Note:—There is no evidence that Armistead's brigade of R. H. Anderson's division drew trigger in this battle.
Note:—There is no evidence that Armistead's brigade of R. H. Anderson's division drew trigger in this battle.
The actual number of Union soldiers on the firing line in the battle of Sharpsburg could not have exceeded 68,000 men, but Porter's corps, some 19,000, was close up in the center in reserve, with more than 14,000, only a march away.
The night of the battle several of our men went out on the battlefield, to look after the dead and wounded and for other purposes. Among those from my company who went out in this way were Travis Burton and Lieutenant Stone, who shortly returned with an unwounded prisoner of a Rhode Island regiment, who had failed to get away with his retreating comrades. This prisoner was a mere boy, who exhibited considerable signs of fear and trepidation, and with whom Captain Ashby had quite a little fun.
On passing over a battlefield after the close of the battle, it will usually be observed that the pockets of the dead, and sometimes of the wounded, have been turned out. A soldier will generally take from the battlefield and the dead what he wants.
The next day, the 18th, was in the main quiet, with some little picket firing; the wounded were being cared for and the dead buried. In the immediate front of our brigade, some fifty yards away, the farthest point reached by Harland's Federal brigade the day before, and the ground on which it stood, when charged by the brigades of Toombs and Kemper, I counted the bodies of 33 dead Union soldiers of the 8th Connecticut regiment. One of the wounded was still living, to whom I gave a drink of water and filled his canteen. During the day a man of our regiment, who had gone forward to help remove the Federal wounded, was shot through the body and killed by a Federal sharpshooter, who was so far away that the report from his rifle was not heard by the men engaged in the removal of the wounded.
On the night of the 18th, we left the battle line, moving to the Potomac, wading the river at the ford near Sheperdstown, and instead of singing when crossing the river thirteen days before, "Maryland, MY Maryland!" the song was, "Carry me back, oh! carry me back to old Virginia, once more."
A halt was made some three miles from the river; moving in a day or two to near Bunker Hill, and again to a point nearer to Winchester, close by a large spring, where we received quite a number of accessions to our ranks by the return of the shoeless, sick, and some wounded men left along the route of our advance into Maryland.
Longstreet's command left the vicinity of Winchester the latter part of October, 1862, crossing the Shenandoah river, Blue Ridge, and reaching Culpeper the early part of the first week in November, going into camp a short distance southeast of the court house. Several companies of the 7th regiment were from Orange, Culpeper, Madison and Rappahannock, and while in this camp the friends of these men came with wagons loaded with provisions and clothing, supplying many of their needs, and relieving much of their suffering.
Here the reorganization of the army was effected into two army corps, the first commanded by General James Longstreet, the second by General Thomas J. (Stonewall) Jackson. Later a third corps was organized, of which Lieutenant General A. P. Hill was appointed commander. Pickett's division was also organized, composed of five brigades, as follows:
Many additions were made to the ranks at Culpeper, greatly increasing our strength; the organization now being better as to numbers and discipline than at any previous period. The health of the soldiers was also much improved; the entire army, however, still being deficient in equipment, especially shoes, overcoats and blankets, and the chilly November winds, the precursor of that fearfully cold winter just ahead, causing suffering among the men, who bore the same without murmuring—such was their metal. The weather by this time had become quite cold, the men building strong fires, and to keep off the cold ground at night they procured, when possible, two or three flat fence rails, placing them near the fire, lying down upon them. Such was their feather bed, covering themselves with a blanket if they chanced to have one.
Here the writer was appointed Sergeant-Major of the regiment, succeeding Sergeant-Major Park, disabled in the second battle of Manassas—an honor as proud as anything that has come to him since.
The march to Fredericksburg began November 18, over the old plank road, passing through the Wilderness and Chancellorsville, soon to be drenched in blood in the most famous battles of the war—Chancellorsville, Wilderness and Spottsylvania. Here it may be said that in the County of Spottsylvania more important battles were fought, more blood shed and more men killed and wounded, and more soldiers lie buried, than in any other county in the United States. Here were fought the first and second battles of Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, the two days Wilderness, and the series of battles in and around Spottsylvania court house, including countless skirmishes and cavalry combats. It is no exaggeration to say that the men killed and wounded in the battles, skirmishes and combats in the county reached 100,000.
When we reached the vicinity of Fredericksburg, snow had fallen to the depth of two inches or so, which had to be cleared off to find a dry place to go to bed. Here we remained for twenty or more days, performing no guard duty, but kept busy gathering fuel to make fires to keep warm. Eating our rations gave us little trouble, not nearly so much as when or where the next would come from. The men smoked, some croaked—for it must be remarked that in the army there are chronic grumblers, who complain of short rations, continually saying the war would never end; others that we were going to be whipped in the next fight; but men of this class were few in number, the greater part in good spirits, buoyant with hope and confident of the final triumph of our cause.
At early dawn, December 11, we stood to arms, continuing to do so until early Saturday morning, the 13th, two days and nights, then moving out from camp in the direction of the Rappahannock. The two days' suspense just alluded to proved a severe task on the staying powers of the strongest men. Our march now continued until we reached a point overlooking the river valley. Although frosty, the air bracing, a dense fog hovered pall-like over the valley below, shutting off from our view the enemy, now in full force along the river, and the broad bottom land at our feet. As the sun broke away the fog, the movement continuing, there was heard to our left occasional rattle of musketry. Meeting a negro man loaded with blankets, canteens, haversacks and general baggage, puffing as if almost out of breath, with great drops of sweat as big as peas on his face—someone said to him: "Hello, Uncle! Where are you going?"
His answer was, "To de r'ar, Sah!"
Then the query, "To what command do you belong?"
"Barksdale's brigade, Sah."
"Is it running, too?"
"No, boss, it never runs, but I always do."
By this time the fog had so lifted that we could see in front far to our right the gleam of a long line of bayonets, though we could not see the men who held the guns. We halted on the break of the heights, where we witnessed the combat between the Federal and Confederate skirmishers of Jackson's command, as well also as the assault by a part of the Federal line of battle against Jackson's men, and the repulse of the Federals. Not being longer permitted to enjoy the further progress of the battle on that part of the field, we were now hastened down the hill and formed in line of battle in a wood with an open field in front; the fog, however, still bothered in seeing the game we were watching. The dictates of self preservation impelled us to throw up some rude breastworks, which would furnish fair protection from rifle or musket balls, but none from artillery fire. While in this position, where we remained until the middle of the afternoon, there could be heard the commands of the officers of the enemy quite as distinctly as those of our own.
Many of the men without overcoats and thinly clad stood shivering from the cold fog, their beards white with frost. General Kemper came along and made a patriotic, soul-stirring speech, which had a good effect upon the men, also making similar speeches to other regiments of the brigade.
The Confederates on the left at the foot of Marye's Hill being heavily pressed, our brigade was withdrawn and pushed across the hills and valleys to a position in rear and easy supporting distance of the troops holding position at the foot of the hill. While in this new position, the musket and rifle balls of the enemy flew thick and fast, a number being wounded, among them Lewis N. Wiley, of D company, one ball striking the writer's left foot, which had become so hard by going without shoes that but little injury was inflicted. At dark and as the last charge of the enemy was repulsed, our brigade moved forward, relieving some Georgia and North Carolina troops; the left of my regiment resting on the road leading out of Fredericksburg over the hill, and extending to the right on the upper side of a road leaving the last named road at right angles; occupying the angle made by these roads, where we lay down on the upper side of the road on a wall made by a stone fence built against the foot of the hill, which afforded us no protection.
The 1st Virginia regiment was on our right and in line in the road and behind the stone fence; the men of our regiment, with bayonets, boards, sticks and tin cups, went to work to cut a trench on top of the wall on which it lay, and by daylight the next morning had made themselves works sufficient to protect them against minnie balls.
Around us lay the Confederate dead, two dead Georgians lying in the midst of my company, by whose side the writer lay down and slept. The night was cool, but not cold; there was no moon, but bright starlight, to which, for several hours, was added the Aurora borealis. About midnight I was aroused by Captain Bane, who said to me, "They are coming," and with my ear to the ground I could distinctly hear hoof strokes approaching from the direction of the city. In a moment every man was at his post, musket in hand; dead stillness reigned. The mounted parties rode up to the intersection of the roads and were captured by the first regiment. The party consisted of three Federal officers, one a member of General Hooker's staff. They had ridden forward to examine their skirmish line and had been allowed to pass through unchallenged, finding themselves in a trap. They were sent under guard to the provost-marshal in charge of an Irish sergeant and guard of the 1st Virginia. This sergeant on his return next morning, while passing our company, was severely wounded by a Federal sharpshooter standing behind the corner of a brick house a hundred yards or more away.
We had been advised on the night of the battle that the attack was expected to be renewed the next morning, in view of which we had been furnished with one hundred rounds of ammunition, with instructions to hold the position at all hazards, that we would be supported by a line of battle on the hill in our rear. The attack was not made, though we remained in position during the day and night, skirmishing and sharpshooting. Next day after the battle, while holding the line in front of Fredericksburg, some of our boys carried water to the Federal wounded lying in our front, though at the risk of life.
Amid a rainstorm on the night of the 14th, the enemy stole away and crossed the river. The battle over and the danger past, we retired to our camp on the hills south of Fredericksburg, where we remained for nearly two months, suffering much from cold, want of clothing and shoes; many of the barefooted men making and wearing rawhide moccasins. Frequently, to prevent suffering at night, the men made log fires and in evening rolled away the burning logs, cleared away the fire and ashes and made their sleeping places on the warm earth from which the fire had been removed. When we had snow, the men would fight snowball battles, in which frequently someone was seriously hurt. We did little picket or guard duty, and many engaged in card playing. Religious exercises were now infrequent. I recall going once to divine services, when the Chaplain, Mr. McCarthy, preached; and I remember to this good day the text which formed the basis of his discourse. It was from the 53d chapter of Isaiah, verse i: "Who hath believed our report? and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?"
During the long, dreary, cold two months following the battle of Fredericksburg, while in camp amid privations and suffering, the men discussed freely the questions touching the war, its conduct, and prospects for peace. The soldiers talked gravely of these matters, discussing them frequently with much earnestness, not a few becoming homesick and longing for the termination of the game of conflict and death. An ever abiding confidence in our cause, its justness, and our belief in the final triumph of right over wrong coupled with invincible spirits ever ready to brave the storm of battle, caused our sufferings and hardships to be treated as trivial, as compared with the issue at stake. The end, however, was not yet in sight, and little did we dream that it would be reached as it was; for while it was supposed that the private soldier knew little of what was transpiring throughout the country—North, South or in Europe, yet it is a fact that the questions of resources of the South in men and supplies; the North with its vast resources, with the old world to draw upon for men to fight its battles, were frequently talked of, as well as the remote possibility of foreign intervention; its effect upon the war; the peace feeling North, and its probable effect. Our confidence in the armies of the Confederacy, and our ability to successfully resist the Federal armies with their overwhelming numbers was scarcely doubted. It was remarkable what confidence the men reposed in General Lee; they were ready to follow him wherever he might lead, or order them to go.
In company D was one, Dan East, who was never in a battle, and never intended to be; yet Dan knew more about it than anyone who had gone through it; always turning up after the battle with a full haversack, good blanket, overcoat and shoes. As usual, Dan walked into the camp after the battle of Fredericksburg, when the Colonel determined to punish him; he caused a placard with the word "Coward" in large letters to be fastened across his back, and with rail on his shoulder he was marched to and fro in front of the regiment; but this had little effect on Dan, and the first opportunity he helped himself to a fellow soldier's clothing and other goods, which were found in his quarters. The men of the company decided to rid the service of Dan by whipping him out of it, which they did.
It was while in this camp that a rencounter occurred between Hight and Young, both large, stout, athletic men, pretty equally matched in size, strength and good mettle. The fight was as close as two brave men could make it, but friends intervened and the combatants were separated.
Let us now return to the result of the battle of Fredericksburg, as far as forces engaged and casualties suffered are concerned.
The Federal army in this battle numbered 50,000; casualties, 12,653. Confederate army, 20,000; casualties, 4201. Casualties in Kemper's brigade, 46; in 7th Virginia regiment, 5; in Co. D, 1; Lewis N. Wiley, wounded—with the whack taken at the writer's foot, already described.
January 20, 1863, the command was suddenly called to arms, marched up the Rappahannock in the direction of Banks' ford, where, it was reported, the Federal army was threatening to cross the river. We remained out one night in the snow, rain, mud and slush, returning to camp next day.
Monday, February 16, 1863, in the midst of a storm of snow and sleet, Pickett's division took up its line of march heading toward Richmond. Reports were rife relating to destination, some saying Charleston, others Savannah or Blackwater; all were on the list of probabilities, the line of march being through the counties of Spottsylvania, Louisa and Hanover. At Hanover Junction Sergeant A. L. Fry, who had returned from captivity, rejoined us. Within eight miles or so of Richmond the moving army went into camp, resting a few days from fatiguing march, then proceeding through Richmond to Chester station on the Richmond and Petersburg railroad.
The brave Lieutenant-Colonel Flowerree of the 7th regiment, having imbibed a little freely, as we passed through Richmond was placed in arrest, charged with the breach of soldierly good conduct. He was finally restored to us on the return from Gettysburg; a streak of luck that saved the Colonel from being in the great battle.
The day of our arrival at Chester was cool, the early night was clear, the sky blue, the stars shining—nothing that betokened any sudden change of weather. Awakening next morning we found we had a blanket of snow twelve inches deep—the men lying in rows reminding one of a cemetery, and on rising, of the resurrection day. We soon built roaring fires and went out and fought a great snowball battle. The explosion of cartridges in a cartridge box that had been hung up too near the fire came near costing Anderson Meadows the loss of his eyes. Meadows was quite a remarkable man. When he went into the army he could neither read nor write, but during the service he became quite proficient in all, was a number one cook and a brave soldier, surviving the war.
Our next move took us to a point about a mile southeast of Petersburg, where we went into camp. The weather had somewhat moderated, but snow still on the ground. Our Lieutenant Stone, who had been home on furlough, returned to us here. The camp was always more lively when he was present, for there was no fun or mischief started in which he did not make a full hand, and in the army anything that cultivates cheerfulness is of real value. Many of the men went into Petersburg, some without leave, among them Gardner of Company D, who, on his return, was discovered wearing a good looking hat instead of the old, dingy cap he had worn away. Inquiry being made as to how he became possessed of the hat, he replied: "I swapped with a fellow—but he wasn't there!"
March 25 a shift was made to the Weldon and Petersburg railway station, and while the train to carry us south was being made ready, some of the men took on too many drinks, our jolly Lieutenant Stone being one, and becoming boisterous, fell into the hands of the city police. To keep our Lieutenant out of their clutches, the men of the company put him in a box car, fastening the doors, but as he did not fancy being a prisoner in a box car he kicked off one of the doors, coming out with it, hanging as he came on a nail or part of the door, the leg of his trousers catching the same a little above the knee, tearing one leg of his trousers.
Next morning found us at Weldon, where we remained several hours, and while here Pat Wood, an Irishman of the 1st regiment, started some kind of a row, which brought General Ransom, the commandant of the post, upon the scene, and which resulted in a peremptory order for the whole command to move on, which it did. Crowded into box cars, without fire, the weather cold, the result cold feet and general discomfort. But a soldier equal to almost any emergency, especially where his personal safety and comfort are concerned, and determining to have fires, covered the floor of each car with sand. On this fires were made of longleaf North Carolina pine. The smoke was dense, and, having no escape, settled upon the men, so that when Goldsboro was reached that evening we were thought to belong to the "colored brigade."
Next day we proceeded about twenty-five miles to Kinston, on the Neuse river, about thirty-five miles west from Newbern. From Kinston we did some scouting and picket duty on the roads leading to Newbern, the object seeming to be to keep the enemy at Newbern close in, while our commissariat gathered supplies, as General Longstreet with Hood's division was likewise doing at Suffolk, Va. The enemy had occupied Kinston the preceding winter, and many of the houses had been destroyed; the inhabitants had removed, either inside the Union military lines, or to the interior of the state. The village, in fact, was entirely deserted.
Our brigade left Kinston April 9, moving by rail to Goldsboro and Weldon to a point twenty or more miles south of Petersburg, from whence we marched through the Blackwater region—the counties of Southampton, its county town Jerusalem, Isle of Wight—to the neighborhood of Suffolk in Nausemond County, where we united with the division of General Hood, then closely investing the town.
I will here relate two incidents occurring on our journey to and from Kinston. While halting at Goldsboro, a soldier of Company F, 24th Virginia, named Adams, went to a pie stand kept by an old lady, took part of her pies and was walking away without paying therefor, when he was arrested by a town policeman, whom the soldier sought to resist, and in the fight Adams was killed. The other incident was, as we were being transported by the railway in box cars between Kinston and Goldsboro, a part of the men were on top of the boxes, and along portions of the railway were overhead bridges for the accommodation of travelers on the county roads. One, Manly Reece of Co. G, 24th Virginia, standing erect on one of the box cars, and not observing an overhead bridge, was struck, knocked from the car and killed.
At Suffolk lively skirmishing was kept up for quite a while, sometimes approaching a battle. While here we were formed into line of battle to receive the foe, but he did not come. Matters thus continued until we retired, as hereinafter related.
From a letter I wrote to a friend dated April 25 (the original furnished while writing these pages), it appears we reached Suffolk the 12th of the month. I state in the letter: "This is the 13th day that we have been in close proximity to the enemy." While at Suffolk three of my Company D—Hugh J. Wilburn, James H. Gardner and John S. W. French, deserted to the enemy.
Having accomplished the object of the expedition, the troops quietly withdrew from the front a little after dark on the evening of Monday, May 4. On reaching South Quay, we heard of the great Confederate victory at Chancellorsville. Pushing ahead through Petersburg to Chester Station, we again halted there for a few days for rest and recuperation. While here in camp, Isaac Hare and Travis Burton of Company D took "French furlough" and joined themselves to a portion of the Confederate army serving in southwestern Virginia. The cause of this action was never explained.
Baldwin L. Hoge, in handling a knife, accidentally wounded himself in the knee, was sent to the hospital, and was not able for field service for several months.
It was here also that the men of the divisions of Pickett and Hood heard with sorrow of the death of General Stonewall Jackson, an irreparable loss; for his place could not well be filled, and it seemed that with his loss our cause began to wane. The humblest private in all the armies of the South deeply mourned the loss of this Christian man and able general.
Hood's Texans were encamped across the railroad from us, amusing themselves by putting musket caps on the rails just in advance of the approach of a passenger train, then taking their stand close beside the track, bushes or brush in hand. On the caps exploding, the passengers would put their heads out of the windows to ascertain the cause of the popping, and found on drawing their heads back into the coach that they were hatless—a slick trick of the soldiers to get for themselves a supply of hats.
Resuming the line of march May 12, we passed through Richmond to Taylorsville in Hanover County, not far from the Junction, the crossing of the Virginia Central over the Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac railroad.
A series of religious meetings were here held and many professed faith in Christ, the writer among the number. From a letter to a friend at home, dated at Taylorsville, May 26, I see that I stated: "We are now resting from our hard marches, which, however, may be resumed at any time. There is a religious meeting going on here now. Rev. Dr. Pryor of Petersburg is preaching for us. I think he will be able to do great good. Nearly every man in the brigade seems to take an interest in the meetings. I hope that much good may be done. Our soldiers are loyal to their country, and Oh! how grand if they would only be loyal to God."
In the interim of our arrival at Taylorsville and leaving there, the division took a journey across the Pamunkey into King and Queen County, returning to Taylorsville. A few days thereafter we had division review, being drawn up in line to receive General Pickett, to whom, as he passed by, we were to lower the flags and present arms, the drums to beat. John Whitlock was the drummer boy for our regiment, a little waif picked up in Richmond by some one of our regimental band or drum corps, of which Professor Hughes was leader, with Frank Burrows and others members of the band. John Whitlock was a mischievous boy, who, to keep from beating the drum, would lose or throw away the sticks; so when on this review he was ordered by the Colonel to beat the drum, there was no response, on account of which, on return to camp, I was ordered to place on John a drum shirt, which consisted of taking the heads out of the drum and slipping the barrel down over his arms. John cried and begged, and I let him go upon his promise to do better in the future.
At Taylorsville Pickett's division, fully equipped, was made ready for the most active field service. The ranks were recuperated by those who had been sick, those recovered from wounds, as well as by recruits, and all vacancies in the officers of the line and staff, among them Captain John H. Parr, who had been appointed Adjutant to fill the vacancy occasioned by the death of Adjutant Starke, killed in the battle of Frazier's Farm. Company D had lost up to this time, killed in battle, died of wounds, disease, transfers to other commands, detached service and desertion, nearly 70 men; had received no recruits except those received in August, 1861, and some were sick and in hospital.
It is probable we left Taylorsville for Culpeper June 3, as I see from a letter written by me on the 11th of June from a point about eight miles from Culpeper court house, that I say: "We have been marching for the last eight days, have now halted eight miles from Culpeper court house. Our cavalry had a severe fight with the enemy day before yesterday. I think we are to have a hard summer's campaign. It is reported that the Yankees have moved back to Manassas and Bull Run. There has been some fighting at Fredericksburg, where some of the enemy have crossed and are throwing up fortifications."
It was our custom to call the enemy Yankees; some said "D—d Yankees," and they likewise called us "D—d rebels," neither side meaning any offense, nor the expression carrying any personal ill will. It is told by General Sherman in his Atlanta, or some other campaign, that he heard an old negro praying, saying among other things, "Oh! Lord, bless the d—d Yankees." We used the word Yankee, prior to the war, applying it to the New England people, the descendants of the Puritans, the people whose ancestors landed on Plymouth Rock, of whom General Early is credited with saying, "If that rock had landed on them, we would never have had the d—d h—l fired war." The word Yankee is of uncertain derivation though said to be an Indian corruption of the French word, Anglais, meaning English. The Union soldiers usually called us "Johnnies," or "Johnny Rebs."
The army had been organized with three corps—first, Longstreet's; second, Ewell's, and third, A. P. Hill's. While at Culpeper, where the Confederate army was being mobilized, additional numbers were being received into the ranks. The passionate ardor of our people for their country's cause had brought to the army nearly every man fit for the service. It was perhaps the largest efficient number of men, and composed of the best fighting material that General Lee ever led to battle. Most of the men were well inured to the service, and well prepared to undergo the greatest privations and hardships; and by this time most of the cowards and skulkers had either gotten out of the army or had never gotten in, or gone over to the enemy. In these men General Lee imposed the utmost confidence, and this confidence was reciprocated. It is stated upon authority that as the army went forward on its march to Pennsylvania, while passing through the valley of Virginia not far from Berryville, near which General Lee had stopped and dined with a friend, that in the act of mounting his horse to depart, his host remarked: "I have never had any confidence in the success of our cause till now I see our army marching north." Promptly came General Lee's only reply: "Doctor, there marches the finest body of men that ever tramped the earth."
The usual order to cook rations and prepare to move at a moment's notice was given, and everything was put in readiness; the camp was all bustle and confusion.
I am now about to record the things I saw in connection with the greatest endeavor of the Army of Northern Virginia during the Civil War, which led up to the Battle of Gettysburg, a campaign which startled the North, alarmed the capital at Washington, and inspired General Lee's army with new heroism and courage. We were going to Pennsylvania in part to procure that for which Jacob's sons went down into Egypt.
Monday, June 15, 1863, the head of the column moved out, directed toward the Blue Ridge and Snicker's Gap, through which we passed June 20, crossing the Shenandoah River at Castleman's ferry, where we were detained three or four days, and again at Berryville, for the purpose of keeping in supporting distance of our cavalry operating against that of the enemy east of the Ridge. The march from Culpeper was conducted left in front, the enemy being on our right. The Confederate cavalry had for several days been engaged with that of the enemy in the vicinity of Aldie and Upperville. The army was followed by a large drove of beef cattle, James B. Croy, of Company D, being detailed as one of the drivers, thereby escaping the storm at Gettysburg.
The way for the march of the army through the Virginia valley had been cleared by Ewell's corps, which had defeated and driven away the Federal troops at Winchester and Martinsburg; while the Confederate cavalry had cut and destroyed a portion of the Baltimore & Ohio railroad west of Harper's Ferry, and Jenkins' Confederate cavalry brigade had crossed the Potomac, entering Maryland and Pennsylvania. The weather was hot and the march continued through Martinsburg by Falling Waters, crossing the Potomac by wading to Williamsport, Md., going into camp a short distance out of the town. Here it was late in the evening that a deserter from the 18th Virginia regiment was executed by shooting.
The morale of the army was superb, officers and men alike inspired with confidence in the ability of the army to beat its old antagonist anywhere he chose to meet us. We were moving into the enemy's country in fine spirit—no straggling, no desertion, no destruction of private property, no outrages committed upon non-combatants, the orders of the commanding general on this subject being strictly observed. Among the men were expressions of disapproval of the invasion of the North. We had uniformly insisted upon defensive warfare on our own soil; in other words, we steadfastly contended against the claim of the enemy to invade our own land, and logically we should be bound by the same reasoning. However, in the last analysis every man in the army of Northern Virginia was loyal to his commander-in-chief, wherever he should lead. Here, indeed, was a spectacle: An army of more than sixty thousand freemen, every man a soldier in the true sense of the word, brave, resolute, fearless, the heroes and victors of many fields, marching unobstructed and thus far unopposed through an enemy's country, whose people had scarcely known that war was in progress; living in quiet and plenty. The march was continued with steady tread to Hagerstown, where a halt was made to allow Hill's corps, which had crossed the river below, to pass. Again marching, the Cumberland Valley in Pennsylvania was entered, a magnificent land, the counterpart of the lovely valley of Virginia, the sight bringing homesickness to the heart of not a few Virginia boys. Nothing was seen indicating that these people knew that a terrible war had been raging for two years, only a few miles away; certain it is they had felt little of its effect, either upon their population or resources. At Greencastle was noted among the people defiance and vindictive mien; while not speaking out, their looks indicated that deep down in their bosoms was rancor and the wish that all the rebel hosts were dead and corralled by the devil.
Saturday, June 27, Chambersburg, the capital—county town—of Franklin County, was entered by our column; passing to the outskirts on the north, or northwest side thereof, halting in the street in front of a beautiful residence, said to be that of Colonel McClure. Some ladies appeared and volunteered to deliver a sharp, spicy address, which was responded to by the band of our regiment, with "Dixie." The boys sang "Dixie" and "Bonnie Blue Flag," laughed and cheered lustily, then marched on a few miles on the York road and went into camp.
Pickett's division was left at Chambersburg to guard the trains until General Imboden's command could close up and relieve it, which it did on the evening of July 1. While waiting to be relieved, the men of Pickett's division were employed in tearing up the track of the Cumberland Valley railroad, which was thoroughly done for a mile or more, piling and firing the ties, heating the rails and bending them around trees.
During the march from the Potomac to Chambersburg, I one night had a dream in which I saw my left shoulder mangled by a cannon shot and I lying on the battlefield bleeding, dying. This dream, not like many not recollected, deeply impressed itself upon my mind, and I found myself unable to throw it off. When three days later in the battle at Gettysburg I was struck by an exploding shell on my left side, the dream instantly came up, and I said, here now is its fulfillment. Other soldiers, like myself, probably during and after the war dreamed of being in battle, hearing distinctly the booming of cannon, the noise of bursting shell and the rattle of musketry.
About 2 o'clock on Thursday morning, July 2, being aroused by the sound of the long roll, we were quickly in line, the column moving on the road leading to Gettysburg. The march was rapid, and unceasing, until we reached the vicinity of the coming conflict at Gettysburg, a distance of twenty-five miles or more over a dusty road, beneath a burning July sun, passing on the way the smoldering ruins of Thad Stevens' iron furnace, which had been fired by General J. A. Early a few days before. The other divisions of our corps (Longstreet's) had preceded us some twenty-four hours, arriving in time to make the principal battle of the second day.
On the march over South Mountain, reaching the east side, passing through the small hamlets of Cashtown and Seven Stars, plainly could be heard the roar of Longstreet's battle of that evening. Near the middle of the afternoon the division halted at Willoughby Run, two miles from Gettysburg; the men soon scattered, some getting water, some eating and some in conversation. As the shades of night began to gather on this bright eve, being fatigued with the day's march, all retired early to rest, little dreaming that upon such lovely eve, such awful morn should rise. Brave, happy souls, little do you anticipate the horrors of the next twenty-four hours! All was quiet during the night until reveille, which was sounded before day, when we fell into ranks for roll call, the last for so many gallant men, who on this eventful day were to pour out their life's blood for freedom and the right, as God gave them to see the right, and to go to that bourne from whence no traveler returns.
Proceeding with the roll call, the officers and men of Company D were: Captain R. H. Bane, Lieutenants E. M. Stone, John W. Mullins and E. R. Walker; non-commissioned, Sergeants T. S. Taylor, W. H. H. Snidow, the writer; Corporals A. J. Thompson, Daniel Bish, George C. Mullins, J. B. Young; Privates Akers, Barrett, Crawford, Darr, Fortner (J. H.), Fortner (W. C.), Hight, Hurt (J. J.), Jones, Lewy (Jo), Meadows (Anderson), Meadows (John), Minnich, Munsey, Peters, Sarver (D. L.), Sublett, Stafford, Wilburn (G. L.) and Wilburn (W. I.). Total, 31, being all of Company D present that I recall. I believe this to be correct.
James B. Croy had been detailed to drive beef cattle; Alexander Bolton belonged to the ambulance corps, and Charles A. Hale was company cook. During the terrific artillery duel, which followed, Captain Bane and Lieutenant Mullins were prostrated by heat, from which they did not recover for some days. Lieutenant Stone had been assigned to the command of Company E of the regiment, which had no commissioned officer present. Lieutenant Walker was left in command of our company, and just as the artillery duel was about closing, and but a few minutes before the general advance began, I was knocked out of ranks by a bursting shell, of which more later. The company therefore went into the charge with but 28 men, counting Lieutenant Stone leading Company E, and Young, color guard. The three brigades of Pickett's division present were Garnett's, Kemper's and Armistead's, composed of fifteen Virginia regiments, numbering in the aggregate that morning about 4,700 men, which included the General's staff, and regimental officers, of which there was the full complement; Colonel W. Tazewell Patton, commanding the 7th Virginia regiment, being the only field officer of the regiment then present. The division, from the major-general down, was composed of Virginians, many of them mere boys, and the probability is that the average age of the men in the ranks, including the line officers, did not exceed 19 years. I had just passed my eighteenth birthday. In the division were companies from the counties of Bedford, Campbell, Franklin, Patrick, Henry, Floyd, Montgomery, Pulaski, Giles, Craig, Mercer, Madison, Orange, Culpeper, Rappahannock, Greene, Albemarle, Carroll, Appomattox, Pittsylvania, Prince Edward, Norfolk, Nansemond, and others; and from the cities of Richmond, Lynchburg, Norfolk and Portsmouth—volunteers all, many of them school boys who had entered the service at the commencement of the war, and becoming fully inured to the service.
Our brigade, commanded by the gallant and impetuous General James L. Kemper, was in front during the morning's march, and as we formed into battle line held the right, Garnett's brigade on the left, Armistead's a little to the left and rear. The line was formed as early as 7 o'clock A.M. Inspection of arms was had and everything put in readiness for the engagement then imminent. We moved out of a skirt of woods, went forward a short distance into a field, on which was standing a crop of rye not yet harvested. Our position was now on Seminary Ridge, four hundred yards or so back from the top, under the crest; the line formed somewhat obliquely to the Emmitsburg road in front of us, with the Confederate batteries on the crest four hundred yards or more in front of us. Pickett's division was to lead the assault, the wings supported on the right by Wilcox's brigade, Heth's division under General Pettigrew, supported by the brigades of Scales and Lane, under General Trimble, for the purpose of supporting the left: all obstructions cleared away from the immediate front.
In the formation thus made, arms were stacked and we, with the understanding that when two signal guns were fired, to take arms and lie flat on the ground. All along the Confederate front was massed our artillery, perhaps 75 or more guns. The Federal artillery, 220 guns, along their whole front. The lines of the two armies, now held as by a leash, were 1,430 yards from each other, the distance between the opposing batteries an average of a little more than 1,000 yards. The Federal guns exceeded ours in number and quality of metal.
Now the suspense was something awful. The men were grave and thoughtful, but showed no signs of fear. The multitude awaiting judgment could not be more seriously impressed with what was now about to follow. However, a soldier in the field rarely thought his time to die had exactly arrived—that is, it would be the other fellow's time—and well it was so. Occasionally a man was met who had made up his mind that the next battle would be his last. Men have been known to have such presentiment and sure enough be killed in the next engagement. Such was true of our gallant Colonel Patton, who yielded up his promising young life in this battle.
The issue of the campaign and of the Civil War itself, as history shows, was now trembling in the balance. Victory or defeat to either side would be in effect a settlement of the issues involved; this the officers and men seemed clearly to realize. Under such conditions all were impatient of the restraint. To the brave soldier going into battle, knowing he must go, the moments seem to lengthen. This feeling is not born of his love for fighting, but it is rather the nervous anxiety to determine the momentous issue as quickly as possible, without stopping to count the cost, realizing if it must be done, "it were well it were done quickly." Over-confidence pervaded the Confederate army, from the commanding general down to the shakiest private in the ranks. Too much over-confidence was the bane of our battle. For more than six long hours the men were waiting, listening for the sound of the signal guns. The stillness was at last broken: the shot was fired: down, according to program, went the men on their faces.
Now began the most terrible artillery duel that beyond question ever took place on the American continent, or, the writer believes, anywhere else. Never had a storm so dreadful burst upon mortal man. The atmosphere was rent and broken by the rush and crash of projectiles—solid shot, shrieking, bursting shells. The sun but a few minutes before so brilliant was now darkened. Through this smoky darkness came the missiles of death, plowing great furrows of destruction among our men, whole columns going down like grass before the scythe. The scene of carnage and death beggars description. Not for the world would the writer look upon such a sight again. In any direction might be seen guns, swords, haversacks, heads, limbs, flesh and bones in confusion or dangling in the air or bounding on the earth. The ground shook as if in the throes of an earthquake. The teamsters, two or more miles away, declared that the sash in the windows of buildings where they were shook and chattered as if shaken by a violent wind. Over us, in front, behind, in our midst, through our ranks and everywhere, came death-dealing missiles. I am reminded by this awful scene, produced by this fearful artillery fire, of the remark made by Colonel Stephen D. Lee, commanding Confederate artillery at Sharpsburg, to one of his artillery officers after the battle: "Sharpsburg was artillery hell." Be this as it may, the artillery fire at Sharpsburg was not comparable to that of the third day at Gettysburg. During all this nearly two hours of horror the men remained steadfast at their posts—excepting those who had not been knocked out of place by shell and shot.
It must not be supposed that men were not alarmed, for doubtless many a poor fellow thought his time had come—and pray? Yes, great big, stout-hearted men prayed, loudly, too, and they were in earnest, for if men ever had need of the care and protection of our Heavenly Father, it was now.
The position was a trying one, indeed; much more so than had we been engaged in close combat, and quite as perilous, for then we should not have felt so much the terrible strain, could we have rendered blow for blow; but it was as if we were placed where we were for target practice for the Union batteries. To the left of my position, and not thirty feet away, eight men were killed or wounded by one shot, while still nearer to me a solid shot trounced a man, lifting him three feet from the earth, killing him but not striking him. Many of the shots causing much damage were from enfilading fire from a Union battery at the Cemetery.
I feel confident in stating that not less than 300 of Pickett's men were killed or injured by artillery fire.