General Woodbury with a corps of engineers had charge of the laying of the pontoon bridge. They were supported by parts of four regiments—the 7th Michigan, the 19th and 20th Massachusetts, and the 50th New York. The men from the 50th New York had charge of the boats at the time of the charge, and the attack was made by the men from the 7th Michigan and the 19th and 20th Massachusetts.
December 12. We left camp leisurely and marched down to the river, crossed the bridge, moved down beside the river and halted. As we reached the further end of the bridge, who should I find there looking for me, but my brother Vertulan. He was assistant surgeon of the 19th Massachusetts Regiment, a part of which regiment had been in the charge, in the boats, the day before, he going over with the second lot of boat-loads.
The early morning was foggy and we got over there under cover of the fog without exposure; but soon the fog cleared. Then the Johnnies’ artillerymen had a good view of the approach to the bridge for a short distance. They soon got their range and were able to drop shells in there with considerable accuracy, doing more or less damage. We remained thereunder the river bank all day and all the next night.
December 13. Now comes the fight. About ten o’clock we moved out through the city and formed line of battle on the other side, and there we waited until past noon. Then we moved forward. The field across which we charged must have been from half to three-quarters of a mile wide. Before we reached the foot of the range of hills which, at that point were called Mary’s Heights, we lost heavily in crossing that field.
When about half way across the field, Sergeant Collins, the color bearer was mortally wounded. Plunket then took the colors and a little further along he was wounded in his left hand by a minnie ball; in an instant after a shell burst right in his face and carried away his right hand and forearm, the colors falling on his wounded arm and hand. Olney then took the colors and carried them through the rest of the battle. The blood to be seen on the flag in the State House came from Plunket’s wounds at that time.
All along the top of the ridge in our front, the enemy’s artillery was posted, and at the foot of the hill was the infantry. As we reached the farther edge of the field just in front of the Rebel infantry, we came to a board fence.We were ordered to lie down behind that fence. Then the order was given to fall back behind a little ridge and lie down, and there we remained the rest of the afternoon firing away whenever we saw a man or the head of a man to fire at. Late in the afternoon a battery of artillery came out and took a position about a quarter of a mile in our rear and opened fire on the Johnnies directly in our front, firing right over our heads, the balls passing so near the sound was anything but agreeable.
Just before we started on the charge, as we lay in the field just back of the city, a Company I man was killed by having his head carried bodily away by a cannon ball, the body rolled over, the blood spurted from the neck as water comes from a pump, until the heart pumped the body dry, the body then settled down a lifeless mass.
The circumstances leading up to this man’s death were peculiar. He had from the beginning a presentiment that if he went into a battle he should be killed and up to that time he had succeeded in evading each fight. This the boys did not like, and abuse was heaped upon him unmercifully. Soldiers have no respect for a man who deserts them in the most trying hour. Life thus became so unbearable to him, that as it became known there was to be a battle, hewrote his farewell letters to his family at home, gave them to his captain, requesting him to post them in the event anything happened to him. Company I was right near Company K at the time, and nearly every one of our boys saw him killed, and often afterwards spoke of the incident.
During the afternoon a new regiment was sent out to re-inforce us. When they got within fifteen or twenty rods of us, they halted and opened fire on the Johnnies through us.
During the evening we were relieved and went back to the city to the place under the river bank and had a good supper and a good drink of whiskey. It is notorious that not a single general officer crossed the river in front of the city at the Battle of Fredericksburg. It is not strange that General Burnside should have failed in command of the Army of the Potomac. Any officer who should have succeeded General McClellan would have met with the same fate, that army was so divided by jealousies and partisanship. Army correspondents spoke of these strifes and bickerings as notorious and scandalous. The efficiency of the command was thus seriously impaired by the internal dissensions. Before we went to sleep the report was circulated about the regiment, that General Burnside would lead the 9th Army Corps againstMary’s Heights the next morning, and Reno’s old brigade was to have the advance.
The next day, the 14th, we remained in camp down by the riverside all day, and no attack was made. In the evening we went back to the same part of the battlefield where we had fought, relieved some troops there, and we were told we were to stay there through the next day and that we were to hold that position at all hazards. We were about fifteen or eighteen rods from the Johnnies’ line at the foot of the hill. They were behind a line of breastworks; we had almost nothing in front of us. The men we relieved had dug up a little earth and had dragged together a few dead bodies, but only a few. As soon, however, as our boys understood what was expected of them, they set to work. But digging was pretty slow work with the ground frozen and nothing but bayonets and case knives to dig with. But a good many dead men were dragged together, so that some of the men had something of a semblance of a protection. Thus we prepared for the day, which soon came. But it did not seem as if it would ever pass. We could not fire a gun. The Johnnies might fire as much as they liked. We must lie as still as the dead men about us. But finally the day did pass, night came on; we were able to get up and stretchourselvesandshake some of the cold from our half frozen bodies. At twelve o’clock we quietly withdrew, passed through the city, which was now deserted crossed the pontoon bridge and went back to our old camp.
After a great battle there are no end of stories of experiences and hair-breadth escapes going the rounds of the camp. The following story which went the rounds at the time, appealed to me and has thus stuck in my memory. A man who was in a Massachusetts battery that was in Hooker’s corps and was engaged around to the right of us, on the east side of the heights, had an interesting encounter with a Johnnie which might have resulted very differently from what it did. His duty when in action was to swab out the cannon after it was fired, then in loading to ram down the cartridge. His position was thus near the muzzle of the gun and the most advanced of any of the men working the piece. The battery took an advanced and an exposed position. The Confederates charged on it hoping to capture the guns, but the battery mowed them down furiously. One Reb, however, kept right on, marched right up and made a bayonet thrust at him. He turned, parried the thrust with his swab, knocking the muzzle of the Johnnies’ gun down; the bayonet, however, went through the thick part of his leftleg just below the knee. At that moment the sergeant in command of the gun who stood a few feet to the rear, drew his revolver and shot the Johnnie who fell to the ground, the stock end of the musket going down with him. The bayonet sticking through the leg of our friend, thus gave him a dreadful twist, but he stooped over, picked up the gun and pulled the bayonet out of his leg, jumped on to the cannon and as the other men had brought up the horses he rode away. He thus made his escape and the battery lost no guns.
The morning of the 17th it was my fortune to be one of a detail of fifty men ordered out on special fatigue duty. We were marched down to the headquarters of the corps guard and stayed there all day. At night rations were sent down to us, and we slept in one of the guard tents that night. The next morning (the 18th) we were marched down to the river bank under a flag of truce. The Johnnies showed a flag of truce on the other side of the river. We got into a boat and crossed over. As soon as we were on the other side, we learned that we were to go up onto the battlefield and bury our dead. We marched through the city out onto the very field where we had fought, and where we did picket duty the 15th, to witness the most ghastly, the most shocking, the mosthumiliating scene possible. The field was covered with dead men. Dead men everywhere, some black in the face, most of them had the characteristic pallor of death; nearly all had been stripped of every article of clothing. All were frozen; some with their heads off, some with their arms off, some with their legs off, dismembered, torn to pieces, they lay there single, in rows, and in piles. I did not count them, but there must have been three hundred dead men in the row behind which we concealed ourselves on the 15th, a part of which we dragged together the night before. Just to the left of our regiment, at the time of the fight there stood a brick house. From this house, inside and just behind it, we carried more than forty dead men. I have no idea how many men were lying behind the board fence, but there were certainly one-quarter of a line of battle—one-half of a single line.
After the Johnnies had got us picks and shovels, we set to work to dig in the frozen earth the trenches which were to contain the men and fragments of men who had given up their lives on the plains in front of Mary’s Heights. We put them in rows, one beside the other, wrapped them up in blankets or in whatever else we could get to put around them. There was practically no means of identifyingone out of a hundred of them. Thus they lay in unknown graves.
Two long days we worked there tearing a trench in the frozen earth and filling it with the bodies of frozen men, with nothing to eat but what the guards could spare us from their scant rations. Our party buried nine hundred and eighty-seven men.
About sundown, our work being finished, we went down to the river, crossed over and returned to camp. Those days at Fredericksburg were among the most disheartening and most dreadful I have every known. The assault on Mary’s Heights was so ill-advised; the day’s picket duty on the field was so nerve-racking; then the two days’ work in a half-starved condition, burying the dead, a work so heartrending at best, was enough to upset one’s mind if anything could upset it. I do not think there were any desertions from our regiment during the next month or two, but there was a great deal of desertion from the army, and it was not to be wondered at. There was a general feeling of despondency pervading the Army of the Potomac, the feeling was deep and wide spread. The conviction was general that the men in the ranks were superior in intelligence to the southerners and just as brave, that the army was better disciplined andmuch better supplied, that what we lacked was leaders, the men were not tired of fighting, but they were tired of being sent to the slaughter by incompetent generals. From what I was able to observe when burying the dead the 18th and 19th, the Rebels were in a happy state of mind, they had full confidence in their leaders, and perfect faith in the success of their cause. With us complaining, scolding and faultfinding, was indulged in by all. Croaking had become as common as eating and showed the moral of the army was depressingly low, and had Lee been the general the South believed him to be he would have taken Washington the summer of 1863. It is reported that there were 8000 men absent without leave. This campaign and the mud campaign that followed it, did one good thing if nothing more, it showed those people at the North who were always complaining and demanding that the army move, how difficult it was to campaign in Virginia during the winter season.
December 20. At about ten o’clock, who should appear in camp but my brother, the assistant surgeon of the 19th Massachusetts. He had come up to see how I had weathered the storm. I took him into my tent and we had a little talk. I told him about the ordeal we had passed through, and he related to me hisexperience and his duties in taking care of the wounded, and how they were not yet all cared for. But he had got away as soon as he could, to come up and see how it had gone with me. After a short time, he seeing I was unhurt, became drowsy, dropped over on my couch and in an instant he was fast asleep. I straightened him out, put my blanket over him and let him sleep. He never moved until ten o’clock in the evening when as taps were sounded I woke him up and he went back to his wounded again.
Doing picket duty down by the river was pretty uncomfortable work the last of December, and the 21st was honored with that kind of duty altogether too often. Sitting or crouching in those rifle pits, always on watch through those long winter nights was pretty tough. One night a lot of the boys broke into the Lacy house, a fine, large mansion that stood a short distance back from the river, and tore a pipe organ to pieces, each man taking a pipe and the next morning when we returned to camp we all played,—perhaps you would call it a tune. It may have been amusing to the mules in the train parks along the way, but judging from the howls that issued from the camps we passed, I am not of the opinion that it was appreciated by the men. But it affordedus some amusement and what did we care for mules’ ears or men’s ears, for that matter? If they did not like our music they could stuff cotton-batting in their ears.
A captain of one of the companies was given a furlough about this time and went home for a time. When he returned he wore a brand new coat with shoulder straps of the recruiting officer’s size. He marched around the camp with an air of great importance. One day, one of the boys of his company did some little thing not to his liking and that man was tied up by the thumbs. This was so uncalled for and so unjust, it caused a very bitter feeling against the officer throughout the company. Practically every man in the company became his enemy. He realized the existence of this feeling and soon after resigned and went home. It was freely remarked in the regiment that the officer referred to did not dare to go into another fight with that company. And since the war he has never, to my knowledge attended a reunion of the regimental association.
December 22. We were on picket again. The evening of the 23d, there occurred the most important social function of the season. We had a fancy dress ball at the Hotel de Ville, or in other words in the sutler’s tent. All the quality of the regiment was present. Thebelles of the evening were Miss Huggins, the Widow Blush, Miss Lumpkins, Mrs. Austin and Miss Blinks all of Worcester, Mass. Miss Blinks wore an elegant wreath of birch leaves. Her gown was red and white, the red being part of a red woolen shirt furnished by one of the friends of the lady. Miss Lumpkins was a beautiful creature, her complexion of dark bronze contrasting finely with the grass green color of her dress; she wore a wreath made of wheat and white clover blossoms. Miss Huggins, was a little undignified in her actions. Her dress was thought by some to be decidedly low at the top and high at the bottom, however, she passed as it was understood that women in high society are expected to make the most of their charms. Her dress was sky blue and her apron an American flag; she wore no corsets, thus her body appeared a little flabby. The lady in whom we all felt the liveliest interest was the widow. She had all the grace and elegance of a duck, her style was simply enchanting. She wore a bright red dress, low-necked, with a white rosette at her belt, with large hoops that bounded around in the most wonderful way. Her extreme modesty was remarked by all the gentlemen; whenever she danced she was the center of attraction. The ball was a strictly private affair, no commissioned officers wereallowed to take part. A few newspaper men were invited and enjoyed the fun. They declared that as women have ere this dressed in men’s clothes there was no reason the boot should not be put on the other foot. Mrs. Austin’s dance of the schottische with double-soled cavalry boots was excellent; she was a well-known auctioneer in the city of Worcester.
December 24. Again on picket duty. It was a lively night on the other side of the river, innumerable camp fires and firing of guns. The Rebs were making it lively at their Christmas revels. Afterwards we heard of an interesting affair, a part of which occurred that same evening. At Rocky Ford up the river a little way above Falmouth, there was a detail of cavalry permanently located. Through trading coffee, tobacco and sugar our boys had become quite a little acquainted with the Johnnies on the other side of the river, and when Christmas time came the Confederates invited a number of them over to celebrate Christmas with them. The boys accepted the invitation and went over, had a fine time, were well entertained and got back without anything happening to mar the pleasure. A few days later when New Years came, our boys returned the compliment and invited the Johnnies overto spend New Years with them. Everything went finely until late in the evening when who should walk into the tent but the officer of the day, then the deuce was to pay. The Rebs were marched off to headquarters, but our boys would not allow the thing to end that way, went with them to headquarters, explained the whole matter, taking all the responsibility, and the affair was dropped. The Johnnies were allowed to return but they were all told they must not do so any more.
December 25. We all went down to the railroad and saw our wounded boys off, Tom Plunket among them. They were to be taken to a hospital in Washington. Reports of another grand move were being circulated about camp now every day. General Burnside reviewed the 9th Army Corps, January 6th. It was a wet, cold, horrid day and very little enthusiasm was manifest. January 7th we went on picket down by the river again, but it has become less trying than it was earlier in the winter. We were not obliged to stay concealed in our rifle pits so closely. Walking about on both sides of the river by our men and by the Johnnies, had become quite common and no firing was indulged in.
January 16. We received cartridges and extra rations and orders were given to be inreadiness to move. Something was evidently in the wind.
January 18. Troops were moving up the river. Lee’s left flank was to be attacked by Hooker and Franklin. But the troops did not get far. A heavy rain-storm had set in and the artillery was stuck in the mud. A regiment which was stuck right beside our camp, knowing we belonged to Burnside’s army corps, would every once in a while make a diversion and give three groans for General Burnside. As we were comfortable in our tents and they were without tents, out there in the rain and mud, we pitied the poor devils rather than resented their taunts.
At three a.m., the 19th, reveille was sounded. We got up and packed our knapsacks. But we got no further. The order was countermanded and we went on picket duty once more. The morning of the 22d before we went back to camp, the Johnnies built a big sign board and painted on it in letters that could be read a mile away, “Burnside Stuck in the Mud.” On our way back to camp that day we passed guns and baggage wagons still stalled in the mud. During the day orders were given to return to camp, and as those men who had been out in the storm wet to their skins for forty-eight hours, covered with mud, with misery and disgust painted on every face, plodded their way back to theircamps, they made a picture of army life never to be forgotten.
Soon after ten o’clock on the night of the 23d, a sutler who was established near our corps, was charged, his tent was torn down and his goods confiscated to the last cookie. The owner (an ex-cavalry officer) made a great defence, wounding some of the boys. But what could one man do with one little revolver, when faced by two or three hundred veterans of many a bloody military and whiskey campaign? He was overpowered by the gallant veterans and forced to flee for his life. Of course the guard appeared after the mischief was done, the battle won and the wolves had gone to their dens.
The last of November when we were relieved from duty down by the river and went into camp back on high ground, from what we could see no one would imagine there were ten thousand men within ten miles of our camp. The country all about there was sparsely populated, and as one looked out on the landscape from that high ground, practically all he saw was woods. How different the aspect two months later as we were about to leave there? As far as the eye could reach all one could see was parks of military trains, parks of artillery, and camps of armies. Every tree had disappeared, yes,every stump and every root had been dug out of the ground and used to keep that army warm during those winter months. How remarkable the change, it could not be witnessed without wonderment.
February 6. Orders came for the regiment to be ready to move at a moment’s notice with three days’ rations in haversacks, and the next day we took train for Aquia Creek; arriving there about noon we went immediately on board the steamboat “Louisiana” the 9th. We steamed down the Potomac arriving at Fortress Monroe the next morning. Not until the 11th did we go ashore, then we landed at Fortress Monroe, marched over to Newport News and went into camp in a horrid rain, only a short distance from the place where we camped the previous summer. It was a beautiful place and later on as the weather became warmer we enjoyed it very much. We were reviewed the 25th by our new corps commander, Baldy Smith.
We were at Newport News six weeks. We were heartily glad to be away from the jealous, political schemers so prevalent in the Army of the Potomac. There was a fine, loyal and friendly spirit among the men of the 9th Army Corps; we had learned to fight together, and confidence in, and respect for, each other was universal.
Our breakfast at Baltimore. The trip west. The Reception at Mt. Sterling. Moved into the town.
Theearly spring of 1863, found us at Newport News awaiting orders. Finally, on March 18th, orders came and on the 19th, the 1st Division went on board transports.
March 26. We went on board the steamer “Kennebeck” during the forenoon, and in the afternoon started for Baltimore. In the early morning of the 27th we steamed into the harbor of that city. The 2d Maryland was in the 1st Division and it was a Baltimore regiment. It had passed through the city just ahead of us and had arranged with its friends there, to be on the lookout for the 21st when we came along and see that we had a good breakfast. Well, there was nothing for sale at any of the restaurants near the wharf to members of the 21st, but we were all treated to as good a breakfast as any fellow could wish for. The editor of the Baltimore American, whom we had become acquainted with when doing picket duty on the railroad near Annapolis Junction, in the autumn of 1861, was there to welcome us. After breakfast we fell in line, marched up to the office of the BaltimoreAmerican and the band played all the national airs. Every one made a speech. We gave three cheers and a tiger a number of times and then we marched back to the wharf again. This reception was arranged for by the 2d Maryland, in memory of the Pollocksville breakfast we gave them May 17th, 1862, down in North Carolina. We did not leave Baltimore until the next morning (the 28th), when just at dawn we steamed away and on through Harrisburg, Pa., and Altoona, where we were given a fine supper at midnight.
At Pittsburgh, on the 29th, we were marched to a public hall and given a fine reception; left in the morning for Cincinnati. On the way, at Coshocton, Ohio, we were received with great cordiality by the people, were given a fine breakfast and the tables were waited on by as handsome a lot of young ladies as can be seen anywhere. We reached Columbus, Ohio, early in the afternoon of the 30th. We were cordially received there and furnished coffee and sandwiches. After this was all over and the people who had furnished the lunch had gone home, the train remaining in the railroad station, some of the boys wandered up into the town to see the capitol buildings and anything else of interest. A little way up a guard was encountered, refusing the boys admissionto the town. After some bantering the guard opened fire on the boys, killing two and wounding a number of others. This so enraged the boys that there was a general rush for their guns, and had not the officers been on hand at the time there would have been a lot of blood spilled. The boys were got on to the train and we left the town as soon as possible.
The guard that opened fire on our boys was a detail from a new regiment of Ohio soldiers. How a lot of new soldiers doing ordinary guard duty in a city like that were given loaded muskets was impossible to understand. We reached Cincinnati at two o’clock the next morning, March 31st. We marched to the Market House where we received a good breakfast and cordial greeting from the people. While there, we learned that we were assigned to the “Army of the Ohio” and that General Burnside had been put in command of the “Department of the Ohio.” In the middle of the day we crossed the river and took train for Paris, Ky., arriving there in the early morning of April 1st. We went into camp and remained there three days.
April 3d. We marched to Mt. Sterling, a distance of twenty-two miles. Here, we were to do frontier duty, assisting in protecting the people of Kentucky from raids by Confederate cavalry and guerrillas which had become verycommon. The march to Mt. Sterling was through the blue grass region and over a fine turnpike—the first fine road we had seen since leaving New England. Mt. Sterling is the county town of Montgomery County and has about 3000 inhabitants. But as we marched through the town we saw not one of the 3000. The streets were deserted, the blinds on the windows were closed and the doors barred. We marched on through the village out on one of the main roads and went into camp. A strong guard was put around the camp and no one was allowed to go in town.
During the evening the day after we reached Mt. Sterling, the cavalry pickets were driven in by a guerrilla band, but they got no farther than our picket post. There they came to a very sudden stop. The next day we changed camp, going to a large pasture on high ground finely drained and with a grove of beautiful trees in it, about a mile from town.
The reason for the cold reception we received from the people of Mt. Sterling on our arrival there, was because we were from the black abolition state of Massachusetts. They preferred, we were told, to remain unguarded rather than be guarded by Massachusetts men. However, it was our fortune to see a most remarkable change in the sentiment of thepeople toward us in a very short time. Colonel Clark, the commander of the regiment, was an Amherst professor, a man of intellect and culture, and a man of an exceptionally fine presence. He was a fine example of New England culture and must have made a superior impression on the leading men of the town and county. As soon as we reached there a strong guard was put on the court house, the jail and every other public building and piece of public property that required guarding. Not a soldier was allowed in the village excepting the guards on duty; no one was allowed to touch anything he did not buy and pay for in the regular way. Raiding the town by guerrillas was stopped, perfect order was maintained. And as a result on the 17th we were invited, by the civil authorities, to move down into the village and camp in the beautiful grounds in front of the court house; and there we remained until early in July.
This period of three months was the most delightful period we had during the war. It was a veritable campaign of peace. Confidence returned to the people of Mt. Sterling, the court held its regular sessions, a thing that had not been done since the war broke out. We were paid off; money was spent freely and Mt. Sterling put on her holiday attire. Afterwe moved down into the court house grounds there was no guard kept around the camp, the boys were allowed to go and come as they pleased so long as they behaved themselves and were present at roll-call. In a short time they became acquainted with the people of the village and in the country around. They used to wander off into the country for miles, call at the farmers’ houses, and buy things to eat. In this way they became acquainted in families, and those acquaintances in many instances ripened into friendships. A Company E man and I went off into the country one day some three or four miles. We came to a medium-sized, pleasantly situated house, with a lot of hens in the yard. We thought this our opportunity to get some eggs, which was our errand, and walked up to the door and knocked. We were invited in. As we were buying our eggs two young ladies appeared. We did not feel like rushing away then, although the girls were a little slighting in their answers to questions and in speaking of the Confederates referred to them as “our men.” In the course of the conversation it was disclosed that they had relations in the Confederate army. However, the girls were young and attractive and we did not hurry. There was a piano in the room and my friend suggested that one of them favorus with a selection. The younger one, a girl about twenty, sat down and played “Dixie” and “My Maryland.” As she finished she swung around on her chair and glanced at each of us in a way that said, what do you think of that. We complimented her and asked her to play the “Star Spangled Banner,” and “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean” which she did as a favor. My friend then asked her to play the Marsellaise. She did not recognize it. Would he hum it?—she might remember it. He hummed it, but it was evident she did not know it. Finally, she said in a rather saucy way, “Why don’t you play it yourself?” He said he would if it was agreeable. A plainly dressed private soldier sat down to the piano but from that moment the instrument seemed inspired. He played the “Marsellaise,” “The Watch on the Rhine;” then he played a number of selections of dance music from Strauss and other things. If he stopped they would say, “Oh don’t stop, play something else.” For nearly an hour he played ahead—those people and I as well were charmed; it was interesting to see those girls glance at each other and at their mother at times when the music was especially interesting. When finally he did stop, the saucy distant airs of the girls were gone, they had become our friends. We were then lessdisposed than before to leave, and when we did go it was with the understanding that we would come again and in future buy all our hens’ eggs from them.
We did no drilling while there. Our principal duties were picketing the roads leading into the town from the south, east and west, keeping the brass plates on our accoutrements and our shoes, well polished. Reports of guerrillas being in adjoining towns reached us from time to time, but as those men never really wanted to fight, but only to steal, they never approached very near Mt. Sterling.
In talking with one of the Union men of the village one day about the people who were in sympathy with the South he said, “Zeek Jones over there was until lately one of the biggest Rebels in the blue grass region; he preached it and he sung it until the Rebel cavalry came along and bought out all his horned cattle, horses, potatoes and general truck and paid him in Confederate money; then he sung a new tune—he’s been cursing them ever since. He sits up nights to swear about them. Nothing like that to bring a man around, stranger,” and the old man haw-hawed right heartily.
About a mile from the village on one of the roads leading from it, a picket post had pitched its tent near what appeared to be some desertedbuildings. At night there issued from the house the most delightful music. The unknown singer had a contralto voice, with all the richness of tone of the most highly trained prima donna. For three successive evenings there poured forth from the house a concert the like of which those soldiers had never heard. On the third night one of the boys could endure it no longer, his curiosity had got the best of him. He approached the building, climbed over the garden wall, passed around the house, and, lo, there was an open window. He stole up to it and peeped in. The room was full of music. For a moment he was lost in the splendor of the tones, when lo, upon the kitchen table sat a colored girl singing as if her heart would burst. As she sang she scoured her dishes. She saw him! He dropped and slunk away. “Go way dar you soger man, or I’ll let fly de frying pan at you head. You mustn’t stan dar peeking at dis yer chile.” The romantic vision was dispelled. The soldier stole back to his companions, but that entrancing music was never heard to issue from that house again.
Once we marched to Paris and once to Sharpsburg to attack guerrillas, but in each instance when we reached the place the guerrillas had disappeared.
Twice we were ordered away, but each timethe people sent to headquarters extensively signed petitions praying that we might remain there a little longer. And stay we did until the corps was nearly ready to march into Tennessee, and the capture of the hearts of two Kentucky belles of the blue grass region, by men of the 21st were among the results of our campaign in Kentucky.
July 6. With sincere regret we said goodbye to our many friends at Mt. Sterling and marched to Lexington. The farmers of the vicinity showed the sincerity of their regard for us by turning out with their teams and carrying our knapsacks the whole thirty-three miles. It was a sweltering hot day, and in our untrained condition it was all we could stand. As we reached Lexington we found the streets filled with farmers and their stock, they having come to town to escape from a guerrilla band that was reported to be in the vicinity. But we were there in time and the guerrillas did not attempt to enter the town. We went into camp in a large field near Fort Clay. The 16th we changed camp, going to a beautiful grove near the Lexington cemetery. Here we remained until we started for Tennessee.
We crossed the Cumberland Range. The patient mule. Seeing a railroad engine with a train of cars make a dive. The siege of Knoxville. “Will you lend me my Nigger, Colonel?” Re-enlistment. Recrossed the Mountains, returning to Kentucky on the way home, on our re-enlistment furlough.
Weremained in camp near the Lexington cemetery at Lexington, just one month, until August 12, 1863, when we made our first start for Tennessee. We took train for Nicholasville, then marched to Camp Nelson, where we went into camp, and stayed another month having a delightful time in that most healthy and beautiful place.
September 12. We started in good earnest on our march over the mountains but went only as far as Camp Dick Robinson. As we went into camp we were drenched by a fearful thunder storm, hailstones falling the size of marbles. The next day we made a good day’s march passing through the town of Lancaster. The 14th we passed through the village of Crab Orchard, camping for the night a little way beyond the town.
The 15th we remained in camp, but the 16th we moved on a good distance in spite of the dreadful roads, along the sides of which lay numerous wrecks of army wagons, dead mules, etc.We were then getting into the foothills of the Cumberland range, and also into the abode of the rattlesnake, a number having been seen the last day or two. Colonel Hawks made an interesting discovery as he started to retire last night. He found a rattlesnake about two feet and a half long comfortably coiled up in his blankets, that was not the kind of bedfellow the colonel was looking for, and he was despatched at short notice. The 17th we met a lot of Confederate prisoners being taken to the rear. They had been captured at Cumberland Gap. They were about the dirtiest and most repulsive looking lot of men I have ever seen. We climbed Wildcat Mountain, a hill so steep it did not seem as if the trains could ever get up it; but by going slow and with a good deal of pushing and pulling by the boys they did succeed in reaching the top without accident. We passed through the town of Loudon and Barboursville, and September 21st crossed the Cumberland River at Cumberland Ford.
September 22. We passed through Cumberland Gap. Two days’ march brought us to the Clinch River, which we forded. Fording rivers and some of them pretty deep ones, was a new experience for us, but before we left East Tennessee we had learned that lesson,—if experience will teach a lesson,—pretty thoroughly.
September 25. We crossed the Clinch range, the descent from which on the south side was dreadfully steep. Ropes were tied to the wagons and they were held back by the boys and prevented from tipping over. Thus they were eased down and reached the foot of the hill safely. Along the foot of the hill lay wagons and dead mules by the dozen, a whole line of them extending all along around the foot of the hill.
September 26. Lunched at the famous and glorious Panther Spring. What a spring! The water is as clear as crystal and enough of it to make a river ten feet wide and three feet deep. We continued our march through Newmarket and Strawberry Plains, reaching the immediate vicinity of Knoxville the 28th.
A word must be said right here about the unpretending, never-flinching army mule. I do not believe we shall ever know how much we owe to that toughest and most patient creature. We had seen the mule at his ordinary army work in Virginia, which was well nigh play compared with the work he was called upon to do, the hardships he was obliged to endure and the sacrifices he was forced to make in that advance over the mountains into Tennessee.
His rations were always short, his load a heavy one, and he was asked to haul it overroads, the wretchedness of which can not be described nor can it be imagined by any one who has not been in a similar place. It is almost literally true that the whole line of march from Camp Nelson to Knoxville was strewn with his dead comrades; what one of the boys said in that connection as we reached Knoxville was not wide of the mark, namely, that he could in the darkest night smell out his way back to Camp Nelson by the odor of the dead mules lying along the way. Granted he had his peculiarities, so had Caesar his. His voice was peculiar, he was very handy with his heels, but he could make a supper out of a rail fence, a breakfast out of a pair of cowhide boots, and pull his load along through the day without a murmur. To me he was as near being the martyr of the Tennessee campaign as the men who fought the battles.
We had been at Knoxville but a few days when news came in that the Rebels were advancing from the northeast from the vicinity of Lynchburg down the valley, thus threatening our communications in the vicinity of Morristown, and Cumberland Gap. On the 4th of October we took the train for Morristown. From there we marched to Blue Springs, where we had a little brush with the Johnnies October 10th. They were soon put to rout and westarted back to Knoxville. We were sixty miles from Morristown, but in three days we were back there again and took train to Knoxville, where we arrived the 15th. In this campaign we saw plenty of marching but no real fighting, and got well soaked two different times. We remained quietly in camp at Knoxville until October 22nd. Then, however, prospects suddenly became good for an active campaign. Longstreet, with an army of 20,000 men, one of the fine army corps of the Army of Northern Virginia, was approaching Knoxville from Chattanooga and in the evening we took train and went down the valley as far as Loudon to meet him and dispute his advance. We reached Loudon about midnight and bivouacked in a large meadow on the south side of the Holston River. Before morning a cold rain-storm came on, making life for a couple of days about as miserable as it could well be. Our tents arrived the 24th, when we crossed to the north side of the river and went into camp.
The 28th, the Johnnies made a spirited attack on our boys, driving in the pickets. We took up the pontoon bridge and fell back to Lenoir. What a job we had carrying those great heavy boats to the railroad station a good fourth of a mile. Government mule-teams were there by the dozen, still we were called uponto lug those boats such a distance. While we were moving the pontoon boats, an interesting thing occurred. A railroad train that had been captured was run off a wrecked railroad bridge into the Holston River. The bridge was a high one, thirty or forty feet, and it was an interesting sight to see the train make the plunge and disappear entirely from view in the river.
November 10. I commenced building winter quarters. A number of the boys had begun to cut logs for the same purpose, as it was thought we might stay at Lenoir through the winter. The 11th we marched back to Loudon and covered the laying of the pontoon bridge, returning to Lenoir in the evening. At daybreak, the morning of the 14th, we were routed out, struck tents and formed line in the quickest possible time. Our outposts were being driven in and we could hear the crack of the rifles and see the smoke from them out on the meadow as we moved out of camp. The Johnnies’ line of battle came into view directly and we realized we were in for some fighting at short notice; we had not been badly surprised, but dangerously near it.
At this time the climax was reached in an experience we had with a recruit that came to us during the Maryland campaign about the time of the Battle of South Mountain, I think. Hewas a deacon in the Baptist church. Two or three times during the campaign, when we were in camp, the evening being quiet and favorable, our newcomer would kneel down in his tent and make a prayer. He would pray for the nation, for the cause for which we were fighting, for the President and for all the boys. At such times the boys would keep very quiet and be very respectful. Everything went along all right until the Battle of Fredericksburg, when we did picket duty among our dead the second day after the battle. It was discovered that our friend, the deacon, came off the field that night with his pockets full of watches he had taken from our dead comrades. Now there was an unwritten law in the army that no man should rifle the pockets of our own dead; he might take all he could get from the enemy’s dead, but our own dead were sacred, and inviolate, and any man found breaking that law was despised. The deacon, however, felt himself pretty independent. He was well-to-do; he always had money and received many useful things from home—like gloves, socks, fine high boots, and he had a set of false teeth set in a gold plate. He did not make any prayers for the public benefit for quite a while after the Fredericksburg affair, but when he did make one, the company street for a minute or twowas as quiet as death; then all at once the old truck began to arrive on the deacon’s tent. Empty tin cans, tin cups, empty whiskey bottles, old shoes, anything in the way of rubbish that could be found, suddenly found its way to the deacon’s tent. Well, that prayer was brought to a very sudden close and it was never repeated. As we moved out at daybreak, the morning of November 14th, things looked about as dark as most of us cared to have them. But some of those boys were never disturbed at anything, and remembering the deacon one of them piped up, “I say, Billy, if old blank should get hit now, what should you go for?” “I should go for his teeth,” said Billy. “What should you go for, Tom?” “I should go for his boots.” “What should you go for, Gus?” “I should go for his gloves?”—this at a time when most of the boys felt funny if they ever did, the deacon right among the very fellows who were ready to pick his bones. We succeeded in stopping the Johnnies. Indeed, that attack proved to be only a feint and during the day our trains and artillery started towards Knoxville. Not until the evening of the 15th did we start back, then during one of the darkest nights and over one of the muddiest roads imaginable, we floundered along, reaching Campbells Station a little before morning. At dawn we were thrown outon to the Kingston road. We were there none too soon. Within a half hour after we were in position, Longstreet’s advance came in sight. Longstreet’s feint at Lenoir was evidently made in the hope of holding us there until he could reach Campbell’s Station, thus placing himself between Burnside and Knoxville. We changed position twice during the day, but did little fighting in either. The fighting was done in the beginning by the cavalry and later by the artillery, we falling back from ridge to ridge and keeping pretty well out of it. That night was cold and rainy and as dark as a pocket, and it was a difficult matter to make a thirteen-mile march. However, we reached Knoxville in the early morning of the 17th, and immediately set to work throwing up fortifications.
Knoxville is located on the north bank of the Holston River, on high ground elevated about one hundred feet above the general level of the valley. It was thus easily defended with a small force and our water supply was secure. The location of the 21st during the siege was on the north side of the city. We were a little short of rations; indeed, we were on half rations the whole time. However, I was a very good forager and managed to have enough to eat most of the time. One time I succeeded in picking up a pair of geese out in the country.At another time I got a tub of lard and a fine smoked ham. On another raid I got a barrel of flour. To cook the flour I was obliged to pay $2.00 for a package of baking powder worth ordinarily fifteen or twenty cents. The following story was brought over from the 51st New York one day during the siege. The regimental teams had been out foraging two or three days before. Some negroes belonging to Miss Palmer had deserted their mistress and followed the teams back to camp. A few days later Miss Palmer rode into camp and inquired for the colonel. The colonel appeared, tipped his hat politely and placed himself at her service. “Colonel,” said she, “your men have been over to our town and stole all my niggers and I have just ridden over to camp to see if you will be kind enough to lend me myblacksmithto shoe this horse.” The colonel assisted her in alighting, had her boy hunted up, and set him to work shoeing her horse.
While in a store a day or two ago, buying a pair of gloves, the cry of fire was heard outside on the street, and going to the door there could be seen smoke issuing from the windows on the opposite side of the street and soon the flames burst forth. The fire spread to other buildings and it looked for a short time as if nothing could save the city. A New Yorkregiment chanced to be near by and went to the assistance of the fire department. That regiment contained a large number of firemen from New York City. They knew how to fight a city fire and in a very short time the fire was under control. In the afternoon as our relief picket, to which I belonged, was on the way to its post, we passed through the town, I saw one of our boys who was enjoying General Pope’s General Order No. 10 to the full. He was floating along down the street still able to keep his feet, but not his balance. He had on a white masonic apron and a bright red scarf under his belt. As we passed him he halted, faced to the front and presented arms with so much swiftness he lost his balance and went sprawling out on the sidewalk. Poor fellow, he meant all right; he wanted to be very respectful and very military, but was a little too top-heavy to carry the thing out well. He had, I expect, been to the fire. When out foraging on the south side of the river one time, I came across in one of the huts of the negro quarters, quite a handsome young mulatto woman with her children. They were all quite well dressed. The children, however, were noticeably lighter in color than their mother. She was evidently the favorite domestic of the house and was as bitter a Yankee hater as any of the white women.She declared the colored people did not want to be niggers for the Yankees. I wondered if I could not understand why she was content with her life there.
There was picket firing most of the time and two hot engagements during the eighteen days of the siege. On November 17th, General Sanders was heavily engaged on the extreme left over next to the river. November 29th, Longstreet attacked Fort Sanders furiously. That fort was only a little way round to our left but we were not engaged. The Johnnies got something of a surprise in that attack. When the siege begun it was all wood in front of the fort; but by the time of the attack the trees had all been cut down, leaving the stumps three to four feet high, then telegraph wire was strung from stump to stump all along the front. When the Johnnies reached that part of the field they were very badly broken up and lost much of their force. That was the first place where telegraph wire was used as an obstruction to an advancing column, so far as I know. Eight or ten months later at Petersburg barbed wire was used extensively, and in the present war in Europe we hear a great deal about its being used.
The night of the 23d, our boys were driven from their rifle pits down in front of the mainline of fortifications. The next night about three o’clock we were routed out and went down to the left of the rifle pits, and at daylight made a charge and took them back again. There was another regiment went with us on that charge. The rifle pits had been taken possession of by a regiment of South Carolina sharpshooters, and if they had been able to hold them they could have raked the edge of the city and two or three streets.
December 3. The scouts brought in word that Longstreet had given up the siege and was preparing to withdraw from our front; and the next day it was reported that the Johnnies were really moving off to the right up the valley. On the 5th, a party of us boys went over and took a look at the Johnnies’ camp and works. There was a good deal of camp refuse lying around. The weather was getting very cold.
The 7th. We started after Longstreet, going toward Morristown. We marched up to the vicinity of Blaine’s cross-roads and stayed there until we re-enlisted. It was a cold, hard time we had those days. My feet were cold all the time. I was not comfortably warm for a number of days, and rations were dreadfully short. Some of the time we had nothing to eat but corn on the cob. We roasted that and eat it and it kept us from starvation. The9th, I helped to catch a pig, but it was very small. There was not much meat on it.
December 24. The order concerning re-enlistment was read to a part of the regiment, the other part of the regiment was off on picket duty. When the question of re-enlistment was put to the boys there was a good deal of hesitation. A few only put up their hands. The idea of going home on a furlough for thirty days was a strong inducement, but the conditions under which we were living at the time were unfavorable. December 26. Our supply train was captured out in the vicinity of the gap with all our hardtack, sugar and coffee, etc. Re-enlistment was growing popular. I re-enlisted to-day. The temperature hovered around the freezing point. One hour it rained, another hour it snowed or the moisture fell in a sort of sleet. We were camping in a little hollow in the wood sloping towards the south.
December 28. It was reported that two-thirds of the men of the regiment had re-enlisted. That proportion was sufficient to enable the regiment to go home, as a regiment, on veteran furlough. It was reported about camp that the 21st was the first regiment in the 9th Army Corps to report thus re-enlisted.
January 6, 1864. Orders came directing that we be in readiness to start for Camp Nelson andthe north at once, and in the afternoon of the 7th we set out. About two hundred Confederate prisoners were to be taken along. My shoes were in pretty good shape, but those of some of the boys were very poor. The 8th we made an early start. The air was clear and cold and we made a good day’s march. The 10th, we reached Cumberland Gap—were disappointed not to get any rations, but after passing the gap and marching a few miles beyond, we came on to a supply train and drew two full days’ rations. What a treat to have a meal of good fresh hardtack and a cup of good coffee again. The 11th, we did not get far, we were delayed by the train. The roads in the mountains were something terrific. In many places we were obliged to cut ruts in the ice for the wheels of the wagons to go in. Forded the Cumberland River at Cumberland Ford. Pretty cold business fording large rivers in midwinter with the temperature down to 15 degrees above zero.
January 12. Waited until noon for the train to come up. The train has delayed us all along the way. The roads are so very bad. Came upon a supply train and drew two days’ rations.
We reached Loudon, Kentucky, January 14. Here, some of the boys were able to get new shoes, to their great relief. It snowed all daythe 15th and at night we camped in deep snow. The next day the roads not having been broken out, we lost our way and floundered around all the forenoon.
January 16. The home stretch. Made a long march of twenty-five or thirty miles in the rain, reaching Camp Nelson just before dark. Found our old Adjutant, Theron E. Hall, detailed there in command of the post. He put us in a big empty storehouse where we had a fine night’s sleep.
From the 17th of November to January 18th, a period of two months and one day, was a period in which we suffered more from privation and exposure than any other period of the same length during the war. During the siege we were under fire and short of rations all the time. The next period up in the vicinity of Morristown and Blaine cross-roads we were on duty nearly all the time. It was very cold. We were very short of clothes and had almost nothing to eat. Then the tramp over the Cumberland mountains through the snow, with almost nothing to keep us warm for eleven days, was something terrific. The fact that we were on our way home was the only thing that buoyed us up during the last part of it. I am writing this at seventy-four years of age, and as I go over that march through the snow,fording great streams in midwinter on that trip across the mountains, I am entirely unable to comprehend how we were able to endure it. We had a very good opportunity to observe the Johnnies we were taking along at short range, and to get their viewpoint of the war. They were from Longstreet’s command and while they had nothing but good to say of old Pete, Stonewall Jackson was their idol. He had been killed at Chancellorsville only a little while before and they felt his loss deeply. “Stonewall did a heap of praying—he do ’specially just before a big battle,” said one. Another lean old fellow: “’Lowed Stonewall was a general, he war. If you-uns had a general like him, ar reckon you-uns could lick we-uns.” One of them lamented that, “It was no use to fight, now old Stonewall war dead.” One I asked what he was fighting for. “’Cause I don’t want to be licked. What you-all come down here for—to invade our country and run away with our niggers? You-uns must have a powerful spite against we-uns-all.” In stature they averaged much smaller than our men, and they were very ignorant; I doubt if one out of ten of them could write his name.
January 19. We remained at Camp Nelson; drew clothing, ate hardtack and drank coffee to our heart’s content and were as happy a lotof mortals as ever walked the earth. The next day we marched to Nicholasville and took a train for Covington. There was a hole in one of my teeth that had added measurably to my misery on the trip over the mountains. As we passed through Nicholasville, I saw the sign of a dentist. I walked in and sat down in the dentist’s chair and told him I wished he would pull that tooth. He pulled it without any ceremony. When he put the forceps on to it, it rebelled fiercely, gave one final gasp and the maddening pain was ended.
We were put into some very comfortable barracks at Covington and stayed there until the 29th while the necessary re-enlistment papers were being made out. I bought a very slick military jacket to wear home. We were paid off, and so started for home with a pocket full of money.
The trip home. Reception at Worcester. The Social Whirl. We returned to Annapolis.
Weleft Cincinnati on our way home to Massachusetts in the afternoon of December 29th by train, going through Columbus, Cleveland, Buffalo, Albany and Springfield, arriving in Worcester in the morning of January 31st, and marched over to Camp Lincoln, which was to be regimental headquarters during our stay.
After we left Albany, as we passed along through the Berkshire Hills, we realized we were in the old Bay State again and that it was midwinter. The ground was buried deeply under the snow and the air was cold. Wherever we stopped on our way east we were warmly received. At Worcester the reception was enthusiastic. The 21st was the first three years’ regiment to re-enlist in the 9th Army Corps. It was the first veteran regiment to return to Worcester County, and if not the first, it was one of the first, to return to the state. The people of Worcester appreciated this and turned out in large numbers to welcome us home. Atthe railroad station the mayor and a committee of citizens and a throng of people greeted us.
The official reception February 1st, was a most enthusiastic affair. A parade containing every organization of any size in the city was formed, with the mayor and city government at the head. We paraded the streets of the city; Plunkett marching beside the colors. Then in the afternoon there was a meeting in Mechanics Hall with speeches of welcome, etc. Our furloughs were for thirty days and were dated February 1st. The next day we were off for our homes and a glorious vacation. I got as far as Barre the second, stayed all night at the hotel, and the next morning hired a team and drove over to Dana. The place looked natural and every one seemed happy. Riding about, visiting friends, attending reunions, dancing parties and balls, was now the order of the day and of the night. What a vacation! What a season of pleasure! It was of its kind the most delightful time of my life. Nehemiah Doubleday invited my sister Jane and I and a few other close personal friends up to his house for an evening. They had music, served refreshments, and we had a most delightful time. My sister, Mrs. Kent did the same thing, and there we spent another very enjoyable evening. The town of Hardwick gave an entertainment ofwelcome to the boys from that town in our regiment. I had worked for Mr. Arad Walker of that town and had a lot of friends over there, and so I was invited and went, and had a most royal time. Such cordiality on the part of the people. Such a warmth of welcome was entirely unexpected. Some one of those Hardwick men had his arm around me all the evening. I never got out of the sight of Mr. Walker while there. Every time I met Mr. John Paige he would put both his arms around me and give me a hug. Rev. Mr. Sanger could not have treated a son more cordially than he did me. Every man I met there, and I met a lot of them, treated me as if I was a son or a brother. As I went home that night I felt I was as much a son of Hardwick in the war as I was of Dana.
When I enlisted and went out in 1861, I did it simply because I could not stay at home. When I went back at the end of my veteran furlough I felt I was one of the representatives at the front of a fine section of Massachusetts. On March 1st, our thirty days’ furlough was at an end, and I returned to Worcester and to old Camp Lincoln again ready for duty. I was not wanted, however, and was told I could go home again and stay there until sent for, and home I went for another two weeks of pleasure, but all good things come to an end, so did that re-enlistmentfurlough, and the 14th I was summoned back to Worcester, the 15th found me with the regiment and the 18th we started south again.
On the way back at Philadelphia the 19th we were given a fine supper at the Cooper Shop Saloon and the next morning at Baltimore we were treated to a fine breakfast at the Union Relief Association rooms. Proceeding on our way we arrived at Annapolis in the afternoon of March 25th. We went into camp and stayed there until we started to join the Army of the Potomac at the Wilderness. After the fine times we had had at home, ordinary camp life was decidedly dull. Troops were arriving daily and we soon learned the 9th Army Corps was assembling there preparatory to joining General Grant’s army on the Rapidan. Every fellow had left a girl behind him. Writing letters was freely indulged in by all, and the mails were loaded with sweet-scented, delicately addressed notes, and Oh, such longings for home.