The enemy were then out of sight in the front, but were discovered moving around our right. The Colonel then gave the order “Right shoulder, shift arms,” and moved to the right oblique to another hill about 300 yards distant, and commenced firing to the right upon the enemy. He firedabout twenty rounds here, when the enemy’s line broke in perfect disorder, and ran in every direction. About this time a sharp musketry fire commenced on our left, or old front, it being evident they were advancing another line through the cornfield. As we were of no more use in our present position, we went to the assistance of the other regiments of our brigade. We had so much changed the front that we moved by the left flank and filed left, connecting our left on the right of the Seventieth New York, and moved again down through the cornfield. We then pressed forward, driving the enemy before us, until the order was given to halt. I immediately deployed skirmishers forward through the field to an orchard. While moving through the cornfield, the enemy opened fire with grape and canister from two brass guns on our front, and shell from a battery on our right. It was by this fire that Col. Barlow fell, dangerously wounded. He was struck by a small piece of shell in the face, and a grape-shot in the groin. Thus far he had handled the two regiments in the most brave and skillful manner. As we had advanced further than the other regiments on our right and left, I was ordered to let the skirmishers remain and form in the open field on a line with Col. Brooks’s regiment, which position we held until relieved by one of that brigade, when I marched them to the left of the line, and formed on a line with the Eighty-first Penn., and was not engaged again during the day.
I cannot speak in too high terms of the coolness and brave spirit with which both officers and men fought on that day. Col. Barlow on this, as on other occasions, displayed qualities for handling troops under fire which are not often met. Capt. Maze, Lieut. W. Keech, Lieut. Grannis and Lieut. T. W. Greig were noticed as behaving in the most excellent manner—also Dr. Tompkins, who followed the regiment upon the field and rendered prompt assistance to the wounded.
Nelson A. Miles, Lieut. Col. comdg. Sixty-first and Sixty-fourth New York Vols.”
Gen. Meagher’s report of the operations of the Irish brigade does not place his men any nearer the enemy than they were when they were relieved by Barlow with the Sixty-first and Sixty-fourth New York.
In 1897 Capt. Lee Nutting of the Sixty-first N. Y., published an article in the New York “Sun,” in which he modestly related the doings of Barlow’s command at Antietam. His article called out the following:
To the Editor of the Sun—Sir:
“Without anydisparagementof the Sixty-first New York comrades in our own Red Trefoil Division, allow me to suggest to your enthusiastic correspondent “L. N.” that “there were others.” Nor was the First Minnesota superimminently distinguished except atGettysburg. It was usually on provost duty. Gen. Walker had his preferences, but others of higher rank did not always agree with him. Sumner, Hancock, Richardson, Caldwell, Humphreys, andSmyththought the Irish brigade did pretty well. Their showing is quite respectable in Fox’s “300 Fighting Regiments.” So did the enemy, and the opinion of the London Times correspondent from Fredericksburg is quoted in the history studied in our public schools (in Barnes’s), while their charge at Antietam was specially mentioned by McClellan.
“By the way, the flags “captured” there by Barlow had already been marched over, with a lot of dead rebels, by the Eighty-eighth New York, who were too busy fighting to stop to pick them up. Miles was always a glorious fellow. Barlow did not like us, and once, under a mistake, joyfully exclaimed, “That d——d Irish brigade has broken at last!” to be corrected by Col. Smyth of the Sixty-ninth, who told him they had captured the enemy’s works and he had come for further orders. (Signed) Irish Brigade.
The above makes quite a spicy newspaper article, but it does not read like history, and itIs Nothistory. Where and on what occasion did Francis C. Barlow ever manifest “joy” that the Irish, or any Union brigade “broke” when engaging the enemy! To my mind the statement is the equivalent of charging treason to one of the bravest fighters in the Union armies. And, according to this defender of the reputation of the Irish brigade, Barlow was thus filled with joy over what he believed to be the defeat of the Irish brigade “because he didn’t like us.” The above yarn is too idiotic to need replying to.No sane person can believe a word of it. Except as every advance of troops may be said to be a “charge” the Irish brigade made no “charge” at Antietam, and McClellan in his report, dated Aug. 4th, 1863, covering the Antietam campaign, does not refer to any “charge” made by the Irish brigade in that battle. In this report (page 59, Series 1, Vol. 19) he says, “Meagher’s brigade, advancing steadily, soon became engaged with the enemy posted to the left and in front of Roulett’s house. It continued to advance under a heavy fire nearly to the crest of the hill overlooking Piper’s house, the enemy being posted in a continuation of the sunken road and cornfield before referred to. Here the brave Irish brigade opened upon the enemy a terrific musketry fire. All of Gen. Sumner’s corps was now engaged—Gen. Sedgwick on the right, Gen. French in the center, and Gen. Richardson on the left. The Irish brigade sustained its well earned reputation. After suffering terribly in officers and men, and strewing the ground with their enemies as they drove them back, their ammunition nearly exhausted, and their commander, Gen. Meagher, disabled from the fall of his horse shot under him, this brigade was ordered to give place to Gen. Caldwell’s.”
Now, I say from personal observation that the Irish brigade was never farther in advance than the position it occupied when it was relieved by the Sixty-first and Sixty-fourth N. Y., that the Irish brigade did not, up to the time it was so relieved, pass over any ground that had been occupied by the enemy and on which they had left any of their battle flags. The battle flags captured by the Sixty-first and Sixty-fourth New York were taken from the sunken road. No one ever heard me say a word in derogation of the bravery of the Irish brigade. It was manifested at Antietam, and on a score of other battlefields. The glorious history of the second corps could not be written with its deeds left out. The Irish brigade stood in its tracks and took its terrible punishment at Antietam asheroicallyas did anything of Wellington’s at Waterloo. Having said all this, the fact remains the brigade wasNottactically well placed. Had it advanced to where the Sixty-first and Sixty-fourth later went, it would havedone much greater execution, and with smaller loss to itself. The action of Barlow at Antietam proved beyond question his exceptional military ability.
On my way home after Gettysburg, I spent one night in the Citizens’ hospital in Philadelphia. My cot was next to a Pennsylvanian’s, who had lost a leg at Chancellorsville. When he learned I was of Barlow’s regiment, he told me that about the finest sight he ever saw on the battlefield was seeing Barlow lead his command into action at Antietam. He was where he had a full view of the display. The regiments were in line of battle, and he, with sabre in hand, was ahead of the line. Such is the plain fact, as all who were there can testify.
On the 19th of September, Gen. McClellan was informed that during the night Lee had pulled out, and placed the Potomac between him and us. The Army of Northern Virginia crossed the river at Shepardstown. Thus ended their proud invasion of Northern States.
We remained in our position for a number of days, burying the dead, picking up the fragments, and getting ourselves together. The after view of a battle field is a horrible sight—wreck, ruin and devastation are on all sides; fences removed, buildings more or less torn and demolished, wagons smashed, arms scattered about, artillery disabled, horses and mules piled up and swollen almost beyond recognition. All this shows the havoc of battle, but the sight that appals is the human dead. Dead, dying, and wounded in various ways. The spectator must callous his heart, or, if fairly human, he will be overwhelmed. There were places on this battlefield where the ground was literally strewn with those “beyond the fighting,” swollen, grimy, unnatural, in all sorts of situations and positions. On the fence next to the cornfield, and just beyond the sunken road, were a number of Confederates hanging over the top rail, shot dead while trying to pass it. There they hung, like bundles of old clothes over a line.
“Gen. McClellan reported that he lost on the 16th and 17th 2,010 killed, 9,416 wounded and 1,043 missing—a total of 12,469. * * * * * McClellan reported that 2,700 of theConfederate dead were counted and buried by his officers, and that a portion had been previously buried by their comrades.” (The Antietam and Fredericksburg, Palfry, page 127.) Doubtless the killed, wounded and missing of the two armies would aggregate 25,000. The Second corps was the heaviest loser on the Union side, its casualties amounting to 5,138. (Walker 120)
On the 22d of September the army moved, the Second corps headed for Harpers Ferry, a distance of ten or twelve miles. We forded the Potomac just above the destroyed railroad bridge, and came to land opposite the ruins of the United States Armory. We went through the town and formed camp on Bolivar Heights. The time spent at this place was the soft kind of soldering. Supplies were abundant. Drill, guard, picket and police duties were light, and we all had a thoroughly good time. The scenery hereabouts is grand. Maryland, London andBolivarHeights come together, and from the tops of their heights to the river level is hundreds of feet. The passes worn by the Shenandoah and Potomac are through the solid rock and the gorges are very deep and rugged.
Our picket line was a mile or two out toward Charlestown. While on one of these picketing details, while the first relief was on, Frank Garland suggested that, if possible, we slip through the line, go to the front and see if wecouldn’tpick up something good to eat. We succeeded in passing the pickets and pointed for a farm house a half mile ahead. For a time no one responded to our knocks and helloes. At last a plump, red cheeked modest girl, of perhaps sixteen, appeared. We enquired for apples and told her if she would fill our haversacks, we would be glad to pay for them. She took them and soon returned with them filled with eatable apples. We paid her the price charged and started back. We admitted to one another that it was not a prudent act and would go hard with us if we should be picked up. On our way back Garland glanced to the left, and said, “There’s reb cavalry!” I looked, and there, perhaps an eighth of a mile away, was a squad of horsemen, coming on a canter toward us. We were near a substantial rail fence on the right, and for it we sprang with all our powers. We went over it like circus performers,and put in our best strides for our line. I think it was Garland that first discovered that the “men on horseback” were negro farm hands. They had seen our lively retreat and accurately interpreted the cause, and they were with their mouths open as wide as their jaws would admit, haw-hawing near the point of splitting. On this discovery we slowed down, and sauntered toward our picket line as unconcerned as possible, but the pickets had seen the performance, and at first had been misled as we were. As we came in we proposed to go straight to the reserve where the detail from our regiment was. The officer in charge refused this and sent us under a guard of two men and a corporal to headquarters. We steered the corporal to the shelter tent of Capt. Bull and explained the situation to him. He took it in, and, with a large assumption of military dignity, informed the guard that he would relieve them of any further duty in the matter, and they could go back to the front. Garland and I were glad to divide our apples with Bull and the others who knew of our adventure. It was one of the worst scares I had in the service, and cured me of any attempt at foraging outside the lines.
Gen. Walker says, “The only episode whichinterruptedthe pleasant monotone of rest and equipment, after the fatigues of the Manassas and Antietam campaigns, was areconnaissanceconducted by Gen. Hancock with the first division Oct. 16th down the valley to Charlestown, with the view to discovering whether the enemy were there in force.” We met a battery supported by cavalry, which fell back as we advanced. The captain of this battery was B. H. Smith, Jr. and was wounded. We found him in a house at Charlestown with a foot amputated. We spent the night in Charlestown, and while there many of the boys visited the tree where John Brown had his taking off Dec. 2, 1859.
On the 25th of October, I wrote a letter home from which I quote, “The whole regiment cannot turn out over 50 or 60 charter members. I will give you a list of Co. “C,” which left Hamilton but little over one year ago full of hope and great expectation. Today we have present Capt. Broady, broken in mind and body by hardship and disease; Serg. Isaac Plumb,well and in good spirits; Serg. C. A. Fuller, ditto; Serg. D. W. Skinner, suffering from old wound, and who will be discharged; Portner E. Whitney, pioneer, good soldier; George Jacobs, private, cooking for the company;JuniusGaskell, sick most of the time; Charles Richards, paroled prisoner, sees no duty; Freeman Allen has a bad leg; Rufus Rundell, in quartermaster’s department—always has been; John Boardman, drummer. Where are the other 80? Some 10 or 11 killed, three times that number wounded, 10 dead of disease, 8 or 10 discharged, and the remainder sick in hospitals. Ike and myself are the only ones of that ninety odd, who have been in every engagement with the regiment, and he was not carrying a gun at Fair Oaks. Lieut. Keech is the only line officer who has been in all the regiment’s battles. This may seem incredible, but it is nevertheless true—some would miss this battle and some that, and so, but one has missed none.”
On the 29th of October, 1862, our army broke camp and moved in the direction of Warrenton, which place we reached on the 11th of November. In making this march the Sixty-first skirmished over the mountains at Snecker’s Gap, driving back a body ofcavalrythat was observing, if not holding this position. From the ridge of the mountain we had a view that in my judgment could not be equaled in Europe.
While the army was at Warrenton the order came removing McClellan and appointing Burnside. For one I was glad of any change—it seemed to be that no one could be more inefficient than McClellan. I remember so expressing myself which was not a popular notion. One old Irishman of Co. A, turned on me in hot anger, and asked, “Why do you say that? What do you know about war, you little damned pie eater!”
In a few days we started out and reached Falmouth, a hamlet nearly opposite Fredericksburg on the Rappahannock river on the 17th of November. There were but a handful of rebels on the other side of the river. There was no attempt to ford it, and we went into camp, while Lee’s army soon concentrated about Fredericksburg. Our camp was located in the woods, which we partially cleared, converting the timber intowalls for our huts, which we covered with our shelter tent canvass. In a few days we had comfortable quarters. Part of the time the weather was quite cold. Snow was on the ground, and the brook that ran near by was more or less covered with ice. I remember going down to this brook one Sunday morning with Portner E. Whitney. We took off our clothing and had a bath in that ice cold water. We were in this camp for several weeks, and in it had first rate good times. Near to us was a Pennsylvania regiment, (I forget the number) in which a “revival of religion” prevailed. Meetings were held continuously and it was reported that many were converted. I think this regiment suffered severely in the great slaughter of the 13th of December.
Quite early in December indications multiplied that a movement was contemplated. Three days rations were ordered to be kept constantly in the haversacks. Charles Lowell, our hospital steward, told me that the surgeons had received orders to put in good condition the operating instruments, and frequent inspections made sure that enough ammunition was in the boxes.
On Thursday, Dec. 11th, at 4 a. m., reveille beat, after roll call the men were told that they must be ready to break camp on short notice. At 6 a. m. the regiment formed on the color line, ready to move. While we were thus waiting, I was smoking my briarwood pipe, and, at what I supposed was the end of the smoke, I threw out the ashes and put the pipe in my breeches pocket. In a short time I was conscious of a change of temperature in that locality, and hastily brought to view the pocket and pipe. Doubtless some of the fire remained in the bowl, which got out and set fire to that part of my clothing. I had no trouble in extinguishing this ignition, but the pocket was gone and my leg had a raw spot.
At this time the Army of the Potomac was organized in three grand divisions as follows: Right Grand Division, Sumner’s, embracing the Second and Ninth corps; Center Grand Division, Hooker’s, Third and Fifth corps; Left Grand Division, Sixth and First corps. Gen. D. N. Couch commanded the Second corps; Hancock the First Division, and Caldwell the First brigade of the corps.
While in this camp that we were about to leave I had the honor to be the object to which a brief utterance was directed by Gen. Hancock. I was then a sergeant, and had been ordered to brigade headquarters with a squad of men for guard duty. On the day in question, Gen. Sumner reviewed his Grand Division. After the guard had got to its place, one of Caldwell’s staff came to me and said, “When the general comes along you will fall in your guard and present arms.” I had some eight or ten men with me, and told those not on duty to be on hand to fall in when so ordered. Presently I heard a horse coming down the road on a sharp gallop, and soon saw that it was Gen. Hancock with a single orderly. Evidently he was not on the lookout for a little guard to salute him, but I fell in the men as briskly as possible. The general noticed what I was doing, and had to wait a moment for the guard to present arms, which it did all right. Hancock returned the compliment, and then said to me, “If you want to salute, sir! you must be a ‘damned sight quicker’ than this!” If I had dared to, I would have answered, “Don’t you worry yourself, Winfield Scotty, I don’t want to salute you, and wouldn’t now, if I had not been ordered to.”
Of course I kept my mouth shut. It would have been bad policy to have expressed my sentiments.
As I have stated, shortly after 6 a. m. our column started. We made a roundabout march of a few miles and finally halted, under cover of high ground, nearly opposite the city of Fredericksburg. All this day a furious cannonade was maintained by our side, and from big guns mounted on the crest back of the river. The effort was to clean the enemy out from the neighborhood of the river bank, so that we could lay our pontoon bridges. This was not successful, and in the attempt to do this work our men were picked off, so that it was found to be impracticable. At length the Seventh Mich. and the 89th N. Y. were rushed into thepontoonboats and rowed and poled over. Once on the other shore they drove away the sharpshooters, and the bridge at our front was then laid. We remained that night on the Falmouth side of the river. The next forenoon the Second corps crossed the river. Our division was marched along the side of theriver, to the lower end of the city, and then we stacked arms.
Some of our men inspected the near by houses on their own motion, and from one they brought out a jar of fresh tried lard. I had a chance at it and spread it on my hard tack, as I would butter at home. I have had my share of good butter and love it, but I never tasted bread greasing equal to that new lard.
Towards night we were marched back to the site of the railroad bridge, and billited in the grist mill near said bridge. One of our men procured a duck, I was let into the mess, and in some way we cooked and disposed of it before rolling up in our blankets for a good night’s rest. We turned out early the next morning, (the disastrous 13th) and after breakfast, lead by Col. Miles, we went through the city to the last street. Here our little regiment was deployed as a sort of picket line. To the front half or three-quarters of a mile ran the top of a line of hills, parallel to our street. Not so much as the crack of a pistol had broken the silence of the morning. We lounged about, viewed from between the houses the supposed location of the enemy, went into the houses next to where we were posted, and helped ourselves. Not a soldier in gray was to be seen, save here and there a sentry watching from the top of their earth works. One of our boys was inspecting the contents of the house of a doctor, I forget his name. Presently he called to me and inquired if I didn’t want some books. I said “Yes.” He tossed me from the window a fine volume of Byron’s poems, and the two volumes of Dr. Kane’s Arctic Explorations. I sat on the curbing looking over this plunder, when, all at once, a number of big guns went off, and very soon thereafter shot and shell came thundering through the houses, across our street, and into the houses behind us. I hurriedly dropped my spoils, and made quick tracks for the other side of the street, where there was, perhaps, better protection. This artillery outburst was due to the appearance of our troops, moving out of the city and towards the strong position of the enemy.
In a few minutes Col. Miles assembled the Sixty-first and marched it back into the next street, where we stood in line ready for the word “Go!” In this position nothing couldbe seen, but the shots and shells of our adversaries came thick and dangerously near, though none were to my knowledge effective. While we were here I noticed one of our recruits, a German, who was literally unnerved by fear. His countenance was distorted by terror, and he was shaking in every limb. I think it was impossible for him to march. I do not remember ever seeing him after that time. For myself I confess that I never exerted more will power to make my legs move in the right direction than just here. Without pretending to have military judgment, as I viewed the intrenched position of the Confederates, I said to myself, “we will fail to carry those heights.”
At length the order came to move, and the head of our column started for the street that led to Marye’s Hill. Turning into it we advanced rapidly. My recollection is, that as the road leaves the city, it makes a slight curve, and as we came to that spot the whole view was opened up to us. I know the road was littered with some dead, and cast off blankets and knapsacks. For a ways the road slightly descends, and then you come to a considerable stream of some sort, it may be a waste weir, from the Falmouth dam. This stream was bridged, and a part, if not all, of the flooring of it had been removed. I remember we, partially at least, crossed on the stringers. At this point the enemy concentrated a hot artillery fire. I think the Sixty-first got over without much damage, but the head of the regiment following took in several shells that caused heavy loss. We pressed forward to a point part way up the hill to the front, when the order was given “On the right, by file into line!” This deployed us in line of battle to the left of the road we had been advancing on. The rise of ground was sufficient to protect us from the enemy, while we were thus forming. Hancock rode his horse up and down the line between us and the foe.
While we stood here, one of the ghastly sights of war was almost under my feet. A soldier lay nearly where I ought to have stood. A shell had gone through his body, and in its passage had set fire to his clothing, and there his corpse lay slowly cooking. There was no time to do anything.
At least one line of battle had preceded us, and, Isuppose, had been used up. Now the order came for us to advance, which we did, probably in brigade line of battle. I cannot say how many regiments there were in it. I know we advanced till within musket range of the rebel rifle pits, when we were halted and ordered to lie down. We did not fire, but the enemy did from their pits and they picked off some of our men. After a short time we were ordered to stand up. I then noticed that sergeant Israel O. Foote of my company was lying on the ground wounded, and evidently in pain. Our column was right faced and put in motion. We advanced parallel to the rebel line, and under their fire. We soon came to the road. Here there was a house or two, and the building, or buildings, had some soldiers in it, or them. We crossed the road—the Sixty-first under Miles did—and brought up in a yard or garden patch that had a high tight board fence on two sides of it. Here we were directed to lie down. The fence hid the enemy from our sight, but the distance to their nearest line of rifle pits was short. Occasional projectiles from cannon and muskets came our way, so that most of us were willing to hug the ground.
George Joyce of Co. C was with the regiment, just returned from hospital partially recovered from a wound received at Malvern Hill. Joyce was a unique character, small of stature, illiterate, an adroit forager, and, if you didn’t know him, you might take him for a mere braggadocio. But such was not the case. He was destitute of fear, or, if he ever experienced the sensation, he overcame it. At Glendale the Colonel ordered the line forward. A soldier said “We will follow the colors.” Joyce was a private, and how he happened to have them I do not know, but he did, and he marched forward, brought the staff down with a bang and said, “There’s your colors, come up to them!” The line moved up, and Barlow made him orderly sergeant of (I think) Co. F then and there. Joyce was back with a stiff arm, so that he could not carry a gun, but while most of us were hugging the ground, he stood up and worked his jaw. He said, “Lie low boys. I’ll let you know if anything happens.” And so he was on the watch. Presently a solid shot came his way. It passed so near his foot, that, while it made no visibleabrasion, his foot began to swell so that he had to cut his boot off, and he had to hobble back.
It was said at the time that Col. Miles, satisfied that the only thing to do to amount to anything, was to make a rush and take this first picket line, had sent back his conclusion, and requested permission to charge the line with his regiment. About this time an accommodating rebel bullet cut his throat, letting out a liberal quantity of fresh bright blood. This so put himhors de combatthat he had to leave the field, somewhat to the longevity account of the Sixty-firsters there present. So we continued in this lowly attitude till after Hooker’s men made another vain assault over the ground we had occupied. Then, toward sundown, we were withdrawn, and marched back into the city, and took up our quarters for the night in the same grist mill we occupied the night before.
So far as we could see, nothing was done the next day, Sunday. But little, if any, fighting was had on Monday. After dark Monday evening our regiment, under command, I think of Capt. Kettle, was marched back as far to the front as we had occupied Saturday, but to the right. Here we were placed in rifle pits that would hold half a dozen each. There was a space of eight or ten feet between each pit. Here we were very close to the enemy—we could hear their movements, and they ours. I should think it was as late as 3 o’clock a. m. of Tuesday when we were withdrawn, and silently made our way to the city, and through it, and to the pontoon bridge we crossed the Friday before. We were nearly the last to cross. Shortly afterward the bridge was taken up, and the Rappahannock again flowed between the hostile camps.
In this battle the only original members of Co. C present with the company were Sergt. I. O. Foote, killed; Geo. Jacobs and myself. Isaac Plumb had been commissioned and transferred to another company and Whitney was with the pioneers.
We marched directly to our old camp. We found things as we left them, and we proceeded, as far as we could with what was on hand, to restore the camp to the condition it wasin before we broke it on the 12th. Many of the men had disposed of shelter tents and blankets during the worthless movement, so that some of the huts had no covering. The next day Gen. Sumner rode up to our camp and had some talk with the men. He asked why some of the huts were not covered with canvass. We said, “We dumped them when we went into the fight.” He replied, “You should have stuck to your tents and blankets!” This was the last time I saw the old man. He left the army in January, 1863, and died in bed about three months later at his home in Syracuse, N. Y. He was a great Corps Commander.
Burnside’s nextfiascowas called his “stuck in the mud” campaign. In this case he was to cross the river to the right about where Hooker did four months later. In this movement the centre and left broke camp while Sumner’s Grand Division remained to take care of the enemy’s right at Fredericksburg. A terrible storm ended the movement almost before it was begun, and we remained comfortable in camp.
Shortly after this Burnside resigned, and Gen. Joseph Hooker was appointed Commander of the Army of the Potomac. Hooker had been named “Fighting Joe Hooker.” As a rule I think, the men were pleased with the change.
On the 13th of February, 1863, the 61st and the 64th broke camp and moved a few miles to the left, and went into the camp lately occupied by the 27th New Jersey, a regiment of Burnside’s old corps, which went with him when he left the Army of the Potomac. The Grand Division formation was abandoned when Hooker took command, and the former corps organization re-adopted. Our new camp was delightfully situated. It fronted about twenty rods back from the edge of the high bluff, which was, perhaps, eighty rods back from the edge of the river. We were below, but in plain view of Fredericksburg. The New Jerseyites had made for themselves better quarters than I had ever occupied, and we “entered into their labors.” I never enjoyed soldiering more than during the weeks we were in this place. Much of the time the weather was good, and we drilled, did picket duty, and got in readiness for the next grapple.
On the 21st of February I received notice that I had beencommissioned Second Lieutenant of Co. C. It was at the time, next to nothing in the field. It did not have over two privates in the ranks, with a sergeant, a drummer and a pioneer. In place of creating new regiments, when the last call was filled, the men should have been sent to the old regiments in the field.
On the 16th of March I was officer of the day for our camp, and, of course, was up and about at all hours of that day and the next night. During the forepart of this service nothing occurred to make it in any way notable, so far as I was concerned, but about 3 o’clock in the morning of the next day, I heard, a considerable distance to the right, a yelling and cheering, and a general “whoopering up” that I couldn’t account for. I hurried to Col. Miles’s tent and reported. He directed me to send out a couple of men to find out. In due time they came back and reported that the Irish Brigade were celebrating “St. Patrick’s Day in the Morning.” The boys with the green flag had a great day of it, in which several barrels of commissary were made dry.
On the 14th of April I wrote home that, probably, the Army would move in a few days. Eight days rations were distributed to the men—five were to be stored in the knapsacks and three in the haversacks. Extra baggage was packed and sent to the rear.
On this day Lieut. Plumb started for home on a ten days leave of absence. He returned and was in his place before the movement came. It was over a year since I had seen home and I had an application in for a like leave, but the situation prevented its issue until after the next great defeat. The 29th of April we broke camp and were ready to join our brigade at a moment’s notice. We did not start till early the next day. During these hours I had a bilious attack, and was sick enough to die, but the tents were all down, and there was no chance to baby me. I groaned and grunted till about the time the regiment started, and thenI hadto move or be left behind. I well remember how I staggered in my attempt to march, but I kept at it, and before night was pretty well. I had a number of such experiences, so that, I conclude, if the screws were more frequently put to people in civil life, there would be many cases of like cures.
We advanced but a few miles and camped. The next day we spent some time in making corduroy road, and advanced but a few miles. April 30th we advanced to the vicinity of the river (Rappahannock) and stacked arms in a piece of woods. If I remember correctly it was here and then that our corps badges were issued. Ours was the trefoil, and our division’s red. The colors for all corps were: first division, red; second division, white; third division, blue. Couch was in command of the second Corps. Hancock was still our division general, and Caldwell our brigade general. In this place I saw Hancock and Caldwell ride by. Hancock was mad about something, and he was shaking his fist under Caldwell’s nose, and God-daming him at the top of his capacity. Hancock was a brave and capable general, but he was demonstratively passionate, and vilely abusive with his tongue. Junius Gaskell of my Company was for months his private orderly, and he saw the polish and the rough of him. Gaskell has told me that he would get mad at his own brother, who was assistant adjutant general of the division, and blaspheme at him and call him the conventional name a man uses, when he wants to say a mean thing of the other fellow based on the alleged status of his mother.
Towards sundown we were put in motion, making our way to the river’s edge, and crossed it on a well-laid pontoon. We ate our supper on the other side of the river, and then advanced a few miles into the country, and halted for the night along side an open piece of woods, not far from the Chancellorsville house. We went into this piece of woods to spread our blankets to bivouac for the night. Our cavalry had been on this ground before, and they had responded affirmatively to the calls of nature, so that we soon discovered we were treading on mounds not as large, but as soft, as the one into which Peter Stuyvesant fell, according to the narrative of Irving. I remember, after spreading my own blanket, that my hand dropped down outside of it, and went slap into one of those mounds. I further remember that I was not the only Sixty-firster that imprecated in strong Saxon. But there we were, and there we lay till sunrise. We learned that the day before a lively skirmish had been fought here, in which one of our Colonels was killed.
Friday, May 1st, about 11 a. m., the artillery became engaged. Before long the Sixty-first N. Y., and the Hundred and Forty-eight Pennsylvania were ordered forward, and we went to the front and right of what I suppose became our line. We worked our way through a piece of scrub pine that was almost impervious, having passed this obstruction, we were in open ground, and we advanced, I think, in skirmish line formation. It was not long before we met Mr. Johnny Reb., and in such force that we fell back at a lively pace, and worked our way through the scrub I have spoken of. We emerged into a large open field where there were a good many troops. By this time the shells of the enemy were making it interesting for us. Hancock was present, and rushed matters in his energetic way to get his men deployed where he wanted them. In due time we were placed in the woods not far from the clearing. We had not more than got into position when these woods were shelled. We were ordered to lie down, and the order was well observed. It seemed to me that I was never under such a raking fire, the noise was fearful, and the amputated tree limbs came down on us like snow flakes in a Winter’s squall. So far as I know, no one was seriously hurt in this terrifying bombardment. After it ceased we moved to another position in the woods, stacked arms, and there spent the night, or till towards morning of the Second, (Saturday.)
Before it was fairly light, we were put in motion and a good deal of time was spent to satisfactorily locate us. As I understand it, we were placed in sight of, and to the left of the Chancellorsville House. We at once stacked arms. A line for rifle pits was run out, and one set of men began to intrench, while another set, with axes, were in front slashing down the timber—falling it to the front, and tangling it, so that it was impossible to rapidly work through it. Before night we had seemingly an impregnable line. It could not have been carried by infantry from the front. Artillery might have battered down our defences, or infantry might have turned it, but we hoped that the Confederates would see fit to attack our line with infantry from the front. Gen. Howard, with the Eleventh Corps, was on the right of our line.He had been duly notified during the day that there was a movement of Rebel troops towards his end of the line. No doubt he was a brave man and believed he could repel any attack that might be made on him, but where the great issues of a battle are at stake, a commander has no business to take needless chances, and, when he can, he should put his men under cover as effectually as may be, so that he can accomplish his purpose with as little loss of limb and life as possible. If, as soon as the Eleventh Corps was located they had gone to work cutting the timber to the front and intrenching, as Hancock’s men did, Jackson would have met a bloody repulse, and Chancellorsville would have been our victory. Instead of that, his guns were stacked, his men were lounging about, and absolutely without protection. (Doubleday’s Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, page 26 and following.) Jackson struck him with a column of 26,000 men about 6 p. m., and stampeded his force as if they had been ewe lambs. After reading many different accounts of this battle, I am fully persuaded that Howard inexcusably, if not criminally, blundered on this occasion. In regular course of time the “stampedees,” if I may use the word, came across the country and struck our line. They were entirely in favor of continuing on, but we protested against it, and told them they would run right into the rebel lines. Some were still bound to go, when the argument of the bayonet converted them to our idea, and they camped down in our rear. Sunday, the 3d, found us in the same place, standing guns in hand behind our breastworks. The fighting to our right was heavy and continuous. About 11 a. m. it was evident the Rebels had forced our position. We saw our men streaming back, in a brief time the enemy had posted artillery that raked our line. It was no longer tenable, and we were ordered to fall back on the double quick. As we did so, we were under heavy artillery fire. We passed near the Chancellor House, which was at the time, I believe, on fire. We halted about one-fourth of a mile to the rear, and there formed line of battle in the edge of the woods. While we were waiting, a number of high class women were located close to us. I was told at the time they were the occupants of the Chancellor House, then burning to the ground. I remember writing home andtelling my people that these women were interesting to look at, and that their features expressed fear and hate. In a little time they were marched off, and the Sixty-first with a part, if not all of the brigade, were advanced, I should think, at right angles with the position held by us for two days. We soon entered a piece of woods and advanced in line of battle through it. As we came near to the clearing beyond, we saw the rifle pits of the enemy, and we met at our part of the line quite a brisk fire, but on the right it was exceedingly severe. One company of the 148th Pa. lost more than half its men. Then our line fell back to the place from which we had advanced, and we at once began another set of entrenchments. In a few hours time we had again defences that we would have been delighted to see assaulted by our friends, the enemy.
In order to keep us from going to seed the Rebels would occasionally send over a shell, or solid shot, and they had the true range very well. I remember while such a practice was under way, and we were on our bellies back from the breastworks some three rods, so that we might not be hurt by the top log if it should be hit by a ball or shell, a large solid shot came hurtling over, just above the top of our works, and plunged into the ground close to the feet of a sandy-haired Irishman by the name of Flarity. I think I was looking that way at the moment. Flarity felt the sweep of the wind as the shot went over him; he raised up sufficiently to see where it had gone into the ground, and said, “Whist, ye divil! was yee’sintindedfor me?” Those who saw the effect of the shot and heard Flarity had a loud smile.
We were not attacked on Monday, though during the day Lieut-Col. Broady called the officers around him and informed them in his Swedish brogue, that it was anticipated that the enemy would charge our position, which we were to hold as long as there was a man left of us, and that if we should give way and fall back we would be fired into by our men, who held a second and third line. This was delightful information, and made us feel very jolly—“over the left?” but I am satisfied there was not a man in the crowd that would have gone back if the chance had been offered. The attack didnot come, and during the night we began the backward march again, which had come to be almost a matter of course. Hooker had twice as many men as Lee, and the movement seemed to open encouragingly. While Doubleday and Walker and Alden do not in so many words say that Hooker was drunk, I think that is the clear inference. If he was, shooting would be too good for him, he ought to have been burned at the stake.
Saturday morning, the second day of May, Col. Miles was put in command of the picket line to our front. His own regiment was not in this advance line, but was in the first main line behind the works that I have mentioned. Our Colonel here made a great reputation for himself. I quote from Swinton, “Amid much that is dastardly at Chancellorsville, the conduct of this young, but gallant and skillful officer, shines forth with a brilliant lustre.” Walker says of him, “So delighted was Hancock at the splendid behavior of his skirmish line that, after one repulse of the enemy, he exclaimed, ‘Capt. Parker, ride down and tell Col. Miles he’s worth his weight in gold!’” While Couch, turning to the Major-Generals who commanded his two divisions, said, in his quiet but emphatic way, “I tell you what it is, gentlemen, I shall not be surprised to find myself, some day serving under that young man.” Shortly after he was dangerously wounded through the body. Walker says (page 240) “Hancock strengthens the skirmish line held by Miles, and instructs that officer not to yield one foot, except on actual necessity; and well is that trust discharged. The troops under Miles’s command consist of the 61st, 64th and 66th New York, with detachments from the 53d Pa, 2d Delaware, and 140th, 145th and 148th Pa. and 27th Conn.” The historian of the Second Corps is in error when he writes that the 61st was placed on the skirmish line. As I have before stated, it remained behind the works it built, until the position was enfladed by the enemy’s artillery, and then it, with the rest of that line, fell back.
He is again in error when he says, (page 244) speaking of the disaster of the 3d, “Hancock’s division was no longer intact. Caldwell, with the 61st, 52d and 57th N. Y., and four companies of the 148th Pa., had, at a sudden call, marched to the UnitedStates Ford road, with a view to the anticipated breaking through of the enemy from the right and rear.” Unless the movement above described is the one made through the wood, in which the 148th Pa. suffered so severely.
During Monday night and Tuesday morning we started back, and after daylight Tuesday, the 5th of May, we “got back on our side of the Rappahannock.” Before night we were again on our campground of the December before.
May 11th I received a fifteen days leave of absence, for which I had applied before the late movement. Those granted prior to the move had been but for ten days. Probably the extra five days was in the nature of a premium for the delay caused by the campaign, and the service in it. I made the most of this time, and was so feasted at home that I started back several pounds heavier than when I left. I did not desire to be away long. At the end of the leave I was anxious to be again with the boys. At this time I was tenting with Nutting and Collins. Nutting came down with typhoid fever. He was sent to hospital, and returned in the Fall.
While in this camp, June 1st, 1863, the First Brigade of the First Division, fell in and passed in review by quite a body of officers, including Hancock, Howard and Barlow. Gen. Howard made appropriate remarks to the remnants of the 5th N. H., 81st Pa., 64th and 61st N. Y., which he commanded in the battle of Fair Oaks that day, the year before. But a small fraction of the men he commanded that day at 7 a. m. were present to hear his words. He said we were in this great strife to win, and we would fight it to a finish, and we applauded his sentiments by lusty cheers. After this we returned to our quarters. Barlow appeared and gave us a chance to grasp his hand. I am sure this great soldier always had a special affection for the men of the 61st N. Y. He had their entire confidence. Unquestionably they obeyed his orders, first, perhaps, because they didn’t dare do otherwise, and, second, because they trusted his judgment and ability to perform what he set out to do.
Now everything indicated a move at short notice. Sunday, the 14th of June, the Confederates shot off their big guns on the heights of Fredericksburg. I think our people crossed the river on a reconnaissance. At 8 p. m. the Second Corps moved, marchedfour miles and halted for the night. Monday, the 15th, we passed Stafford Court House. Tuesday, the 16th, the march took us beyond Dumfries’ Court House. This day was excessively hot, and it was stated that quite a number of the Second Corps died of sunstroke. Lieut. Elmore wasstrickendown by it. He lay on the ground almost motionless—was quite out of his head and talked crazy. He was put into an ambulance, and sent to hospital.
Wednesday, the 17th, at the close of the day, we halted at Pope’s Run on the Orange & Alexandria R. R. Thursday, the 18th, no move was made, except to change camp. In the afternoon of Friday (the 19th) we moved and halted in the evening at Centreville, the place we had been in about nine months before. Saturday about noon we left Centreville for Thoroughfare Gap. We passed over the two Bull Run battlefields, which were fought about a year apart. On the field of 1861 the dead had been buried with the least expenditure of labor. I should say the bodies had been laid close together, and a thin coat of earth thrown over them. As the bodies decayed, the crust fell in exposing in part the skeletons. Some of our men extracted teeth from the grinning skulls as they lay thus exposed to view. On the field of 1862 from one mound a hand stuck out. The flesh instead of rotting off had dried down, and there it was like a piece of dirty marble. Such sights are not refreshing to men going forward in search of a new battlefield. Thoroughfare Gap was reached during the night. We remained in this place until noon of Thursday, the 25th, when we moved, the enemy following us up quite sharply with artillery.
After dark we camped at Gum Spring. It had rained all day. I was placed in charge of the picket line that night, and visited the posts wet to the skin. In the morning a young and innocent calf was sporting in the field we occupied. Some of our wickedest men ended the life of that calf skinned it, and gave me a chunk. I expected to have an unusually good meal out of it. No time was found to cook this meat until we halted at Edward’s Ferry on the Potomac, where we expected to spend the night. Collins and I proposed to have a great meal out of our piece of veal. Our man “Robert” fried it in the stew pan, which was the half of a canteen, and brought it on smoking hot. The experiment of trying to eat it disclosed the fact that it was “deeken veal” and very“stringy,” I think the Spanish war soldiers would have called it. We discarded it and went back to “salt hoss.”
That night we crossed the Potomac on a pontoon, and were again in “My Maryland.” The performances this night were such as to justify vocal daming on the part of a very good Christian. The men were tired, but they were marched and countermarched, and halted and started, and placed and unplaced, until it was fair to conclude that someone was drunk. At last the person directing the column got his bearings and we proceeded. We were plodding along a road in which there was on the right hand side a ditch about two feet deep. Having been up and awake all of the night before, I was fearfully sleepy and hardly able to drag myself along. All at once I went into this ditch, and struck full length. In its bottom there was about two inches of mud, thick enough to encase me. By the time I had pawed out, I could not, if laid out, have been distinguished from a mud sill; but I was too near gone to speak bad words, and so went on in silence, weighing five pounds more than before my descent. Before long we halted and bivouaced for the night. The next morning, the 27th, our regiment started about 10 o’clock, and was thrown out as an advance guard to our baggage train. Along the line of this march there were numerous wild black cherry trees. They were loaded with ripe fruit, and we ate our fill. I think we covered 25 miles this day, and went into camp near Frederick City. We were over this same ground less than a year before, and everything looked as it then did.
Sunday, the 28th, we moved up, and camped just before crossing the Monocacy. We spent the day very comfortably, and went to bed by rolling up in our blankets, when an order came to “fall in.” This we did of course, but wished it had been otherwise. We marched about two miles, and were posted to guard a ford of the Monocacy. We had with us a section of artillery.
Monday, the 29th, we made a march of over thirty-two miles. We halted for the night some miles beyond Uniontown, at about 10 p. m. I know I was so completely tired out, that, as soon as arms were stacked, I stretched out without unrolling my blankets, and I knew nothing till the next morning, when I was awakened by the sun shining into myeyes. I was so stiff that it took some time to get on to my legs, but, after moving about for a while, I was all right.
Tuesday, the 30th, we remained in camp, many straggled in the march of the day before, and during this day most of them came up. Wednesday, July 1st, we started out, none of us knowing for where. We heard no sound of battle that day. No doubt the lay of the land shut off the thunder of the guns. A rumor soon became current that a fight was in progress, and that Gen. Reynolds had been killed. We marched through a little village, perhaps it was Taneytown. Our signalers were up in the steeple of a church on the street we were passing through, and their flags were we-wawing at a great rate. Before long the ambulance containing the corpse of Reynolds passed us. We halted for the night. After sundown our brigade, and probably the division, were in line of battle. As soon as arms were stacked, we went to a rail fence, took down the rails, brought them to our line, and, before going to bed—i. e., spreading our blankets on the ground—we had staked up those rails and banked earth against them so that they would have served quite a purpose as breastworks. By this time lines of camp fires were burning as far as we could see, indicating that the army was massed here, or the ruse was worked to make the enemy think so.
Thursday, the 2d, we were quietly ordered to turn out. Breakfast was eaten, the guns and ammunition were inspected, and by six or seven o’clock we were in motion. On the march I remember we went through a small piece of open timber, where our doctors were posted, and as we went by we shook hands with them, and exchanged little pleasantries. I remember saying to them, “We’ll see you again later.” I tried to say this with a jaunty air, but down in my shoes I did not feel a bit jaunty. I think we all felt that this should be a death grapple, and, if Lee went further north, it ought to be over the played out ranks of this army. We continued our march and halted in a large open field to the left of the village of Gettysburg. Our brigade was massed, and commanded by Col. Edward E. Cross of the 5th N. H.
We remained in this place during the long hours of theday. There was no noise, save occasionally slight picket firing, but it was not the silence of assured quiet. It was the painful waiting before the descent of the certain cyclone.
Our regiments were so small that, except in the case of the 148th Pennsylvania, each regiment made a single line. I think the 148th was divided into two battalions. The 61st had about 90 muskets. While waiting for something to “turn up” Col. Cross came up, and after a little said, “Boys, you know what’s before you. Give ’em hell!” and some of us said “We will, Colonel!” After a time “the ball opened” on our left. A determined attack was made on Sickel’s position. He could not hold it, and re-enforcements were sent to him. I do not remember seeing the 5th N. H. move away but Col. Broady says it was detached before the brigade started. I think it was between 5 and 6 o’clock when our orders came, and we were ready. It was preferable to advance into action, rather than to wait in expectation of the order to move. The direction we were to take was to the front and left. There was no time to countermarch so as to bring the men right in front, so we simply left faced and started. The 61st, since the withdrawal of the 5th N. H. was the right regiment. We advanced in this manner, the brigade in achunk, until we struck a cross road. In this road we deployed by filing right and advancing until the regiments were deployed, then we left faced. This undoubled us, and we stood in line of battle, officers and sergeants in front of the rear rank in front. In front of us across the road was a wheatfield, which was bounded by a fence. We were ordered forward; we scaled the fence and advanced into this wheatfield in line of battle, as I have stated. Finally we were halted, markers were thrown out, and we lined up. The 61st N. Y. was the right of our brigade line. I am not sure what regiment was to our right. It is my recollection that no regiment was in close contact with us. As soon as the alignment was perfected, the officers and file closers passed through the ranks and got in rear of the men. Up to this time not a confederate had been seen in our front.
At the further edge of this wheatfield there were theremnants of a stone wall and scattering trees and brush, which made a natural line for the opposing force to form behind. As soon as I got into my place I kept my eyes to the front, and in a few seconds I saw first one or two men come toward us on a run, and throw themselves down behind this partial stone wall. But a brief time passed when a solid line of men in gray appeared and placed themselves as had the first comers. At once, and without any ordering, the firing opened by both sides. It was slightly descending from where we stood to the position of the enemy. I think their location was the best, independent of the protection afforded by the old wall. It was a case of give and take. As a rule our men behaved splendidly; with a single exception I saw no flinching or dodging. I saw a certain second lieutenant doubling himself together so as to bring his head below the line of the heads of the men in front of him. Capt. Keech saw his posture and came up to him and said, “Stand up! What are you crouching for?” The fellow replied, “I’m not crouching.” Keech replied, “Yes, you are!” and he hit him across his humped-up back a sharp rap that made him grunt, and said, “Stand up like a man!” In battle the tendency is almost universal for the men to work out of a good line into clumps. The men of natural daring will rather crowd to the front, and those cast in more timid or retiring molds will almost automatically edge back and slip in behind. Hence the necessity of not alone commissioned officers in the rear to keep the men out in two ranks, but sergeants as well. I think I have stated that there were less than one hundred men present with the regiment. For the less than ninety muskets in the ranks we had a number of commissioned officers. More than was needed. We had officers enough in our regiment in this great battle to have commanded three hundred men, and it is a standing proof of the gross ignorance, or the villainy of the New York government that such was the case. In the early part of the day I remarked to a number of the men near by that when some one of them was knocked out I was going to take his musket and get into the firing line. We were in this wheatfield and the grain stood almost breast high. The Rebs had their slight protection,but we were in the open, without a thing better than a wheat straw to catch a Minnie bullet that weighed an ounce. Of course, our men began to tumble. They lay where they fell, or, if able, started for the rear. Near to me I saw a man named Daily go down, shot through the neck. I made a movement to get his gun, but at that moment I was struck in the shoulder. It did not hurt and the blow simply caused me to step back. I found that I could not work my arm, but supposed that hurt was a flesh wound that had temporarily paralyzed it, and that it was not serious enough to justify my leaving the fighting line. So, I remained and did what I could in directing the firing. Sometime after this, I felt a blow on the left leg, and it gave way, so that I knew the bone was broken. This stroke did not hurt, and I did not fall, but turned around and made a number of hops to the rear, when my foot caught in the tangled grain and I went down full length. While lying here entirely helpless, and hearing those vicious bullets singing over my head, I suffered from fear. I had, as most men do, got over the dread of battle after I was once fairly in it, and was enjoying the excitement, but when I was “done for” as a fighter, and could only lie in that zone of danger, waiting for other bullets to plow into my body, I confess it was with the greatest dread. While so lying and dreading, in some way, I knew that two men were going to the rear. I yelled out to them, “Drag me back.” They heeded the order, or entreaty, and one man grabbed one arm, and the other man the other arm, and they started back with me between them, not on any funeral gait, but almost on a run. My right arm was sound, but the left one was broken at the shoulder joint, and on that side it was pulling on the cords and meat. I wobbled much as a cut of wood drawn by two cords would have. These men pulled me back in this fashion for a number of rods, and until I thought they had pulled me over a rise of ground like a cradle knoll, when I shouted, “Drop me” and they dropped, and went on without note or comment. I had a tourniquet in my haversack, and with my one servicable arm, I worked away till I got it out, and did the best I could to get it around my leg, for anything I knew I was bleeding to death, and, if possible, Iwanted to check the flow of blood. I think my effort did not amount to much. After a time the firing tapered down to occasional shots. Of course, I did not know who was on top. Certainly no body of our men had fallen back near my bivouac. In a short time I heard a line of battle advancing from the rear. As the men came in sight I sang out, “Don’t step on me, boys!” Those in range of me stepped over and on they went, to take their medicine. I understand they rushed forward and fought the enemy in advance of the line we occupied. It was not many minutes after these troops passed me that the rattle of musketry was again heard from that wheat field. It was kept up for a good while, and then it died down. No body of our men went back past me.
After a while I was aware that a skirmish line was coming from the front, and soon discovered that the skirmishers were not clothed in blue. The officer in command was mounted and rode by within a few feet of me. I should judge that this line went as far as the road I have spoken of. Shots were exchanged at about that distance to the rear of me. This fighting was not severe and a short time after these gentlemen in gray moved back in the same manner they had advanced, greatly to my relief. I did not fancy remaining their guest for any length of time.
As the Rebs went back, a nice looking young fellow, small of stature, with bright black eyes, whose face was smutted up with powder and smoke, came along where I lay. My sword was on the ground beside me. He picked it up, and said, “Give me that scabbard!” I said “Johnny, you will have to excuse me, as my arm is broken and I can’t unbuckle my belt.” He made no comment, but went off with my sword. Then matters quieted down, and there was no sound to be heard in that vicinity, except the groanings of the wounded. As long as I lay perfectly quiet, I was not in much pain, but if I attempted to stir the pain was severe. I had heard that wounded men always suffered from thirst, but I was not specially thirsty, and I wondered at it. I did not have any desire to groan, and take on, as many about me were doing. So I wondered if I were really badly hurt, and if I could groan, if I wanted to. I determined to try it, anddrew in a good breath, and let out a full grown-man groan. I was satisfied with the result and then kept quiet. This action on my part will read like the performance of a simpleton, and I would not record it, but for the fact that it was the freak and experience of one man, helpless on the battlefield. These personal experiences are, of course, less often written about than are the general movements of troops in battle accounts.
After a time I was satisfied our people were establishing a picket line some ways to my rear. I succeeded in securing the attention of a sergeant. He told me the number of his regiment, which was a new Pennsylvania regiment. I told him I wanted to get back out of this debatable belt of land between the skirmish lines. He said he would go and see his officer. In a little while he came back with a Lieutenant. He was a good hearted man, and commiserated my condition, and inquired what he could do for me. I told him my present anxiety was to get to the rear of our skirmish line—that where I then lay was likely to be fought over again, and any little thing would, at least, set the pickets firing at one another. I told him I thought if he and the sergeant would make a chair of their hands, as children often do, they could carry me between them. With difficulty they got me up, and their hands under me, and started, but the broken leg hung down, and caught in the trampled wheat, and I told them I couldn’t go it. Then the Lieutenant said he could carry me on his back. I noticed that he had braced up with commissary, and his legs were not wholly reliable, but I thought he could manage me as a pack. So he squatted, and the sergeant helped get me on his back with my arm around his neck. Then he attempted to raise me up, but my weight and the tanglefoot were too much, and we all went down in a heap together, I under. As soon as I could express myself in words, I told the men, if they would straighten me out and cover me up with my blanket, I would excuse them with thanks for their kind intentions. This they did, and left me with no one in sight. It now grew dark rapidly and soon there was as little light as at any time that night. I was wide awake, and my thoughts went on excursions the wide world around.
I think it must have been about midnight—for hours I had heard no sound but the groanings of the men lying on the field about me. All at once I heard a voice. It came from the mouth of Phil Comfort, a private of Co. A. Phil had always been one of the incorrigibles. He would get drunk, and brawl, and fight on the slightest provocation, but he also had the credit of doing much for the wounded of the regiment. I do not know what Phil’s business was, out there between the picket lines at midnight of that day. I suspect he may have been there for the purpose of accommodating any corpse that was desirous of being relieved of any valuables he was possessed of, fearing they might be buried in an unmarked grave with his dead body. I never asked Phil about the orders, or from whom they came, that sent him into hailing distance of my place of repose, but I made haste to call Phil up to me. He responded to my call, and in a moment was staring down on me in the starlight. He said, “Why, Lieutenant that’s you, aint it!” I admitted the allegation, and said I wanted to get out of here. He replied that he would go for a man and stretcher, and return as soon as possible, and off he went. Before long he was back with man and stretcher, and after much working they got me loaded and started for a point at which the ambulances were assembling. I was set down in the dooryard of a house built of hewed logs, whitewashed. In 1866 I visited the battlefield and this house was standing. I think it has since been removed and a frame house put up on its site.
After an hour’s waiting, I was loaded into an ambulance without taking me from my stretcher. This was fortunate for me, as I kept it until it wasswappedfor a new one two weeks later. The stretcher kept me from the ground, and was an important factor in my recovery. A man was placed beside me shot through the body. He was in an agony of pain, and it was impossible for him to restrain his groans. When the ambulance started, it went anywhere but in a good road, and as it bumped over logs and boulders, my broken leg would thresh about like the mauler of a flail. I found it necessary to keep it in place by putting the other one over it. At last we stopped and were unloaded. It was still dark,but in due time light broke in the East, and a little later I could roll my head and take in some of the surroundings. Most of the wounded of the regiment had been gathered at this place, and we made by far the largest part of it. Many of the men were so hurt that they could move about, and they all came and made me an early morning call. After a time two of our regimental doctors appeared. They cut open my trousers leg, found where the bullet went in, and, I think, put a strip of adhesive plaster over the wound, and they did the same with the shoulder. It was clear to my mind that the leg, at least, must come off. I expressed my opinion and said, I thought it would be better to do it at once, than to wait till inflammation set in. At my earnest request they promised me that they would see to it that I should be among the first operated on.
While in this place my life long friend and companion, Lieut. Isaac Plumb, came to me. We had been side by side since the organization of the regiment, and, until now, neither of us had been badly hurt. He told me that he saw me as I went down, and sang out “Uncle Fuller, that’s good for sixty days.” He said I made up quite a face, as if it hurt. Shortly afterward he said he had a remarkable experience. He was struck and knocked down, and he supposed a bullet had gone through him, and he was done for. He said he clapped his hands over the place of the supposed wound and held on tight, with the thought that conscious existence might be a little prolonged. He expected to feel life ebbing, but he retained consciousness, and, after a while, lifted his hands, expecting to see an eruption of blood, but he did not. He began to move his body with no bad results, and, finally, got onto his feet, resumed his place and left the field with his men. He did not discover what had happened till he prepared to bunk down for the night, when he unbuckled his sword belt he discovered a strange formation in his vest pocket. In it he had a bunch of small keys on a ring. A Minnie bullet had struck his belt plate square and had glanced so as to go under the plate into his vest pocket, where it met the bunch of keys. There was enough force andresistanceto bed the bullet into the ring and the key heads,and there the keys stood out held in place by the embedded bullet. He was able to send this relic of that great battle home, and his mother has it now among her choicest mementos.
After a time the division operating table was set up in the edge of a piece of timber not very far away. I was on the watch, expecting every minute to be taken out, but I waited and waited and no one came for me. I became quite impatient at this delay. I saw one after another brought on, carried up, and taken away, and I was not called for. This aroused my stock of impatience, of which, I naturally always hadquiteenough. At last I asked my friend Porter E. Whitney and another man to take me down to the table. I made up my mind, if the mountain did not go to Mahomet, the next best thing was for the prophet to go to the mountain. The men set me down as nearly under the noses of the doctors as could be, and, if something hadn’t happened, I presume in a few minutes that heretofore good left leg would have made one of the fast growing pile; but about that interesting moment for me, the enemy began to drop shells that exploded in and about the locality. It was not a fit place to pursue surgical operations. The doctors knew it, so they hastily gathered up their knives and saws, and moved to a place where those projectiles did not drop. The two friends who had taken me there, picked up my stretcher and started for a like place. We had to move several times before the greatest artillery duel of the War began. When that opened we were out of range of it, but we could not hide from the tremble of the ground—the surface of the earth at that place shook and quivered from the terrible concussion of the artillery. The roar was enough to deafen one, and inspire the dread that no one would be left alive and unhurt. Generally however, the noise is a considerable part of such a bombardment. Probably comparatively slight damage was done by it, until our artillery opened on the advancing lines of Pickett’s men.
During the day friends occasionally poured water on my wounds, which, doubtless, kept the swelling down.
Pickett was defeated. Grant, Sherman, Sheridan or Thomas,if in command at the time, would have plunged the fresh Sixth Corps on to the rear of Lee’s routed men, and effectively crushed him. Meade was new to the place and preferred a respectable certainty to possible disaster. Things quieted down, and that night,
“Mr. Lee who had come to seeWhat he could do about going through,The North, turned South.”
The boys who were toting me came to a stone house with a wide piazza clear around it. I was laid on the floor of it, which made a hard bed. I ached in every bone, but there was nothing to do but “grin and bear it.” After a while Frank Garland of Co. G was brought and laid on the floor near me. He could raise upon his elbow, but his breathing was painful to hear. A bullet had gone through his lungs and every time they filled a portion of the air went through the wound with a ghastly sound. I said to him, “Are you badly wounded, Frank?” He replied, “Oh, yes!”
I had eaten nothing since the morning of the day before, and was faint. Some of our drummer boys found a bin of ground oats, and they made a gruel that tasted good, and I made quite a meal of it. That evening about 10 o’clock, an ambulance came for me, and I was taken to the ground selected for the 2d Corps hospital. It was another rough ride across lots. Once there I was taken out of my stretcher, the one Phil Comfort took me off the field on, and taken at once to the operating table. A napkin was formed into a tunnel shape, a liberal supply of chloroform poured into it and the thing placed over my nose and mouth. I was told to take in long breaths. To me it seemed a long time before the effect came, probably it was a short time, but at last my head seemed to grow big and spin around. At this stage I remember a doctor had his fingers in the wound in the shoulder and said to the others “Here is a fine chance for a resection.” I did not know what that meant, but learned afterwards. When I came to myself, I looked down far enough to see a quantity of bandage wound about a stump of a leg eight inches long. My shoulder was bound up, but otherwise not operated on. Failure to resect may have been due to thegreat amount of work pressing upon the surgeons. They were worked as many hours continuously as they could stand, and still many a man had to be neglected. I was taken off the table and put back on my stretcher, which was set down in a wall tent, this tent was as full as it well could be of amputated cases. For the most part the men bore their suffering without a groan. Among the number was a young Confederate officer, that had lost an arm. He probably felt that he was a good way from home, and he “took on,” bemoaning his fate as a cripple and a sufferer. He wore out the patience of every other man in the tent. At last I yelled out to him to shut up, or I would get up and kick him out doors. My bark was effective, we heard no more from him. All of us were amputates, or seriously wounded. During the night a doctor came, and gave every man a dose of morphine, which produced a happy state of mind and body. As I was taken from the table one of my doctors said, “Fuller, you may drink all of the whiskey you can get, and want.”