A ride in the Confederate doctor’s “One horse Chaise.” Living off the country. Learning the distance to Germania Ford. The Second Battle of Bull Run. The Battle of Chantilly.
Whilewe remained at Newport News we had a rather pleasant time. We drilled a little, we played ball a good deal, we ate quahog clams, we received boxes from home filled with good things, and we swam in the waters of the bay; the sun was very hot, but there was always a good breeze.
One of the boys, a rather awkward fellow, received a box from home. It contained among other things a box of dried prunes; he stewed some of them for sauce. He had no more than got them finished when the order was given to fall in for inspection. In his haste he upset his pan of sauce on his gun and equipments; line was formed and along came the colonel, the captain and the inspecting officer. He presented his gun to the inspecting officer; but to the surprise and horror of the officer, his gloves of immaculate whiteness, were covered with a soft brown sticky substance. He looked at his gloves for an instant, and with an oath demanded “What is that?” and the king of the awkward squad made answer, “It is nothin’ but stewedprunes.” For an instant military discipline was powerless, but the man was sent to his quarters and was later dealt with.
By the last of July the report was abroad that we were to leave soon and instead of going up the James River to reinforce McClellan, as we expected to do, on the 3d of August we started to join Pope. We sailed up the Potomac to Aquia Creek. We landed on the 4th, and took train for Fredericksburg, arriving there in a short time and went into camp about a mile from the town.
There we remained until the 12th, and who of the 21st boys does not remember how we enjoyed the delicious fresh spring water that was so abundant there, after drinking the North Carolina surface water?
Directly after our arrival there, heavy picket posts were sent out on all the roads leading to the camp. I was in the detail which was established near the village of Falmouth, a little pine grove near the house of the local physician furnished us a fine camp ground. The physician was a man about sixty years old, of one of the “first families of Virginia,” and “secesh” through and through. Occasionally he would come over to our camp and talk with us. He was free to concede that his sympathies were with the South, and spoke with freedomof the superiority of the southerner; he was very certain the Confederacy would be established. We answered his assertions respectfully, but quietly determined to give the old man a jolt if we had a chance. The night before we left there, Harding Witt appeared at my tent door at about three o’clock in the morning; the way was clear. A colored boy, one of the doctors’ servants who had engaged to co-operate with us for a consideration, had just been over and informed Harding that the doctor had been hastily called to Fredericksburg and would not return until afternoon the next day. It had been predetermined that if possible we would have a ride in the old man’s chaise. He had a good horse, and the chaise was large enough to hold three of us on a pinch. The party was to consist of Harding, Billy and myself and we were speedily on the way. As we approached the house we found the negro waiting for us; he then led the way by a back path to the rear of the buildings. The horse was soon harnessed into the chaise, and led by the same path down to the road. Billy unrolled a bundle of small United States flags he had got from the sutler and we proceeded to decorate that team as it was never decorated before, then we loaded in and started for camp. We reached there just as ranks were brokenafter the morning roll call. We rode up and down the parade ground a few times, then drove over into the company street and received the congratulations of our friends; then went for a drive and rode back again. When we reached the doctor’s house we told his wife, it was President Lincoln’s birthday and we thought we would take a ride to celebrate the occasion; besides we were concerned about the horse, lest he should become foundered standing in the barn so long without exercise. She called us a band of horse thieves, barbarians and vandals, and gave us a number of other pet names which have escaped me. We fully expected to be disciplined for this prank, but not an officer of the regiment saw us and not a word of reproof was ever said to one of us about the affair. It is needless to say the doctor did not honor us with a call that day and towards night we moved on, starting on a night’s march towards Culpepper Court House—now marching, now standing still, dragging slowly along over one of the worst conceivable roads and not making more than ten miles during the whole night.
In the early morning of the 13th, we halted and had coffee. After a rest of three or four hours we started on again and by night when we went into camp we were within a few miles of Bealton station; rations were issued and wewere taken on some freight cars and carried to Culpepper Court House. What a railroad that was? We covered the cars inside and out, we could not have run at the rate of more than eight or ten miles an hour, but that speed seemed dangerous. The cars swung, bumped and rolled along. I expected every minute they would leave the track, but they did not, and about the middle of the afternoon we reached Culpepper Court House. We marched through the town out a little way into the country and camped for the night. August the 15th we moved forward again in the afternoon about five or six miles and camped near the battlefield of Cedar Mountain. We had then become a part of General Pope’s army, a part of which was in camp near by, and we immediately proceeded to take advantage of Pope’s General Order No. 10, which allowed the army to live off of the country.
The land was not overflowing with milk and honey; the cows, what there were of them, were kept milked pretty dry. However, the next day after we reached that neighborhood, a party of our boys did get a hive of bees, and another party to which the writer belonged succeeded in capturing a sheep. We had plenty of pork and bread, and with mutton and honey added, we lived very well.
One afternoon while we were there, Harding Witt and I started out for a walk to see what there was to be seen going over towards the battlefield. We had just passed a deserted log house with a dead horse lying in front of it, when we overtook a long, lank, lean woman; she had a boy about eight years old with her. She had a large bundle of bedding on her head; in one hand she had a basket full of cooking utensils and was holding onto the bundle with the other.
As we approached she called out to James, who was heavily loaded with household things, “Geems, whorey up, you are so slow!”
“Who lives in that house we have just passed?” said I, pointing to the log cabin.
“I did.”
“Were you there during the fight?”
“Guess I was.”
“Where was your husband?”
“He war dead.”
“Was he killed in the battle?”
“No, big Pete Jones killed him about two months ago.”
“How far is it to Germania Ford?”
“Two skips and a right long jump ar reckon,” and Harding and I trudged along as we had learned the distance to Germania Ford.
By the 16th, it became interesting andpicturesque to see the Johnnies signaling in the evening from every hilltop on the other side of the Rapidan; we seemed to be very near them—almost among them.
The afternoon of the 18th, things looked very ominous; great clouds of dust could be seen rising all along the southern horizon; our trains were moving to the rear; large masses of provisions were being destroyed. Just about sunset Confederate troops could be seen on the high ground on the other side of the river, and as darkness came on, the southern and southwestern sky became illuminated, indicating camps of an army. Signaling, too, was carried on vigorously from the hilltops. During the afternoon we were told that the army was to fall back to the north side of the Rappahannock and that our brigade was to act as rear guard. The first part of the night dragged slowly along and it was past midnight before we got started, but the road was clear, and once under way we moved rapidly.
Our regiment led the brigade on this march and as we approached a road that led to Raccoon Ford a little way off to the right, General Reno rode up to the head of the column and showed some anxiety. The Confederates had something of a force at Raccoon Ford and he, I imagine, knew we were running pretty close tothem. They did not attempt to disturb us, however; they very likely did not know we were passing so near them, and we sped along, reaching Kelley’s Ford about noon the 19th, having marched a distance of twenty-three miles.
The last mile before we reached the ford the road ran along near the river bank. It was hot and dusty, and the sight of that cool fresh water was too great a temptation for three of us boys, so down we went, stripped off and took a duck. We had no more than got into the water when we heard firing just behind us. The Johnnies’ cavalry had overtaken us and had opened fire on the boys up in the road. We caught up our clothing and trappings and ran along beside the river under the bank up to the ford not more than half a mile and there dressed ourselves, then went and joined the regiment which was nearing the ford. The attack did not amount to anything. We soon crossed the river and went into camp.
The thing that interested us most while at the ford, was the attacks by the Confederate cavalry on our cavalry pickets that were stationed in the wood on the farther side of a very large field, on the south side of the river. The Johnnies attacked and drove in our pickets two or three times. To see the two forces manoeuvreon that field was interesting; if the enemy came too near the ford a battery of artillery, stationed on high ground near us on the north side of the river, would open fire on the Johnnies and send them scurrying back into the wood again. We remained at the ford two days.
Early in the morning of the 22d, we left Kelley’s Ford, going up the river. Soon we heard artillery firing ahead but it did not last long. We soon passed through Rappahannock station where there were a lot of dead horses lying about, probably the result of the firing we had heard early in the morning. In the early morning of the 23d there was heavy artillery firing at Rappahannock station again. The commissary stores there were burned and I think the place had been evacuated. Clouds of dust may be seen off on the southwest and western horizon; artillery and infantry firing in front and to our left may be heard most of the time. We fired off and cleaned our guns and reloaded them again. All the signs indicate that we are drifting toward a battle.
August 24. We started on the march early, but after going a little way turned into a pasture and halted, a fine steer was driven up and killed; in an hour all the eatable part of that creature had been consumed. There was a large field of corn nearby to which we helpedourselves, and we had as good a breakfast as any fellow ever needed. About ten o’clock heavy artillery firing opened in front of us. A squad of Confederate prisoners passed us going to the rear. There is firing on three sides of us, in front, to the left and in our rear. We are going slowly along now, marching two or three miles, then halting for an hour or two.
We were ordered to support a battery that was firing across the river at a Confederate battery. A lot of our sharpshooters along the river bank were firing away too. Directly the Confederate guns were silenced but the river was between us; it was high, there was no ford nearby and we were obliged to leave the guns there. As we moved along during the afternoon, some ambulances loaded with wounded men passed us going to the rear. “Where were you hit?” asked one of the boys. “Passing the time of day with some cavalry on the other side of the river,” was the answer received. At night we camped near our train and had some coffee, the first we had had since leaving Kelley’s Ford.
About eight o’clock the morning of the 25th we left camp, soon passing a bridge across the river on fire, then a dead negro lying beside the road. Some of the boys examined him and said his flesh was still warm. Those cloudsof dust are still visible off to the left. We passed through the town of Warrenton about noon, then marched till midnight. How the boys growled! And how they swore! Weren’t we a tired lot when we halted! It seemed as if we would go to sleep marching. When we halted we took a few steps to the side of the road and dropped. We learned the next morning that we were at Warrenton Junction, where we stayed all day.
Leaving camp early in the morning of August 27, we marched part way back to Warrenton, just for exercise, very likely. The reports circulated about Stonewall Jackson being bagged and the like on this campaign are so common that they have come to be the laughing-stock of every one. We marched most of the day and halted at night at the village of Greenwich. Just before we went into camp, Billy started off across the fields a’foraging. When he returned he brought with him a basket of turnips. He gave me three of them and that night I cooked and ate them. Well, it seemed to me that I never ate anything in my life that went to the right spot like those turnips. Cannonading in our front and clouds of dust rising off to the west and north on the horizon are almost continuous, and once more comes the report that Stonewall Jackson iscaught at last. It is a mistake to think that the private soldiers are not, after a certain amount of experience, able to size up their commanders in a fairly correct way. If there is a master mind at the head, they know it very quickly, and it did not take the men of the 21st long to discover that there was no master mind at the head at that time. So much backing and filling, so much talking about bagging that old fox, Stonewall Jackson, soon became a matter of ridicule and all our dependence was placed in General Reno.
August 28. We started early in the morning in the direction of Manassas Junction, reaching there about noon to find it had been burned. The storehouse and the trains of cars, all loaded with supplies, were in smouldering ruins. A few dead rebels lying about was the only redeeming feature. Late in the afternoon we started for Bull Run and when we camped in the evening, we were under the impression that we were in the immediate neighborhood of the old Bull Run battlefield.
August 29. We started early in the morning, passed through Auburn and headed direct for the firing line; it sounded as if a battle was under way. A lot of paroled prisoners passed us going to the rear as we moved along. We soon reached a high hill to the top of whichwe climbed. We had a fine view of the center and right center of the Confederate line, but where the Union army was I have not the remotest idea. Occasionally a brigade would be sent into the wood, down to our right center, would be cut to pieces and come out again. General Reno did not leave us for a moment.
At about noon three batteries of artillery came up onto the hill and we took position in their rear as their support. A little later in the afternoon, the first brigade of our division, was sent into the wood on our right center, but soon came out broken and mangled and they were followed by the Johnnies, who pressed forward to capture the artillery in our front, but the artillery was too much for them. They in turn were sent back in confusion. Then the Johnnies massed a lot of artillery in our front and opened fire on the batteries we were supporting, and for an hour or an hour and a half the shot and shell came over there thick and fast and more of it. Two cannon of our batteries were dismounted, one ammunition caisson was blown up and a number of horses were killed. We were right in range, and got the full benefit of it. This was one of the instances where we were under fire but could do nothing ourselves, but lay there and takeit—every fellow trying to see how close to the ground he could get.
Toward evening we were ordered in; the brigade was moved down onto the slope in front of the artillery, then we halted. We remained there a little while and returned to our place in the rear of the batteries. We were told General Reno had seen General Pope, and had convinced him that to send our brigade in there unsupported would be needless slaughter. Just at dusk we witnessed off to our left a minor action that characterized the whole battle. A battery of artillery was placed on some raised ground and was firing away; it was supported by a single regiment of infantry. All at once we saw a Confederate line of pickets creeping up on the battery. By picking off the gunners they soon had the battery silenced. Then a strong line of Confederate infantry advanced; the regiment of infantry in support moved forward, but they were dispersed and the battery was taken. Thus ended the first day’s fight so far as we saw it.
After that, we drew back a little way and had some supper; some of the boys made fires and cooked some coffee. One of them while standing over the fire, his legs spread apart fixing his coffee cup, had the cup knocked from his hand. A Johnny sharpshooter had fired from adistance at the fire; the ball, passing between the man’s legs, hit the cup; the fires were put out directly after that.
August 30. Everything remained quiet until the middle of the afternoon, then the Confederates began an advance on the left. There were a few troops there to face them, but not many. There seemed to be no head to, and no order in our forces, and the Johnnies with their long lines of battle well massed, moved forward with but slight opposition. As they advanced they threatened our position and we fell back to another hill farther in the rear. Toward dusk we moved off to the left in double quick time. We stopped and left our knapsacks in a little grove as we went along. We knew then there was business ahead, but we were ready for it as long as General Reno was with us, for we had entire confidence in him. He had hardly been out of our sight these last two days. We came on to a main road, followed it along a short distance, crossed a bridge over a small stream, moved to the left up on to a low hill and formed a line of battle; we were told to hold that bridge.
As we moved to our positions we were exposed to the enemy’s artillery and lost a few men, but we were undisturbed.
General McDowell, that picturesque figurewith the great mass of snow-white hair, and General Milroy, were on the hill when we arrived, and seemed delighted with the appearance of the brigade and its timely arrival. Two batteries of artillery were immediately brought up and put in position by General Reno. We had not long to wait. Sharp picket firing soon gave notice that our skirmish line was attacked and was falling back, and we heard troops forming down in the wood in front of us; and soon on they came to the attack. Twice during the evening they charged up that hill, the first time a single line of battle, the second time two lines of battle deep, and each time they were repulsed with great loss. They hardly fired a gun, and we did not open fire until they were within three or four rods of us. Then we gave it to them in good earnest, the artillery with double charges of canister. We almost swept them from the hill. They went down in dozens, and retreated a broken and disorganized mass.
Late in the evening the Johnnies made an attack on the left flank of the 51st New York that was on our left. We changed position and assisted the 51st in repulsing the attack.
Later, the Confederates advanced a skirmish line to see if we were still there. They found us there. Toward midnight there was everyappearance that they had given up trying to take the hill that night. It was quiet all along the line save for the groans of the wounded and dying men that covered the slope in front of us. It was a beautiful night, and to lie there and listen to the appeals of those poor fellows and be unable to do anything for them was heartrending. Toward midnight we stole quietly away, first moving the cannon back by hand.
General Hill in his report of the second battle of Bull Run stated his loss in the attack on the Henry House Hill the evening of August 30, 1862, as 600 men.
It is impossible to refrain from giving an account of Dr. Cutter’s experience in this battle.
Early in the afternoon of the 29th when the first brigade of our division was ordered in, Dr. Cutter went in with it. He was at the time acting as division surgeon. The first brigade got into a bad place, lost heavily and was forced back. As they began to retreat Dr. Cutter drew his sword and tried to hold the men up to their work. At that moment he was seen to fall to the ground and was supposed to be killed. A few minutes later, however, he regained consciousness and looking about saw a Confederate soldier standing over him and apparently about to run him through with hisbayonet. Dr. Cutter pointed to his green sash and warned the soldier against killing a non-combatant. “But you have a sword in your hand now,” replied the soldier. A Confederate officer coming up at the moment ordered the soldier to move on and took the doctor to the rear. He then discovered what had happened. He had not been wounded at all. A bullet had struck the buckle plate of his waist belt and knocked the breath from his body, the effect of which having now passed off, he offered to assist in taking care of the wounded. This he was allowed to do and worked with the Confederate hospital staff all the afternoon taking care of the wounded, both Confederate and Union.
The Confederates were not slow in discovering that Dr. Cutter was a man of exceptional knowledge and ability and, when night came on, the gray headed old man was taken to General Hills’ headquarters and treated as an honored guest. During the evening he told the Confederate officers gathered flatly who he was, and advanced his abolition ideas with perfect freedom. The Confederates saw that they had in their midst one of the fathers of Abolitionism in Massachusetts; that they were having the other side presented by one qualified to speak. It was a novel situation. They wereat the time confident in the success of their cause, and, while they laughed at his strictures, they encouraged him to go on and listened to him nearly the whole night.
The evening of the second day’s fight Dr. Cutter, still a prisoner, was in the vicinity and witnessed the massing of troops for the assault on the Henry House Hill and somehow had an intuition that it was the old second brigade that defended the hill, but not until well into the night did news reach headquarters that the Henry House Hill was defended by Reno’s command. This delighted the old doctor. He made the Confederates acknowledge they got all they wanted and then told them who gave it to them.
The second battle of Bull Run was a disastrous battle for General Pope and the “Army of Virginia” but not for the old second brigade. We had checked the enemy’s advance at a most critical moment, for as we moved back to Centreville that night we found the road choked with trains and artillery, much of which must have fallen into the enemy’s hands had they not been stopped at the time. As it was they made no further effort to advance after the engagement at the bridge until the next day. Meanwhile our artillery and trains got straightened out and well out of their way.
Nothing of importance occurred to us on the 31st. We lay quietly in camp near Centreville the whole day.
September 1st, about two o’clock, we broke camp and started towards Fairfax Courthouse. As we started off, the report got around among the boys that Stonewall Jackson was in our rear, or threatened our communications with Washington. About four o’clock as we were marching along we heard a bugle on a small ridge to the left and in front of us. On looking up we saw a cornfield, and the upper edge of it filled with Johnnies picking green corn. We were not more than a fourth of a mile from them and could see individual men distinctly. We halted and loaded our guns. Then we moved along past the Johnnies leaving them to our left, they disappearing behind the ridge. We soon came to some wood lying in front and extending off to the left. The 51st New York entered the wood ahead of us with a picket line advancing in front of it. It was soon evident that each command had lost all connection with the other, and was advancing no one knew where or why. The 21st seemed to have obliqued to the left of the 51st. We then came upon a line of Johnnies. We, thinking them to be the 51st, did not open fire until we received a most murderous fire from them.In the meantime a heavy thunderstorm had come up, and we were soaked to our skins. My gun went all right the first time, but it was impossible to load it in such a downpour. I then got out my revolver and fired away with that. Every one who had a revolver fell back on that when his gun refused fire I expect. Captain Walcott seeing his men could not keep up much of a fire drew his revolver, stepped in front of his company and opened fire. When he had emptied his revolver he glanced around for his men,—they had gone. It was the same in all the companies, with their guns out of order, they could do nothing but fall back. We left a lot of poor fellows in that wood for whom nothing could be done but to bury their lifeless bodies. A little way back we re-formed and marched back to the edge of the wood.
As we emerged from the wood General Phil Kearney rode up and ordered us to advance through the fields to the left of the wood we had just come out of, without a moment in which to put our guns in order. By that time it had stopped raining and the colonel begged for a few minutes that the men might put their guns in order, but without avail. Kearney could not be reasoned with and swore that if we did not move at once he would have the regiment put under arrest, and forward we went. Itwas then getting dark, and all we could see was lines of fire off to the left; we soon entered a cornfield and marched nearly through it. At the farther side was a Virginia rail-fence, beyond that, was a pasture half grown up. As we arrived within three or four rods of the rail-fence the order was given to halt and no sooner did we halt than the enemy opened fire from behind the rail-fence. What could we do? Not one in ten of our muskets was serviceable. Those who had revolvers used them; I used mine for the second time that day. We stood there a minute or two and then we retreated. When the Johnnies saw we were unable to return their fire they appreciated the situation and over and through the fence they came to capture prisoners, and before I knew it one of them was quite near me shouting: “Halt, throw down your gun,” etc. But I did not halt, nor did I throw down my gun, but I did run and he ran after me. I soon decided in my mind that he was not gaining on me, then I thought I was increasing the distance between us; directly, I discovered a ditch in front of me. It looked very wide. My shoes were loaded with Virginia mud; could I jump it? I realized that everything depended on that jump, and I made a great effort. I struck the farther edge just far enough on to balance over,picked myself up and started off up the other slope. Glancing back, I saw the Johnny who had chased me ordering some of our boys out of the ditch; they had made the fatal error of trying to secrete themselves in that ditch. I kept on going to the rear, until I reached the part of the field from which we started on that last advance with General Kearney; then I began to hunt around to find the boys.
General Kearney went in with us as we advanced into and through the cornfield; he rode along beside the colonel. When we got to within about four rods of the fence, the colonel was sure he saw soldiers move behind the fence and said to Kearney, “There is a Rebel line of battle behind that fence.” “No, there isn’t,” said Kearney and spurred his horse forward to get a nearer view. As he got to within a rod and a half or two rods of the fence, the Johnnies opened fire and General Kearney was one of the first to be killed at that time.
When I began to hunt about for the boys, Billy Morrow was one of the first I run across. We soon found others and then the colors. Billy and I then thought of one of our friends, a fellow by the name of Bradish, a Company E man, who was hit in the wood. Billy had seen him at about the same time I did as we came out of the wood, and believing we were nearthe place, we started out to see if we could find him. Bradish had been one of the nine who had played ball at Newport News, and we were both very fond of him. We thought he was badly wounded and wondered if we could not find him and do something for him. It took but a few minutes to find the place. Then began the lone search. The last I saw of Bradish was as we neared the edge of the wood coming out. He was hobbling along trying to keep up with us. I did not know where he was hit, but I thought in the thigh or about the hip, for one of his legs seemed quite powerless. There were a number of dead men lying about but we were unprepared to believe our comrade was dead, but when we examined the dead men we found Bradish was one of them. We found a place under a great pine tree; we dug a shallow grave and buried him near the place where he fell. We put a stone at each end of the grave, carved his initials on the trunk of the tree and left there one of our beloved comrades and one of the best soldiers in the regiment.
The expression on his face I shall never forget, it was so changed and so painful. Had we not been searching for him and turned him over, for as he lay his face was partially concealed, and so got a good view of it, I shouldnot have recognized him. He had probably died soon after we left him as we started on the advance into the cornfield, for he was entirely cold. The face of Pat. Martin, as I saw him after he was killed at the Battle of Newbern, was entirely expressionless; he was shot through the brain and probably never knew what hit him. The Confederate who died while I was gone to get him a canteen of water, the morning after the Battle of Bethseda Church had a rather peaceful and happy expression on his face. Many of the men I helped to bury after the Battle of Fredericksburg had drawn, distressed, painful expressions on their faces; some of them gave one the impression that they had suffered the most intense agony just before death. I never watched a man die who was killed in battle—the private soldier is too busy to watch his best friend die at such a time. In this Battle of Chantilly, the losses in killed, wounded and prisoners in the regiment were 140, the heaviest loss we had sustained, in a single battle, up to this time. Three of our finest officers were killed; Lieutenant-Colonel Rice, Captain Fraser and Captain Kelton. We felt the loss of these men very deeply; but the worst thing about the whole matter was, we felt we had been sacrificed to no purpose. Every one felt that had General Reno beenwith us it would all have been different, but he was sick back to the rear in an ambulance off duty, and with him absent everything went wrong. General Kearney seems to have been entirely off his base that night; the way he ranted and swore around there was disgusting.
The fault in the wood seems to have been that the officers of the 21st did not keep in touch with the 51st New York, and wandered off no one knew where.
At roll call the next morning, September 2, there was but a shadow of the 21st present. After a while we started for Alexandria, moving very slowly, marching and halting by turns, the roads being choked with artillery and trains. During one of these halts, as we lay beside the road, a thing occurred which showed the stuff at least one boy of that army was made of. There was a boy in our company by the name of Harding Witt. Harding was a Dana boy. I had known him a long time and I knew him well. We had been school companions and had enjoyed fishing excursions together many a time.
Harding was on the picket line at the time of the fight in the wood and so was absent from the company. But late at night after the fight was all over I heard he had been wounded. I heard nothing more and sawnothing of him until the next day when halted in the road on our way back to Alexandria, I saw some one approaching. He had no gun and no knapsack; he had a canteen, his right sleeve was slit up and I could see a white bandage on the arm. The same could be seen on one of his legs. The trouser’s leg was slit up and a bandage could be seen on the leg. He also had a bandage on his head. As he approached nearer I recognized Harding. He came up and as we shook hands I said to him: “Well, Harding, they called for you last night.” “Yes, Mad,” said he, “they called for me five times but I am all right.” That boy had been hit five times, in the wood the night before, but he wasn’t taken prisoner nor was he in the hospital. He was, however, obliged to go to the hospital later.
We moved back to the vicinity of Alexandria and went into camp where we stayed until September 4th. During those days a number of the boys found their way back to the regiment. They had strayed away after the fight, some of them perhaps, making as famous runs as were made by some of the soldiers after the first Battle of Bull Run.
Among those to return at that time was our beloved surgeon, Dr. Cutter. Imagine our surprise and delight one afternoon on seeing himmarch into camp. When the Confederates were ready to move on, he was set at liberty and had made his way back to Alexandria where we were in camp. To us, he seemed to have risen from the dead. The officers of the first brigade had reported him among the killed, and that report had been accepted by the men of the regiment, and to see the old hero again so unexpectedly, startled us.
If I remember rightly, it was in this campaign, as we were falling back along the east side of the Rappahannock River, I first noticed a colored man, we later called Jeff Davis, hanging around the cook’s quarters trying to make himself useful. He would gather wood for the cook’s fire, tote the water, and on the march help carry the cooking utensils. In due time it was discovered that Jeff was an important acquisition to the company. He was good natured and just as willing to do things for the other boys as for the cook. Jeff Davis was a runaway slave, middle-aged, medium sized, wore top boots with his trousers tucked in, his shirt front was never buttoned either at the throat or lower down. His hat of black felt looked as if it had been thrown at him and he had caught it on one corner of his head. He had an easy going, rollicking gait and laugh, and was as full of fun as an egg is full of meat.Still, Jeff was full of business, too, and when, later on, he became company cook, the cooking was never better done, or the interests of the company more carefully guarded than by him, and it was as cook of Company K we realized his supreme usefulness and worth. Acting as a sort of company treasurer, when the company was paid off, he would pass around the hat and nearly every fellow would throw in a half a dollar or a dollar. Nothing would be seen of that money until we got into a hard place for food, then Jeff would manage to get us something to eat. Jeff was the best kind of a forager; he knew how to buy and he knew instinctively where to find things.
During the Knoxville campaign, had it not been for Jeff we should have suffered much more than we did, although much of the time we received only half rations from the Commissary Department and at times we received only two ears of corn for a day’s ration, but every once in a while Jeff would get hold of something and give us a good meal. On the march over the mountains he picked up a little Mississippi mule and the amount of food that man hunted up and brought into camp during the siege of Knoxville was prodigious. If a foraging party went out from headquarters after forage for the horses and mules, Jeff waspretty sure to go along and he seldom came back to camp empty handed. Had any one asked Jeff how he got those things, he would have been shot on the spot—but no such foolish questions were asked.
The things he got from people of his own race he doubtless bought and paid for, but it is very doubtful if the white planters ever saw much of Jeff’s money. To be sure, he had some interesting experiences. One time he came near being captured by some of Longstreet’s cavalry, but he succeeded in evading them and reached camp in safety. Jeff remained with the company until the end of the war, came home with us to Massachusetts, settled in one of the hill towns of Worcester County became a respected citizen, married, raised a family and died there.
The Barbara Fretchie Incident. The Battle of South Mountain. Death of General Reno. The Battle of Antietam. Clara Barton. President Lincoln visits the army. Visited a farmhouse very near a Confederate Camp.
OnSeptember 4th, we left our camp near Alexandria, marched to Washington, passed through the city and out into the northwest suburb, and went into camp.
We remained there until the 7th, when we started through Maryland, marching leisurely along making only a few miles a day through as beautiful a country as one could wish to see. The evening of the 12th at early dusk we filed into a great pasture on the east side of the Monocacy River and went into camp. Lights were beginning to glimmer across the river and we were told they were in the city of Frederick. Camp refuse lying about indicated that the field had been used as a camp ground for troops in the immediate past, and inquiry brought out the fact that some of Stonewall Jackson’s troops had camped on the identical field the night before. This was enough to set the brains of the wags in motion and one asked immediately what the result would be of mixing northern and southern gray-backs? Soon, however, coffee was served and drank and welay down to sleep under a most beautiful Maryland sky.
The next morning we started and marched leisurely down to the river, crossed over it on an old wooden bridge and marched up into the city. There a halt was called and we lay in the street an hour or two. We had been there but a few minutes when the report was passed down the line that a loyal old woman lived on the street, who had a Union flag flying from a window and when ordered to take it down by the Rebels the day before, had refused to do so and it was shot down. Indeed, right opposite where Company K was resting, was the house, the flag still flying.
Soon after we learned of this incident, General Reno, accompanied by an aide, rode down. He stopped before the house, dismounted, and went in. He remained inside only a few minutes. As he came out an old lady accompanied him to the door. At the door they stopped for a moment, then, as he came away, she shut the door. General Reno mounted his horse and rode away.
Directly the order was given to move on; we marched through the town and headed toward the Shenandoah mountains, which in Maryland are no more than a high range of hills.
This account is what I remember of theBarbara Fretchie incident. Since the war I have learned that General Reno’s visit to Barbara Fretchie’s house was made for the purpose of purchasing the flag that had been shot down the day before. He did not receive it, however, Barbara being unwilling to part with the flag which had then become doubly sacred to her. She gave him another, however, which has since found its way to the Museum of the Loyal Legion in Boston.
As we marched along that afternoon we saw two Johnnies hanging from the branch of a tree in a pasture a few rods from the road. They had been executed for foraging by Stonewall Jackson’s orders. Toward night we went into camp near Middletown.
September 14. We remained in camp until afternoon. Artillery firing was heard off on the mountain late in the forenoon. About two o’clock we started for the front. As we approached the active part of the field we had an opportunity to see what a field hospital was like during an engagement. We were almost up to the firing line going in, when we came to a little elevation. Behind that hill a field hospital had been established. The wounded were lying there in large numbers and others were being constantly brought in. The surgeons were at work taking care of thewounded, examining, binding up, operating, etc. Near the tables I saw a pile of arms, hands, legs, feet, etc., which had been amputated. The bullets were coming over there pretty thick but they were nothing compared to the sights and sounds seen and heard in that field hospital. It was the first field hospital I had ever seen; I never saw one afterwards, and I thank God for that. We were halted there beside it for a minute or two, otherwise we should not have had so good a view of it. When the order came to go forward, I for one, was glad, and I think every man in the company was glad. Every man in the company I think, preferred to face bullets at the front and at short range, rather than stay back there, partially covered, under those conditions. During the one or two minutes we halted there, a little Michigan drummer boy was brought in. He was a manly little fellow, a little chap not more than fourteen or fifteen years old. One of his legs had been badly wounded. One of the boys asked him how it was going out at the front. He raised himself up on one elbow and said: “Well, the 17th is behaving very well.” The 17th (17th Michigan) made its reputation that day as a fighting regiment.
When we got up to the fighting line the Johnnies were falling back and we simplyfollowed them up clear to the top of the range, and by six o’clock they had apparently withdrawn from our front. The fight in our part of the field was then over and our brigade was resting in a field at the top of the range in Foxes’ Gap. The road we were following over the range passed along on the right side of the field in which the brigade was resting. At the lower right corner the road made a right angle, turning to the left, passed along behind an old stone wall directly in front of us, at the lower edge of the field for a few rods, then turned to the right and went off down the west side of the mountain.
We had been resting there only a few minutes when we were opened fire on by some Johnnies from behind the wall in front of us. They were evidently a company of sharpshooters, who in their retreat had turned back, determined to look for an opportunity to get a crack at us. They had evidently come up that road until they reached the turn, there they formed themselves along behind the wall at the lower edge of the field, and opened fire. General Reno, his staff, and two or threeotherofficers were sitting on their horses just to the rear of the brigade, which was massed there by regiment. General Reno was hit at that time and in that way, and died about eleveno’clock that night. There were not more than thirty or forty shots fired. A regiment back to the rear in a place where it could be handled better than we could in our massed state, moved around on to the Johnnies’ right flank and opened fire on them, killing and wounding a number, and the rest retreated.
About nine o’clock the morning of September 15th, we started down the west side of the mountain range, heading in the direction of Sharpsburg. As we clambered along down the hill, an incident occurred that amused us quite a little, we were meeting little bunches of prisoners that were being taken to the rear from time to time, they were in the main, stragglers that had been picked up by our cavalry. Glancing down a little side road we saw a squad of Johnnies approaching us, they were being followed by a mounted officer wearing the blue. We were soon able to see it was one of General Ferrero’s staff. This officer, we learned later, was an inveterate forager and as the general and his staff passed along down the hill a little while before us, the officer saw some distance from the main road a rather prosperous looking bunch of farm buildings, and thinking there was a good opportunity to do some foraging, rode over there. The piazza was on the back side of the house and as he rodearound the house, there sat seven Johnnies on the piazza, their guns were all standing in one corner a little distance from them. He was tremendously startled as well as they, but he got his senses first, got his revolver out and got the drop on them before one of them moved. He then ordered them into line and marched them over to the main road, arriving there as our regiment was passing along. As we wended our way down the side of the mountain, the view we had below of the valley of the Antietam was of surpassing beauty; Sharpsburg across the valley was barely distinguishable; then to the right and to the left, up and down the valley as far as the eye could penetrate, stretched one of the most beautiful valleys I have ever seen. The next day we lay in camp a mile or two from the Antietam River all day. The morning of the 17th, the battle opened on the right in good earnest, but not until well into the forenoon did it begin in our front, we being on the extreme left. Then we were ordered forward to support a battery. As we lay there behind the hill on which the battery was located, I had an interesting adventure. A shell fired at the battery on the hill in front of us struck the ground, bounded and struck the ground just back of me, I being seated on my knapsack facing the rear; it plowed a holeunder me from back to front and came out between my feet. The ground settled down into the trench, my knapsack and I going down with it. Well, that shell was given room as quickly as possible. I rolled over three or four times and the other boys who were sitting near did the same, but fortunately it did not burst and no one got more than a good start. A little later my brother Vertulan, assistant surgeon of the 19th Massachusetts Regiment, gave me a call.
About noon we were ordered in to take the Stone Bridge. Other troops had been hammering away at it for some hours but without success. We were moved down toward the river and opened fire on the Johnnies across a narrow valley on the other side. As we moved forward we came in sight of the bridge and the stream just below us. We stayed there in the open on the side hill sloping down toward the river quite a while, firing away. After a while we saw the fire of the Johnnies was slackening. Then we heard some troops down to our left cheering. From their position they could see the Johnnies were retreating better than we could. But as soon as we saw they were starting, we started too, and being much nearer we were easily the first to reach it. We crossed the bridge, turned to the right and marchedup a little way and halted to wait for ammunition, we having only a few rounds left. For a while troops came across the bridge and poured past us by the thousand. After a while we moved up on to the high ground opposite the bridge. A dead Johnny, a sergeant was lying there on the ground. Harry Aldrich turned him over and got his portemonnaie out of his pocket. He opened it and found done up in a little piece of paper a number of five dollar gold pieces. A little later I came upon a man lying dead holding in his hand a photograph of a group of children. He had evidently found himself mortally wounded, had thought of his family at home and had taken that picture from his pocket to take a last look at the likeness of those he loved so dearly and had died with the picture in his hand. Toward night we advanced toward Sharpsburg and took a position on the brow of a ridge facing the high hill where Lee had his reserve artillery massed, and there we stayed until well into the evening. We soon fired away all but one of our cartridges, retaining that one against an emergency. The Confederate infantry was behind a stone wall part way down the hill from the artillery. One of the Johnnies killed behind that wall had my knapsack on his back. He had found it in the little grovebeside the road near the Henry House Hill on the Bull Run battlefield, and carried it into Maryland.
The knapsack was found and identified by the man who painted the initials of my name, company, regiment and state on the side of it. He was a Company K man who was detailed in the hospital department. He found it in going over the field gathering up the wounded and burying the dead after the battle. It was there on that ridge that Lieutenant Holbrook was killed. He was knocked all to pieces by a cannon ball fired from one of the guns on the top of the hill. He lay about eight or ten feet to my right at the time.
A regiment came up during the afternoon and took up a position on our left and stayed there until they had fired away all their ammunition and then, without regard to us or to holding the line, retired. We had been ordered to hold that position until dark, ammunition or no ammunition, and we stayed there until well into the evening. We lost forty-five of the one hundred and fifty men of the regiment in that fight. After nightfall we withdrew, went down to the vicinity of the bridge, had coffee, and were supplied with ammunition.
During the evening an incident occurred, the effect of which was to last a long time. Itwas after we had drank our coffee and had received our ammunition late in the evening. An army nurse asked some of the boys to go with her and assist in getting some wounded men who were near some houses outside our picket line up along the Sharpsburg Road. The boys went, brought in the wounded men and took them to a hospital nearby, no one getting hit, although they did draw the Rebel fire. The work being finished and having been done in so fine a spirit, the nurse wished to know who the men were, and where they came from. Learning they were Massachusetts men and from her own Worcester County, she was quite affected and revealed her own identity—Clara Barton of Oxford. A few moments of friendly handshaking and this first meeting ended, only for a time, however, for later on she visited us at Pleasant Valley and vowed eternal friendship. After the war she became a member of the regimental association, was a regular attendant at the annual reunions and ever declared herself a comrade of the boys of the regiment.
We remained in camp over night not far from the bridge.
September 18. Early in the forenoon we were moved to our extreme left, were deployed and did outpost duty. At night we weremarched back to the other side of the Antietam and went into camp in an apple orchard.
September 19. It was reported early in the morning that the Rebels had retreated. We soon formed line, crossed the river and moved over across the battlefield where there were a good many of our dead lying about. We moved along down to the Potomac where the Antietam empties into it. A few Johnnies were in sight on the other bank of the Potomac but disappeared when we opened fire on them.
During the next forenoon who should appear in camp unannounced, but General Burnside. He had ridden over from his headquarters, wherever they were, with a single orderly, and in his cardigan jacket; he “had selected a fine place for us to go into camp,” he said. We were ordered into line and followed him to our new camp ground. He stayed there a half an hour or an hour talking with the officers and men. He told us we could stay there a while and get rested, then rode away.
The reason for this act of kindness toward the old regiment by General Burnside I have never been able to fully account for. He may have known that General Reno regarded it with special favor and General Reno had just been killed at South Mountain. Brigade after brigade had been sent in to take the bridge atAntietam but it remained for the old 2d Brigade to accomplish the work. The 21st was the only New England regiment in the 2d Brigade, and he being a Rhode Island man, may have had something to do with it. At any rate, it made the boys feel mighty good to have the old general come over and show a personal interest in the regiment. The capture of the Stone Bridge by the old 2d Brigade deserves special mention for more reasons than one. One reason is the following: Charles Carlton Coffin, war correspondent of the Boston Journal, was an eye witness of the affair. He wrote home to his paper an account of the battle. In that account he spoke in such enthusiastic terms of the charge of the old 2d Brigade at the capture of the bridge that a special edition of the paper appeared a few days later containing it. In that article he declared, “The heroism of the assault upon the bridge by the three regiments was unsurpassed either on the Rebel or Union side, in the annals of the war.”
October 1. We moved down into Pleasant Valley and went into camp. We remained there until the 27th, resting, drilling, and being supplied with clothing, shoes, shelter tents, etc.
The 3d. President Lincoln visited the army and there was a grand review. A review at that time of the Army of the Potomac, justat the end of McClellan’s service with it, showing his great organizing ability at its best, was a spectacle of exceptional interest. The Army of the Potomac numbered at that time about 145,000 men. It moved in formation by company front, double quick time, regiment after regiment, brigade after brigade, division after division, army corps after army corps, infantry, cavalry and artillery, tramped, surged and poured past the reviewing party, at the head of which sat the President. It was a formidable spectacle and must have pleased Mr. Lincoln. The President, it must be conceded, made a peculiar impression as he sat on his horse, his long legs almost dangling on the ground, or curled up and locked under the horse’s body, his tall hat tipped back, among a lot of military men (every one a soldier from the ground up, and every one as trim a type as could be wished for) and sitting his horse as if a part of it. But when the troops had all marched past and the reviewing party rode away, they could not get away from him. Awkward as Mr. Lincoln looked, he was at home on his horse. He had a good horse and he stayed right with them to the end.
A few days later Clara Barton made us a visit. She brought her knitting with her and stayed all the afternoon. She hunted up theboys who had assisted her the evening after the battle. She went around among the officers and men chatting with them in the pleasantest way. Toward night we had a dress parade. She was made daughter of the regiment. She made a little speech and there was cemented a friendship begun under fire which was destined to last to the end of the lives of all participants.
October 27. Crossing the Potomac at Berlin we again entered Virginia marching as far as Lovettsville. The next day we were informed that the 9th Army Corps had become a part of the Army of the Potomac. In the middle of the afternoon of the 29th we left camp and marched until about sundown. As we passed a farmhouse late in the afternoon I noticed some boys from companies ahead of us jumping over the wall and getting cabbages from a patch right beside the road. I followed suit and got a good one. Later on as the head of the column turned into the field where we were to camp for the night, I noticed the major was demanding the cabbages from the boys ahead of us. I did not like the idea of being cheated out of mine, so I out with my big knife, halved it and gave one piece to Billy. We had no trouble in each of us concealing his half, but some one had to have some fun out of it, and as we passed, the major piped up, “I say,Tom, what are cabbages worth a pound?” The major, I think, took it as a slap at him instead of being a little fun among ourselves, for he looked as ugly as a meat axe at us, but he did not see any cabbages and we did have cabbage for supper. The next morning we broke camp early and marched along the east side of the Blue Ridge mountains as far as Vestal Gap. The following day, November 2d, we moved along up the valley as far as Snickers Gap, where we stayed two days.
November 4. Reports were flying around camp early in the morning that the Johnnies were pouring through Ashby’s Gap in force and that they meant fight. At nine o’clock we started for Ashby’s Gap, but on our arrival there, there was not a Johnnie in sight—another of those old-fashioned false reports. We moved on as far as Manassas Gap the 5th. All the way along as we approached we could hear the artillery at the gap. Our men occupied the east end and the Confederates the west end. Some one said the artillerymen were paying their respects to each other.
November 6. We moved back from the mountain range about ten miles to the town of Orleans. The next morning we started out and marched a few miles, then filed left, crossed a narrow field into a piece of woods and stackedarms. After sitting around a little while I started out to see if I could find a house and get something to eat a little out of the ordinary, for to be constantly eating hardtack and salt horse became a little monotonous after being indulged in month after month.
I passed along through a series of fields on high ground, then bearing a little to the right passed through a strip of wood from the farther side of which a ridge appeared a few rods out in the field. When I reached the top of the ridge, the looked-for-house appeared in sight a few rods down the other slope, and down to it I went. When I got within five or six rods of the house, a Johnnie came out and walked off down towards some wood on the farther side of the field. This opened my eyes, and then I saw for the first time that that wood down there was alive with Johnnies—not an ordinary picket post but a regiment, or a brigade was there. There were tents and camp-fires in large numbers. I must have been five or six rods from the house, and the wood where the Johnnies were, some eight or ten rods beyond, when I made this discovery, but this was no time to hesitate.
I walked down to the house and asked the woman if she had any corn-bread to sell. She said, “No, I have just sold the last I had to oneof our men.” That “our men” showed me at once that she knew who I was. I stepped out into the yard, took a look around and sauntered back up over the hill again. When I got out of sight of the house I quickened my steps until I was a good distance from that camp.
November 8. A change of great importance has taken place in the army. General McClellan has been relieved of command of the “Army of the Potomac,” and General Burnside, the old commander of the 9th Army Corps, has been put in his place.
Here ends the Maryland campaign. We shall soon start on a campaign that will be known as the Fredericksburg campaign under General Burnside.
A hard race for a pig. Chaplain Ball returns home. Picket duty along the river. The Battle of Fredericksburg. Burying the dead. Christmas revels with the Confederates. A band of horn-blowers. A raid on the sutler. A costume ball at Hotel de Ville.
General McClellanwas relieved of command, November 8th, 1862, and General A. E. Burnside succeeded him in command of the Army of the Potomac.
The same day we left our camp at Orleans, we marched to Jeffersonton and went into camp in the village. About twenty men of Company K were detailed to go on outpost duty about a mile from the center of the town on one of the roads leading from it. It was my fortune to be one of that detail. We camped near the house of a Virginia farmer with whom, during the three days we remained there, I came to be on very good terms. He was about fifty years old, seemed honest and talked freely and fairly about the war. He gave me an account of the experience he had with “our men,” as he called the Confederates. As they were passing his place one time, he said to his wife in the morning as they began to pass, “Wife, shall we do something for these men? They have a hard time of it.” After some consideration it was agreed that he would kill a pig. He would also arrangea fire down by the road for doing the frying. The house was located back on high ground about fifteen rods from the road. The negroes were to bake corn bread up at the house and carry it down to them at the road. He was to fry pig meat and his wife was to make sandwiches and as far as possible she would give each soldier a sandwich as he passed by. They worked there until nearly night, when a sergeant asked him if he had been up to the house lately and told him he had better go up. Just back of the house was an old road leading off across the fields, and beside that old road he found the soldiers were working the same scheme, he and his wife were carrying out down by the main road, the negroes doing the work. They had killed another pig, were frying meat, baking corn bread, making and passing out the sandwiches, and business was flourishing.
Toward evening of the 11th it was noised about that we—our brigade and a battery of artillery only were at Jeffersonton—were in an exposed position and that we should be ready to move at a moment’s notice. During the first part of the night I was on picket duty out on the old road above referred to back of the house. I was lying flat on the ground behind a rail fence. I saw a man approaching. He was coming up that old road. I waiteduntil he was about thirty feet from me, then I ordered him to halt. He turned and ran like a deer. I fired, but I did not stop him. This occurred at about ten o’clock. At eleven o’clock I was relieved from guard duty and at about twelve o’clock we left there and before daylight the next morning we were on the other side of the Rappahannock.
During the day (November 11), our brigade commander had discovered that we were some four or five miles in front of the rest of the army and in a dangerous position. Longstreet had evidently discovered this too, and during the day his scouts were finding out how strong we were, etc. Had we remained there another day we might have had an opportunity to show our strength.
I cannot omit to mention an incident which occurred at the last minute just as we left the old farmer’s place. The farmer and I had been rather friendly during our stay there, but he had never given me a piece of corn bread to eat, or a class of milk to drink, and I was indignant, and I determined to get square with him. As we were about to leave, I thought of an apple tree out back of one of his buildings in which a small flock of turkeys roosted nights; so three of us boys went around there and succeeded in capturing two of them. They added somewhatto the weight of our luggage, but we had not a long march to make and did not mind it. We remained in camp all day the 12th, nothing occurring out of the ordinary. On the afternoon of the 13th Billy, Tom and I had gone back into the woods a little way out of sight of camp to engage in a little hunt for the loathed but ever present gray-back. I had finished the campaign and was resuming my clothing, Tom had entirely redressed, but Billy was still on undress duty. Suddenly Billy, whose quickness of sight and hearing were remarkable, shouted Rebs! Rebs! Down a cross-road along beside the woods on our right, a squad of the enemies’ cavalry hove in sight, they saw us about the same time Billy saw them, and started for us. I was barefoot, but I ran as best I could carrying my traps in one hand and holding up my unbuttoned trousers with the other. Directly I heard a musket shot just behind me, and turned to see that Billy in entire undress, had unhorsed the leader of the Rebel squad. We ran for all we were worth for camp, Billy in his extreme undress state bringing up the rear, he never was good on the retreat anyway; as we ran we shouted Rebs! The boys soon came pouring out of their tents, and the Johnnies seeing what they were running into, turned and made good their retreat, leaving their woundedcomrade behind them. We started down the river the 15th, marching along the left bank and on the evening of the 18th, went into camp on the same field we camped on August 13th, when we were on our way to join General Pope.
November 19. We continued our march down the river and toward night went into camp opposite Fredericksburg. After supper I noticed a lot of the boys down along the river bank, and a lot of Johnnies on the other side. They were having a good deal of fun jollying each other across the river. We remained in camp down opposite the city for ten days, watching the Rebs as they worked away on their entrenchments on the heights back of the city. The chaffing of the men on either side of the river was early put a stop to.
The day after we reached Fredericksburg, rations being a little short, I thought I would go out foraging. I must have gone three miles when I saw a pig disappear over a little hill about a quarter of a mile ahead of me. I chased him for a good mile, gaining on him steadily, and as I got up within a few rods of him, fired at him twice with my revolver, once wounding him, when bang went a carbine and over rolled Mr. Pig, dead. Imagine my surprise at hearing the carbine so near. I stopped, looked around, and behold I had chased thepig right into one of our cavalry outposts and one of the men had shot him. It might just as well have been a Confederate outpost, for I must have been nearly four miles from camp. Well, we skinned Mr. Pig, cut off some meat and fried it, and we had a good meal, the cavalrymen furnishing hardtack. Then we divided the rest, the cavalrymen keeping a part, and I trudged back to camp with the remainder.
November 29. We were relieved from duty along the river and went into camp with the rest of the brigade about a mile and a half back from the river on high ground.
December 1. As the weather grew colder many of us set to work to improve our quarters. My tent-mate and I raised the walls of our tent about two feet high, using three logs of wood on each side. At the end opposite the entrance we built a fireplace and chimney. The fireplace was the most difficult part, as it was impossible to get stone to build with. We were thus obliged to use sticks of wood for binding material, covering them with mud, otherwise we would have had conflagrations constantly. Indeed, they did occasionally occur, the wood in the walls of the fireplace taking fire. The two bunks were placed one on each side, raised a foot, or a foot and a half from the ground. An open space was thus left from the fireplace tothe entrance. Our shelter tents were used for covering. Two pieces answered for the roof and a piece for each end. The pieces of shelter tents were square with button holes and buttons on every side, so they could be buttoned together and make a quite satisfactory covering. A little fire in the fireplace and the tent was very comfortable. To be sure if the fire was allowed to get low or to go out the tent would cool off very quickly. The cloth of those shelter tents was especially good in regard to shedding water, considering how thin and light it was.
December 4. Chaplain Ball having resigned, to our great regret left us for home. When I got up the next morning I found it was snowing and it was very cold; wasn’t I glad to have a good bunch of wood under my bunk to enable me to have a good fire. There is a lot of talk about camp of a battle and on the 9th, sixty rounds of cartridges were given each man, which looks like business. There was a general inspection the 10th and it was to be observed that troops were being moved about considerably. Very early in the morning of the 11th two heavy guns were fired, and a little later our artillery opened fire on the Confederate works, all along the line on the other side of the river. About half past eight we fell intoline and marched down to a point near where the engineers were trying to lay a pontoon bridge across the river opposite the upper part of the city. The men were not able to get more than half way across the river on account of the Johnnies’ sharpshooters concealed in houses and other places on the other side of the river, who shot down every man who attempted to work on the bridge. Early in the afternoon General Burnside rode down to the river where the men were trying to lay the pontoon bridge. He immediately solved the problem. He suggested that a charge be made across the river by men in pontoon boats, and that as soon as the boats should reach the other shore, the men should form line and advance. Not, however, until the boats took over loads of men the second time was the advance made. Then they formed line and went forward and the sharpshooters were driven from the waterfront. The bridge was completed at about four o’clock, and troops began to move across the river. The city was cleared of Rebels that night, they falling back to the heights beyond. We, however, went back to our old camp on the east side of the river for the night. About noon I went over and took a look at the incompleted bridge. There were two or three dead men lying stretched out at the farther end of thebridge where the Confederate sharpshooters had stopped the work.