going on, suggestedthat we walk over that way. We found a battery of artillery in an advanced position shelling a piece of woods. The captain sat upon a camp stool dressed in a white duck suit and gave directions to his men as though it was target practice. We two boys stood on the earthworks and watched the effect of the exploding shells as they cut off the limbs of the trees or ploughed up the sod in the field in front of the woods. We learned from the artillerymen that the Confederates were massing troops preparatory to making a charge. Soon the rebel yell broke loose and a long line of gray came out of the woods and moved forward in perfect formation. Not a soldier wavered. The scene was thrilling and we were quite unmindful of the fact that our position was a dangerous one. The Confederate troops were supported by a number of pieces of artillery and the gunners had a perfect range on our battery and their shells were soon bursting all about us. Coleman and I quit our sight-seeing from the top of the breastworks and got down behind them, peeping out occasionally to watch the movements of the advancing enemy. When they had got within close range our battery opened on them with case shot and cannister, cutting swaths in the ranks of the advancing forces, but they would close up and come on and it looked as though the battery was lost. The captain had received orders to withdraw, but it was too late for him to get away with his guns so heconcluded to stay and do the best he could. Several of his horses were killed and disabled and one of the caissons was blown up. Just when it looked as though the rebels were going to sweep everything before them we heard a loud, long cheer and a division of the gallant old 5th Corps double-quicked out to meet them and turned the tide the other way, and soon the Johnnies were in full retreat. They left many dead and wounded in our front, Gen. Ramsey being among the killed.
This was one of the most spectacular engagements that I ever witnessed and was about the only one where I had a good opportunity to watch the effects of artillery fire directed against a charging column. Need I say that it was not necessary to keep a diary of such experiences. They were indelibly impressed on my memory as I doubt not they were on that of all other participants.