1Private Isaac W. Thurlow, of Methuen, afterward promoted to be Lieutenant C. T.
1Private Isaac W. Thurlow, of Methuen, afterward promoted to be Lieutenant C. T.
The next two days’ march brought us, via Middlebrook, Clarksville, and Hyattstown to Frederick; the weather, though clear, was not so hot as on the 12th, the men were in better condition and, on the whole, we gained in numbers. Many will rememberour bivouac that Sunday evening as the place where they indulged in a welcome bath in the clear waters of the Monocacy river. All day on the 14th (Sunday), we heard heavy firing, and on the 15th the sound of heavy guns at Harper’s Ferry continued to assure us that our flag still was there, but its sudden cessation at last told as plainly of the surrender.
Our march of the 15th and 16th, although rapid, was not exhausting; the air was more autumnal, and we were cheered by the evidence of the fact that we were the pursuers. Large numbers of rebel prisoners passed us going to our rear. As we marched through Frederick we were greeted with hearty cheers from civilians and the waving kerchiefs of ladies, and children distributed ripe fruits, which were most welcome to the bilious soldiers. On the South Mountain battle-field a detail was burying the dead, and we saw many bodies in grey uniforms awaiting burial. We had previously met and saluted the dead General Reno, borne to the rear in an ambulance draped with the national colors.
As we passed over one of the mountain ridges, there broke upon our sight a view such as New England cannot offer. A valley stretching far away on either hand, everywhere divided into large fields of rich farming lands, among which the homes of well-to-do farmers stood, with groups of barns and granges and hay ricks gathered about them, the whole testifying to the comfort and wealth of the inhabitants. At every house there were words ofwelcome and cheer. The entire population evidently was in sympathy with our cause, and their recent sight of the retreating army of the enemy had evidently strengthened their enthusiasm for his pursuers.
It was almost sundown on the 16th when we came up with the main body of our army between Keedysville and Antietam Creek. The air was full of smoke from the camp-fires, and the hillsides alive with the men, who were making ready for their supper and their sleep. Our Division was guided into the field assigned to us, and our men were soon deep in similar preparations.
We knew that the hostile armies were now face to face, and that a great battle was imminent. Curiosity led many to gather on the hilltops and to look over what was to be the battlefield, to the crests of the low hills on the opposite bank of the stream, where we could see the spires of the little town of Sharpsburg sharply defined against the warm sky, and the smoke from the rebel camp-fires glowing in the light of the setting sun. A few well-directed shells from the enemy’s batteries however, dulled our curiosity in that direction, and we turned to our camps to see how an army looks upon the eve of a pitched battle.
The eastward slopes of the hills on the left branch of the Antietam were occupied by the infantry of the army of McClellan, extending some four miles from right to left. Near the tops of these hills a few batteries of artillery were ready for use at amoment’s notice, but more of them were below us, their horses feeding at the picket ropes, the men busy about their supper.
Farther away to the rear the ammunition wagons were parked, those of each division by themselves, and yet farther back the supply trains of the different corps, and the reserve divisions of artillery and cavalry.
There was every show of complete readiness for the morrow, in the array of the troops and the provision for the fight—but everything was busy and cheery. As night fell the smoke became less dense, and the bright light of a thousand glowing fires enlivened the scene. There was no sign of haste or of anxiety; occasionally a mule sounded his trumpet as a signal for more feed, and often the sound of horses’ feet was heard as some officer or orderly galloped leisurely by; there was some singing and much laughter heard from the various camps, and at last the stirring but confused sound of the tattoo along the whole line from the bugles of the distant cavalry and the neighboring artillery, and the drums and fifes of the infantry of the line.
Then came gentle sleep, nowhere more grateful and welcome than in the bivouac of the soldier on the night before the battle.
From dawn to dark no fairer sky was ever seen than that beneath which, on the 17th day of September, 1862, was fought the battle of the Antietam. It may be doubted whether there was in the history of our civil war, any instance of a battlefor which the preparation was on both sides so complete, of which the field was more free and open to the movements of the troops and the oversight of the commanders, or in which the result depended so directly upon the ability of the generals and the conduct of the troops, and so little upon purely accidental occurrences.
The Confederate army occupied the crest of the rising ground which lies immediately west of the Antietam, and between it and the Potomac. That portion of this crest in which lay the left and the centre of their army, was for the most part wooded and broken by outcropping ledges, and through it ran roads whose fences and cuts afforded frequent vantage ground for a defensive force. Their right was in an open country, but one intersected by stone walls, and presenting on the side toward the Union lines very abrupt declivities.
The left of our army (directly opposite the rebel right), were posted on low hills, whose western sides were also steep and rough. Between the two positions the gap was just sufficient for the passage of the little river and for a narrow country road on either bank, and here the stream was spanned by a stone bridge of three arches, since known as Burnside’s bridge.
Nearly a mile above, over a similar bridge, the Sharpsburg turnpike crossed the Antietam, cutting by a direct line the centres of both armies. Lying across this road, east of the river, on commanding ground, the corps of Gen. Porter held the centre ofthe loyal army, connecting with Burnside on the left and with Sumner on the right. On the right of the Union army was Hooker’s corps, on the west bank of the stream, and almost in contact with the rebel left, occupying the ground which they had won from the enemy at nightfall of the day before; both parties in the same wood sleeping on their arms in line of battle.
Taken together, the positions of the two armies described a figure not unlike the letter D, of which the curved portion may represent the Union lines, and the straight part (which was in fact also curved), those of the Confederates. Except at our left (the bottom of the D), our army held both banks of the Antietam, and at both extremes the two armies almost touched.
Standing among the guns of Porter’s batteries, about the centre of the Union lines, one seemed to look down upon the field, the whole of which, except the immediate vicinity of Burnside’s bridge, was open to the view. Directly in our front the Antietam washed the base of the hill, on the rounded summit of which the guns were placed, but from the farther bank the land rose gently rolling to the lines of the army of our enemy. Between us and the rebel centre were cleared fields, many of them bearing crops of nearly ripened corn, bounded to the left by steep hill-sides closing in to the river, but on the right running up to a glade bordered by woodlands. In these woods, and in and over that glade, occurred the severest struggles and the greatestslaughter of this hard-fought battle. Near Porter’s lines, on yet higher land, the headquarters of our army were established for the day.
Of the curving line of the union army, the left was the corps of General Burnside, the centre the corps of General Porter, and the right the corps of General Hooker; but in the rear of Hooker was the corps of General Mansfield, and behind it that of General Sumner, while the force of General Franklin, just up from Pleasant Valley, acted as the reserve.
McClellan’s plan of the battle was to make the principal attack from his right, but as soon as that was well engaged, to throw Burnside from his left against the right of Lee, not absolutely as a real attack, but by menacing the road to the ford which was Lee’s only line of retreat, to occupy and divert certain portions of the Confederate army, and thus reduce its power of resistance to the real attack upon the other flank.
By reason of the curvation of the line, our batteries in its centre could reach effectively the whole extent of the front of the enemy from left to right; and throughout the day, as opportunity offered, the guns did good execution, and more especially upon our right where we could annoy the rebel infantry while in the cover of the woods, and enfilade them whenever they appeared in the open glade.
At break of day the rattling volleys of musketry on the right told that Hooker was opening the great struggle. Soon occasional deep thuds of his cannonwere also heard, then nearer and more constant came the sounds approaching from both wings, until our own batteries in the centre joined in the din. Along the whole line gun for gun came back—as if echoed from the other ridge—the voice of the invading army from lips of bronze and iron, and its exploding messengers repeated in our ears the arguments of war, until hundreds of heavy guns were united in one deep quivering roar. And although there was rising and falling in the sound, yet until nightfall the sound of battle never ceased.
Just across the creek the skirmishers of our corps showed like dotted lines upon the fields; now and then we could see the smoke puff from their rifles, although the sound was lost in that of the general conflict. On the left, until afternoon, no movements were visible, but across that open glade, far away on the right, the tide of battle ebbed and flowed.
First from the edge of the woods on our side, appeared a ragged line of men fleeing for their lives, and following them the solid front of Hooker’s corps, firing as it followed.
The fugitives were three brigades of Jackson’s men, and the dark spots before the advancing line were the first fruits of that harvest of slaughter, whose winrows before nightfall traversed the whole of that fatal glade.
Hooker’s men had nearly crossed the open ground when the whole of Jackson’s corps burst from the western wood and met them in the open field; Hooker against Jackson—that was the tug of war.No sign of yielding could be marked on either side. Both lines became involved in the smoke of their rifles, but whenever the breeze wafted the smoke away, the reduced number of the combatants could be noted, and the fringe of wounded men and their too numerous helpers, which always hangs from the rear in the battle line, was constantly visible between each body and its nearest sheltering wood.
There was no moment when this contest ended; no line was seen pursuing or pursued, but little by little both melted away; and when all were gone, out from the edge of the woods on either side belched the fire and smoke of the batteries.
Now seven o’clock by Sharpsburg time. The scattered men of the broken divisions of each army sought the friendly shelter of the lines which were advancing to relieve them. Hood of Longstreet’s command, was marshalling his brigades within the timber on the west, and Mansfield’s corps was moving up through the rough woodland on the east, and for a season the open space between was unoccupied save by the dead and wounded, and the rolling, drifting smoke from the artillery.
The next movement visible to us was from the Confederate side, whence, with a rapid rush, came the command of General Hood,—Texas, Georgia, and Alabama men. In a few minutes they had crossed the open field in the face of our guns, and although a portion of their line faltered, yet another pushed even up to the line of our batteries, silencing almost every gun. Mansfield had fallen, buthis men were there, and their rattling volleys showed that the enemy could get no foothold in the wood, just in the edge of which the line of smoke hung steadily an hour or more.
At nine o’clock the contest was for the moment ended by the advance of Sedgwick’s division of Sumner’s corps, before which the southern troops broke and fled over the glade to the cover opposite, and again our guns opened upon their shelter.
Sedgwick’s division was the right of Sumner’s corps, and now between it and us moved up from the Antietam the divisions of Richardson and French, his left and centre. Unobserved by the enemy, we could see them forming for the attack, and we watched with intense interest their steady progress diagonally across our front. As they crossed the summit of each rise, they came under the fire of the rebel batteries; but our twenty-pounders playing over their heads, kept the rebel lines crackling with shells, to the comfort of our friends and the confusion of their foes. In each depression of the land Richardson and French halted to dress their ranks, and then moved quickly on; and so they won closer and closer to the enemy, until they were so near that the guns of our batteries could not help nor those of the enemy hurt them. Here, in a field of standing corn, they came upon the infantry of General Hill, who, protected by fences and road cuttings, opened a galling fire. Receiving but not answering this, Sumner’s divisions, aided by horse batteries from Porter’scorps, dashed forward and secured these defences for themselves, driving out the Confederate infantry on the right, capturing or slaying them in the sunken road on the left. For a few brief minutes the carnage was terrific.
Here Richardson and French, not without frequent contests, held their advanced position all the day. We have described their movement as if it had been an isolated one; but it was not so. The right of Sumner’s corps, the division of “Old John” Sedgwick, was carrying everything before it. It swept in solid form across the glade, and pushed out of our sight into and through what we have called the western wood, and into the open land beyond.
The violence of this attack outran discretion and the division found itself out in the open fields with no support on either flank, and met by fresh troops of the enemy. Falling slowly back it came into line with the division of General French, but leaving a great gap between, into which the advancing forces of the enemy hastened to drive a cleaving wedge.
It was now one o’clock P. M., and we held the whole of the right and centre of General Lee’s original position, but not firmly. Besides the danger at the gap between Sedgwick and French, the latter was short of ammunition and Sedgwick’s right was feeble.
At this time, most opportunely, McClellan ordered forward his reserve, the corps of GeneralFranklin; and that officer dividing his command, closed up the threatened gap, re-inforced French’s line and strengthened Sedgwick’s right, welding the whole to such tough consistency that no further impression could be made. What we had won we held.
Three o’clock in the afternoon and nothing seen of Burnside yet.
The most untutored of those who had watched the varying fortunes of the field could see that if Lee’s right had been attacked while McClellan was thus hammering on his left, either his right or left must have yielded. We had seen troops moving from the one flank to reinforce the other, until it seemed as if none could remain to hold the right. From officers about the headquarters we knew that McClellan, in person, had the night before advanced the division of Burnside’s corps close to the bridge, and that he had told that general to reconnoitre carefully, in readiness for attacking in the morning. We knew that at six o’clock he had been ordered to form his troops for the assault upon the bridge, and that at eight o’clock orders had been sent to carry the bridge, gain the heights, and move upon Sharpsburg.
General McClellan himself looked not more anxiously for movement on the left, than did we who saw the gallant fighting of the right; but five hours had passed before the capture of the bridge by the twin 51sts of New York and Pennsylvania, and since then two more of those priceless hours hadpassed away. Oh! if Sheridan or our Griffin could but have been commanding there.
The last peremptory order to advance and “not to stop for loss of life” produced the wished-for movement, but it was too late and too hesitating to accomplish great results.
When, at last, the heights were gained, the division of A. P. Hill had arrived to reinforce the enemy, who could also spare something from in front of our now-weakened right.
Burnside’s men fought well—gave only slowly back, and that not far. Six battalions of regulars from our corps moved to the front, joining the right of Burnside’s corps to the left of Sumner’s, and leaving our (Morell’s) division, in the rear of the advanced line, the only reserve force of McClellan’s army. One brigade was sent to the left to strengthen Burnside, and at five P. M., our own, the last, was marched toward the right, but the declining sun already showed that the contest for the day must soon be ended. Just as it reached the horizon there was one roaringfeu d’enferalong both lines, and almost of a sudden the firing ceased, and the battle of the Antietam had filled its page in history. It was an important victory. By it Washington, Maryland, and Pennsylvania were relieved from menace and the country for a time was grateful.
Just as it appeared to the looker-on the battle of Antietam has been described. What happened, before our eyes has been told, without digressions, and the digressions may now be added.
The battle-field was all day long bathed in sunshine; hardly one cloud appeared to throw even a passing shadow over the fair autumnal landscape, of which the background was made up of shadowed tracts of woodland, and into which were introduced blocks of rough pasture, lawn-like vistas, rolling fields of corn ready for the harvest, with just enough of distant spire and nearer farmstead to add a look of human comfort to the natural beauty of the scene. Although the foreground and the middle distance of this picture were occupied by the various combatants—killing and maiming—wounded and dying—there was present to our sight no blemish of horror. We saw no ghastly wounds, no streams of flowing gore; we heard no groans nor sighs nor oaths of the struggle, and rarely did the sound even of southern yells or northern cheers penetrate the massive roar of ordnance to reach our ears; and yet before our eyes was fought a battle in which four thousand men were slain, and fifteen thousand more were disabled by savage wounds.
So entirely were the sadder sights of bloody war excluded from our minds, that when two men of our Regiment were badly wounded by the accidental discharge of a falling rifle, the incident created almost as much excitement as one like it might have done at a muster of militia here at home.
It must not be imagined that any one of us stood throughout that equinoctial day gazing upon the sunlit scene beyond the Antietam, for in time even the terrible events of battle fall tamely upon eye andear. In the long pauses between the rounds of infantry fighting we sat down upon the green sward and ate our lunch, or strolled away to talk with the staff officers about the headquarters, or over to one of our other brigades to discuss the incidents of the action, or to hear or tell the news of its latest casualties.
The rank and file who had not the same liberty to stray away, and who, screened from the field by the knoll on which our batteries were planted, saw little or nothing of the fight—passed the time in chat with laugh and story, as they stood, or sat, or laid, keeping in some sort the form of the massed column which was more distinctly marked by lines of rifles in the stack. Every man of them knew that at any moment he might be called to be reaper or grain in the harvest of death so near at hand; but men cannot keep themselves strained up to the pitch of heroic thought or wearing anxiety, and so within the line of battle our men joked and laughed and talked and ate, or even slept in the warm sunshine.
No heartier laugh ever rewarded Irish wit than that which shook our sides when Guiney, the handsome Colonel of the Massachusetts 9th, bedecking himself in the gorgeous apparel of a brilliant sash, was reminded that it would make him a capital mark for the enemy’s sharp-shooters, and replied, “and wouldn’t you have me a handsome corpse?”
Early in the day, as soon as we were in position in rear of the batteries, some of our mounted officers naturally desiring to get a correct idea of the lay ofthe land and the order of the battle, rode at a foot pace to the summit of the knoll in front, and from their saddles were quietly examining the position of affairs through field-glasses, and pointing hither and yon as they conversed, when the chief of some rebel battery, possibly suspecting them to be big generals and high functionaries, began from two guns some practice with round shot, using the mounted officers for the bull’s-eye of the target. In their innocence they assumed that this sort of thing was a matter of course on such occasions, and for a time they went on with their observations.
It was not long however before the aim became more accurate, and our officers suddenly became aware of the scared looks of the German gunners, who, watching for the smoke of the rebel guns, dodged behind the trail of their own pieces until the shot had passed by, and presently a sergeant ventured to suggest that the gentlemen were drawing the fire on the battery, and to prefer the request that they would send away the horses and pursue their study of the field dismounted, which not unwillingly they did.
Not far from mid-day, in an interval of comparative quiet along the lines, most of us stretched at full length basking in the sun and waiting for “what next?” enjoyed a beautiful sight in the endeavor of the enemy to shell our division.
As we were hidden from his view no direct shot could reach us, and he seemed to have calculated that by exploding his shells high in the air, the fragmentscould be dropped among our ranks. What became of the fragments we did not know, hardly one of them fell near us, none of them did us injury; but we watched for the shells with interest, and were sorry when they came no more. Gazing up into the clear blue sky there would from time to time suddenly appear a little cloudlet, which unfolding itself drifted lazily away, and soon melted in the air. Each of these cloudlets was the smoke from an exploding shell, the rapid flight of which gave no other evidence of its existence to the eye, and all sound was lost in the general tumult. Each seemingly miraculous appearance of the cloudlet was hailed with admiration, and we were quite ready to enjoy the entertainment as long as our friend the enemy chose to supply it, and were inclined to be gruff with him when it stopped.
While the divisions of Generals Richardson and French were advancing on the Confederate centre, a gun from one of Porter’s horse batteries was run out quite a distance to the left, where, from a little swell of land, entirely unsupported, it opened upon the rebel infantry. The rake upon the enemy’s line was so complete that after the first few shots we could see them breaking; but the position was untenable and after the gun had been discharged perhaps a dozen times, the enemy got two guns to bear upon it, whereupon our gun was hastily limbered up and went scampering back to cover as fast as four horses could run with it, and as it went rebel shots could be seen striking up the dust all about its track, as thestones strike about an escaping dog when boys are pelting him.
When such an incident occurred we could hardly refrain from cheers. And when—as was once or twice the case—we could see some movement of the enemy against our lines which was unseen to those it menaced, it was almost irresistible to cry out a warning, and several times shells from the batteries of our division gave to the Union troops the first warning of a threatening movement.
Twenty-five days after the battle our Company C on detached service encamped for a night on the plateau, the summit of the heights which were won by Burnside’s charge, and Captain Fuller observing that the line of battle could even then be traced by the cartridge papers which lay in winrows on the ground, wondered that troops which had so gallantly charged up the steep ascent should have halted in this place long enough to have used so many cartridges.
On the 18th of September, Porter’s corps relieved Burnside’s at the lower bridge, and then we saw only too many of the woful sights which belong to battle, and saw them without that halo of excitement which in the midst of the contest diminishes their horror.
On the 19th, at dawn, we were in expectation of immediate participation in a second battle, but the enemy had retreated. In the pursuit Porter led the way. After passing through the town of Sharpsburg, the artillery occupied the roadway, the infantrymoving along the fields on either side. At each rise of the land, a few pieces dashed to the summit and shelled the nearer woods, the infantry forming in the hollow in the rear, and so we felt our way a mile or two down to the Potomac. The rear guard of the enemy had just crossed the river, and General Griffin with parts of two brigades followed closely, capturing some prisoners and much property, among which were the very guns that were lost on the Peninsula from the battery he then commanded.
Returning, he reported the enemy as in full flight, and on the 20th Porter prepared to give immediate chase. A part of one of his divisions had crossed the ford and gained the bluffs on the right bank. Our own brigade was on the high lands of the other bank, when, looking across we saw the woods swarm out with rebel infantry rushing upon our little force. A sharp cannonade checked them and covered the return of nearly all our regiments, but the 108th Pennsylvania was cut off from the road to the river crossing, and forced to retire up a rising ground, terminating at the river in a high bluff, from which the only escape was to scramble down the steep cliff and thus to gain the ford.
The men poured like a cataract over the edge and down the declivity, and so long as they stayed at its immediate base they were tolerably safe, but their assailants soon gained the edge of the bluff and lying flat, could pick off any who attempted to cross to the Maryland side, and many were killed or wounded and drowned before our eyes.
Our brigade was formed near to the ford; sharp-shooters were placed along the river bank, and the artillery rattled solid shot upon the summit of the bluff. After a time the Pennsylvanians began to run the gauntlet of the ford, but it was several hours before all of them had left the other shore.
In this time many gallant acts were performed, but none more daring than that of the Adjutant of the 108th, who, after reaching the Maryland shore, walked back upon the plate of the dam just above the ford, and standing there midway across the river, exposed from head to heels, shouted the directions to his men as to the manner of their escape from their awkward fix.
When this fight at the ford was over it was near nightfall, and the army encamped along the river side, the pickets of each army occupying its own bank, and for weeks it was all quiet on the Potomac.
THE life of a soldier in war-time is made up of alternating seasons of severe toil and of almost absolute idleness. For a few weeks he will be marched to the utmost limit of endurance—will be set to felling forests—building bridges or roads—constructing defences—and then may follow other weeks when his heaviest occupations are made up of drills, parades, and drawing or eating rations.
Such a time of repose was that which we passed on the banks of the Potomac, near Sharpsburg, guarding the line of the Potomac which for lack of heavy autumnal rains was fordable almost anywhere. Generals, quartermasters and commissaries may have been busy, but it was an idle time for the bulk of the army. Stretching for some fifteen miles along the course of the river, the various corps were encamped in due form, the entire regularity of which could be seen from any neighboring eminence. From some such points one could take into view a landscape brilliant with the colors of autumn made yet brighter by the gleam of the orderly array of white tents, and could see the bounds of each regiment, brigade, or division, as ifmarked upon a map. At night, before tattoo, the lines of lighted tents would show from a distance, like an army of glow-worms.
To supply the wants of the army of men, another army of wagon trains was kept in constant occupation, and the road was soon covered with fine dust, which rose in clouds when it was stirred by the movements of the trains, or by the horses of mounted officers or men; and as these roads extended everywhere among the camps, we lived all day long in an atmosphere of dirt, which when moved by fresh winds, drove and drifted about to our exceeding discomfort. As the weather grew cooler this was increased by the smoke of the camp-fires, until everybody was habitually clothed in dust, and red about the eyes.
Along the picket lines the men of both armies, having agreed not to fire without previous notice, lolled in the sunshine, chaffed each other over the water, and occasionally traded newspapers even, or union coffee for confederate tobacco.
Once in a while there was a foraging expedition or a reconnoissance across the river. In one of these we captured quite a number of prisoners at Shepardstown, chiefly officers and men absent on leave and visiting their friends in that vicinity. One reconnoissance to Leetown occupied two days, and was followed back right sharply by a strong force of the enemy. We remember particularly the fact that on the advance we found where a long-range shell had exploded among a card party of theenemy’s men, one or two of whom lay dead with the cards still in their hands.
This uneventful life, aided no doubt by prevalent but not serious bilious disorders, developed in our Regiment a general tendency to homesickness and “hypo.” To counteract it several attempts were made to initiate games and athletic exercises among the men, and the officers were requested to set an example to the men by organizing amusements among themselves—but it amounted to nothing, it seemed impossible to induce the men to amuse themselves.
We kept no very careful note of time. One day was pretty much like every other. Sundays were noticeable only for the absence of drills and a little more stupidity. To go home was the height of anybody’s ambition.
Private Callahan, of K Company, sought to be discharged for disability—the disability was beyond question, for he was born with it, and he was told by the Surgeon that he ought not to have accepted the bounty for enlistment; that he “ought to be hung” for doing it, to which somewhat severe criticism the soldier retorted that he “would die first.” It may not be necessary to state that Callahan was Irish. At Fredericksburg he lost a finger and obtained his coveted discharge.
We were so long here that, as the season advanced, we began to construct defences against the weather, and the acting adjutant even dreamed of a log hut, with a real door and real hinges. The onlyartificer at his command was his negro servant, a man who could admire but could not comprehend long dictionary words. The Adjutant, directing the negro as to the construction of the door frame, told him certain parts were to be perpendicular, others horizontal, and others parallel; but the black man’s face showed no evidence of comprehension, until after a dozen different forms of the same instruction had been resorted to and the master’s patience was exhausted, the idea penetrated the darkened mind of the servant, who turned upon the officer with the pertinent remark, “Why, massa, what you wants is ter have ittrue, ain’t it?”
New orders of architecture were rapidly developed, and the manufacture of furniture became an extensive occupation. It was quite wonderful what results could be obtained in both of these industries by the use of barrels and hard-bread boxes. Of the barrels we made chimneys and chairs; and of the boxes, tables, washstands, cupboards, and the walls and clapboards of our dwellings.
We were really getting to be very comfortable in the latter days of October, 1862, when the orders began to intimate that we would not live always in that neighborhood. First, our Company C was detached for a guard to the reserve artillery, where it served for ten months. Then, on the 30th, the whole army drew out like a great serpent, and moved away down the Potomac to Harper’s Ferry, crossing the river there, then up on the Virginia side, and along the foot hills of the Blue Ridge.
It was lively times again, and the march was rapid—often forced; but the weather was cool and bracing, and the men were glad of the change. From the 2d to the 15th of November we were on the eastern slopes of the Ridge, and Lee’s army in its western valley, racing each for the advantage over the other.
At each gap there was a lively fight for the control of the pass, but we were always ahead, and possession is as many points in war as it is in law. Holding these passes, our movements could be, to a considerable extent, masked from the observation of the enemy, while his were known to our General, whose object was to keep the army of the enemy strung out to the greatest possible length, and at a favorable moment to pounce upon its centre, divide and conquer it.
With the sound of guns almost always in our ears, we raced away through Snickersville, Middlebury, White Plains, and New Baltimore to Warrenton, with little to eat and plenty of exercise. Near White Plains, on the 8th, we marched all day in a snow-storm, and at night, splashed and chilled, bivouacked in a sprout field, making ourselves as comfortable as might be on three or four inches of snow.
Throughout this march the orders were very stringent against straggling and marauding. No allowance was made for transportation of regimental rations except the haversacks of the soldiers, and on the march in cold weather it is a poor (or good)soldier that does not eat three days’ rations in two. Our changes of base left us often very short of supplies, and it was not in the most amiable mood that we came to our nightly camp.
Acting-quartermaster Dana, hungering for fleshpots, was tempted by the sight of a fat turkey on a barn-yard fence. The road was a by-way, and not a soul in sight. Before he could recall the tenor of the orders, he had covered the bird with his revolver, but at that moment General Butterfield, with his staff and escort, following the abrupt turn of the road, came upon the quartermaster in the very act, and scared the bird, which flopped heavily down from the fence and disappeared. To the General’s angry demand for an explanation, Dana quietly replied that he was about to shoot that “buzzard.”
“Buzzard!” roared the General, “that was a turkey, sir.” “Was it, indeed?” replied the innocent officer; “how fortunate, General, that you came as you did, for in two minutes more I should have shot him for a buzzard.” Dana thought that, amid the laughter which succeeded, he heard the General describe him as an idiot, but he was not sufficiently certain about it to warrant charges against the General for unofficer-like language.
The hurried march from Sharpsburg to Warrenton was fruitful in cases of marauding for court-martial trials, but these courts very generally refused to convict, on the ground that the men had been so ill-supplied from our commissariat, that some irregularity was excusable.
One of our sergeants, a butcher by trade, strolling about the woods, came upon a party of men who had captured and killed, and were about cutting up, a rebel pig. Shocked at the unskilful way in which they were operating, our sergeant volunteered his advice and services, which were gratefully accepted. In the midst of the operation the party was surprised by one of the brigade staff, and the non-commissioned officer, being tried by court-martial, was by its sentence reduced to the ranks and deprived of six months’ pay. The story ends sadly, for his mortification from loss of rank, and possibly his anxiety from fear that his family might suffer from the loss of pay, caused him to droop and die.
One of our men, returning from a private foraging expedition laden with a heavy leg of beef, was captured by the provost guard, and, by order of General Griffin, was kept all day “walking post,” with the beef on his shoulder, in front of the headquarters’ tents. As the General passed his beat he would occasionally entertain him with some question as to the price of beef, or the state of the provision trade, and at retreat the man,minus his beef, was sent down to his regiment “for proper punishment,” which his commanding officer concluded that he had already received.
Yet another soldier was sent to our headquarters by the Colonel of the Ninth Massachusetts, with the statement that he had been arrested for marauding. Upon cross-examination of the culprit itappeared that he had been captured with a quarter of veal in his possession by the provost guard of the Ninth Regiment. A regimental provost guard was a novelty in the army, but when, on further questioning, it appeared that the offending soldier had been compelled to leave the veal at Colonel Guiney’s quarters, the advantage of such an organization in hungry times to the headquarters’ mess was apparent, and our Colonel at once ordered a provost guard to be detailed from the Thirty-second, with orders to capture marauders and turn over their ill-gotten plunder to his cook. Unhappily, within the next twenty-four hours, some high General, whose larder was growing lean, forbade regimental provost guards in general orders.
It was during our stay at Warrenton that General Griffin requested the attendance of Colonel Parker and told him, not as an official communication, but for his personal information, that three officers of the Thirty-second had, during the previous night, taken and killed a sheep, the property of a farmer near by. Of course the Colonel expressed his regret at the occurrence, but he represented to the General that, inasmuch as the officers of our regiment were not generally men of abundant means, and inasmuch as they had received no pay from their Government for several months, and inasmuch as it was forbidden them to obtain food by taking it either from the rations of their men or the property of the enemy, he (the Colonel) would be glad to know how officers were to live? TheGeneral, utterly astonished at the state of affairs thus disclosed, asked in return for some suggestion to relieve the difficulty. The suggestion made that officers should be allowed to buy from the commissaries on credit, was, at the request of General Griffin, embodied in a formal written communication to him, and by an order the next day from the headquarters of the army, it became a standing regulation until the end of the war.
On the 10th of November the Army of the Potomac was massed near Warrenton as if a general action was at hand, when everybody was surprised by the announcement of the removal of General McClellan from its command. It was a sad day among the camps. The troops turned out at nine o’clock, bordering the road, each regiment in doubled column, and General McClellan, followed by all the generals with their staffs, a cortege of a hundred or more mounted officers, rode through the lines, saluted and cheered continually.
It happened that the 32d was the first regiment to be reviewed. Being a regiment of soldiers, it was accustomed to salute its officers in a soldierly way, and on this occasion was, probably, the only battalion in the army that did not cheer “Little Mac,” but stood steadily, with arms presented, colors drooping, and drums beating. From the surprised expression on the General’s face, it was evident that for a moment he feared that he had overrated the good-will of his troops. The incident, though really creditable to the Regiment, was considered as aslight to the General, and for a time was the cause of considerable feeling against the 32d. Even the politics of its commander could not prevent its being stigmatized as an “Abolition concern.”
At noon the officers of the Fifth corps were received by General McClellan, who shook hands with all, and at the close of the reception said, his voice broken with emotion: “Gentlemen, I hardly know how to bid you good-bye. We have been so long together that it is very hard. Whatever fate may await me I shall never be able to think of myself except as belonging to the Army of the Potomac. For what you have done history will do you justice—this generation never will. I must say it. ‘Good-bye.’” And so the army parted from the first, the most trusted, and the ablest of its commanders.
GENERAL BURNSIDE assumed the command and we remained quiet for a week, then moved slowly away toward Falmouth and Fredericksburg, where we arrived on the 22d of November, and encamped near Potomac Creek, at a place afterwards known as “Stoneman’s Switch.” This camp was destined to be our home for nearly six months, but the popular prejudice against winter quarters was so great that we were never allowed to feel that it was more than a temporary camp.
On several occasions we had suffered for want of supplies, generally not more than for a day or two, and when on the march; but for ten days after our arrival near Fredericksburg, the whole army was on short allowance. Our base was supposed to be at Acquia Creek, but the railroad was not reconstructed and what supplies we got were wagoned up some miles from Belle Plain, over or through roads which were alternately boggy with mud, or rough with the frozen inequalities of what had been a miry way.
Little by little the scarcity became more severe; for a week there had been no meat-ration, nothingwas issued except hard-bread, and on the morning of Thanksgiving Day, there was absolutely no food for the Regiment. The evening previous, one box of hard-bread, the last remainder of the supply of the headquarters’ mess was issued to the Regiment, giving one half of a cracker to each man, and this was gratefully received.
That Thanksgiving Day dawned upon a famished and almost mutinous army. Rude signs were set up in the camp, such as “Camp Starvation,” “Death’s Headquarters,” “Misery.” Every General as he appeared, was hailed with cries for “hard-bread, hard-bread!” and matters looked threatening. In the 32d there was no disturbance, but the men sat about with moody looks and faces wan with hunger. Officers had been despatched in every direction in search of food but, it was high noon before even hard-biscuit could be obtained. Then twenty boxes were procured by borrowing from the regular division, and they were brought to our camp from a distance of two miles, on the shoulders of our men.
That morning the breakfast table of the field and staff mess, exhibited a small plate of fried hard-bread and another of beefsteak, obtained by incredible exertions of the Adjutant the day before, in order to do honor to the festival. One must be very hungry to know how sumptuous the repast appeared, but none of us could eat while the soldiers were starving, and the breakfast was sent to the hospital tent.
One man refused to do duty, declaring that the government had agreed to pay, clothe, and feed him,and having left him penniless, ragged, and starving with cold and hunger, he could not be expected to keep his part of the contract. With this one exception the bearing of our men was superb, and was in remarkable contrast with that of the army in general.
At the company roll call at “retreat,” the soldier just referred to, who had been in confinement all day, was marched through the camp under guard, and made to face each company in succession, while a regimental order was read acknowledging and thanking the men for their good behavior under trying circumstances, and closing with the declaration that “if on this day of Thanksgiving we have failed to enjoy the abundance which has usually marked the festival, we have at least one reason for thankfulness and that is, that when all of us were hungry there was only one man who desired to shirk his duty, leaving it to be done by his equally-hungry comrades, and that the name of that man was —— ——.”
Notwithstanding the repeated declarations that there would be no winter quarters short of Richmond, the army proceeded to make itself as comfortable as possible. The woods melted rapidly to supply the great camp-fires, now needed for warmth as well as cooking; and the soldiers, organizing themselves into messes, built shelters more satisfactory than the canvas which was provided for that purpose.
Great variety of ingenuity was exhibited in the construction of these quarters. A few were contentwith an excavation in the ground, over which would be pitched a roofing of tent cloth; but some of the quarters rose almost to the dignity of cottages, having walls of logs, the interstices closed by a plastering of clay, and roofs of rough-hewn slabs, or thatched with branches of pine. Windows were covered by canvas, and chimneys were built up cob fashion and plastered inside, and comfortable fires blazed upon the hearths.
About the headquarters of the generals were enclosing fences of sapling pines set into the ground upright, and held firmly in that position. Within the enclosures were grouped the tents of the general, his staff, and their servants, some of them having outer walls of boards enclosing the sides of their wall tents.
The weather was of a variety indescribable, except as Virginia weather—alternating periods of cold so severe as to freeze men on picket duty, and so warm as to make overcoats an insupportable burden. The rains made the earth everywhere miry, then it would freeze the uneven mud to the hardness of stone, then a thaw made everything mud and all travel impossible, and presently dry winds would convert all into dust and blow about in clouds.
One of the wonders of these times was the army cough; what with the smoke of the camp fires, the dust of the country, and the effect of the variable weather upon people living out of doors, there was a general tendency to bronchial irritations, whichwould break out into coughing when the men first awoke, and it is almost a literal fact, that when one hundred thousand men began to stir at reveille, the sound of their coughing would drown that of the beating drums.
Here for three weeks in preparation for another movement “on to Richmond,” we drilled, were inspected and reviewed—relieving these severer duties by chopping, hauling, and burning wood.
Those of us who had the opportunity, occasionally went over toward the river, where from the high lands we could watch the Confederate lines, and look on to see them getting the opposite heights good and strong in readiness for our attack.
On the 10th of December, the orders began to read as if they really meant fight, and the great point of interest in our discussions was as to the direction of the next movement—whether we were to flank Lee by way of the fords of the Rappahannock as was generally believed, or whether, as some said, we were to embark for Harrison’s Landing or City Point, and flank Richmond itself.
No voice was heard to intimate that any such consummate folly could be intended as to attack squarely in face those defenses which we had apparently been quite willing to allow our enemy to construct, and for weeks most deliberately to strengthen. But such was indeed the forlorn hope imposed upon the Army of the Potomac.
December 11th, 1862.—Reveille sounded at 3 A.M. The morning was cool and frosty, the groundfrozen, the air perfectly still—so still and of such barometrical condition that the smoke of the camp-fires did not rise to any considerable height, and was not wafted away, but murked the whole country with its haze, through which objects when visible looked distorted and ghostly, and the bugles sounding the assembly had a strange and impressive tone.
The first break of day found the brigade formed for the march. The troops wore their overcoats, and outside of them were strapped knapsacks, haversacks, cartridge-boxes, and cap-pouches, all filled to their utmost capacity; and in rolls worn sash-like over one shoulder and under the other, were their blankets and the canvas of theirtentes d’arbri.
The dull boom of two guns from the westward was evidently a signal, and the bugle sounded “forward.” That day it was the turn of our Regiment to lead the Brigade, and of our Brigade to lead the Corps, and we were at onceen routein the direction of Fredericksburg, which was three miles away. Soon after the march began the sun rose, showing at first only its huge, dull-red disk, but soon rising above the haze, throwing its bright beams athwart the landscape, making it and us cheery with their warmth and shine. With the sunrise came a gentle movement of the air, pushing away the smoke from the uplands, but leaving the river valley thick with fog. Midway between our camp and the river we crossed the summit of a round-topped hill, from which, by reason of the sweep of the river, we could see for a distance therolling lands of Stafford Heights, which on its left bank form the immediate valley of the Rappahannock, and over all these hills, now glowing in the sunlight, were moving in columns of fours, converging, apparently, toward a common centre, the various corps and divisions of the Army of the Potomac, more than a hundred thousand men.
Across the river could be seen, but not as yet distinctly, the fortified line of hills occupied by Lee’s Army of Virginia. Between us and them, the river and the river bottoms on the farther side, with all of the town of Fredericksburg except the church spires and the cupola of its Court House, were shrouded in vapor.
General Burnside had established headquarters in the Phillips house, a fine brick mansion overlooking the valley and the town, and our grand division was massed near by in a large field of almost level land, entirely bare of tree or shade, and here we passed the whole day under a warm December sun, which softened the ground into mud, glared in our eyes, and baked our unprotected heads.
Before we reached this spot the dogs of war were in full cry. Down by the river side there were frequent sputterings of musketry, and the hills on either side of the river were roaring with the sound of the great guns from their earth-work batteries.
About the Phillips house, on its piazza and in its rooms, there were gatherings of general and field officers, discussing with more or less warmth the situation and the probabilities. Occasionally amounted officer or orderly would come dashing up from the river side, looking hot and anxious, and after delivering or receiving reports or orders, would hasten down again to his station; but, on the whole, things were very deliberately done.
When the fog lifted, below us, and directly on our bank of the stream, could be seen the hospitable-looking Lacy house with its low wings, under the lee of which, sheltered from the fire of the enemy, were groups of officers, their horses picketed in the dooryard. On the opposite side of the river, its houses coming close down to high-water mark, lay the compactly built town of Fredericksburg; beyond it a space of level land, narrowing at the upper end of the town to nothing, but opening below into a wide plain, which, so far as we could see, was everywhere bounded to the west by a rise of land more or less abrupt, forming the lip of the valley there. This rising land terminated just above the town, in a bluff at the river bank.
The right and centre grand divisions of Burnside’s army occupied the heights on the eastern side of the river. Lee’s forces were entrenched in those on the western side. Between them, the River Rappahannock and the city of Fredericksburg.
The left grand division, under Franklin, one or two miles down the river, before 10 o’clock had laid pontoon bridges and secured a foot-hold on the opposite shore. Between him and the enemy was a nearly open plain, the extent of which, from the river to the rising ground, was more than a mile.On our left everything had gone smoothly and well; all opposition to the crossing had been easily overcome, but in the immediate front of the town it was quite another story.
At early dawn the engineers were ready and began to lay the pontoon bridges opposite the town. A dozen or more of the boats had been moored into position, and men were actively at work laying plank across, when Barksdale’s Mississippians opened fire and drove the Union men to cover. Calling up a brigade of Hancock’s men to cover the work, repeated attempts were made to bridge the river, but the Confederates occupying the houses on their bank could fire from windows without being seen themselves, and the endeavors of the engineers, although gallantly made, were unsuccessful.
Then followed a long consultation at headquarters, which resulted in an order to concentrate the fire of our artillery on Fredericksburg, and for an hour or more a hundred and fifty guns played on the town. Fires broke out in several places and raged without restraint. During and after the cannonade our troops essayed again and again to moor the boats and lay the bridge, but the fire of the enemy, although reduced, was yet too fierce, and at last, about four, P. M., two or three of the boats of the pontoon train were loaded with volunteers and pushed across the river at a bend above the buildings, the rebels were flanked and driven from their shelter, and the bridge was speedily constructed.
To us, three-quarters of a mile away, the delay finally became irksome and the Colonel and Major, moved by curiosity, rode down to the river. The Rappahannock here lies deep between its banks and they rode to the edge of the bluff, peering over, up and down the stream, to see what might be seen. The firing for the time had ceased, and all seemed quiet except the crackling flames of the burning buildings. The gunners of the two-gun battery close by were chatting, leaning lazily against the gun-carriages. Below, the river, waiting the turn of the tide to flood, was still and smooth. Opposite, the warehouses, thrusting their unhandsome walls down to the line of tidal mud, seemed utterly deserted; two or three of them were yet burning, a few were badly battered, but on the whole the storm of shot and shell had done wonderfully little harm.
A rifle ball, passing between the two officers, singing as it went, reminded them that everything was not as peaceful as it seemed, and they turned away just as the battery joined the renewed bombardment to cover the forlorn hope in their boat crossing.
That night we bivouacked in a neighboring wood, where we remained also the next day and night, while Franklin on one side of us, and Sumner on the other, were crossing and deploying their commands below and in the town, covered for the greater part of the day by a dense fog which allowed neither the enemy nor us to see much of the movements.
General Burnside would seem to have had an idea that he could push his army across the river, attack Lee’s army and win the heights, before Jackson, from his position eighteen miles below, could come to aid his chief. This possibly might have been done by flanking, if he had been content to cross the Rappahannock where Franklin, at 9 o’clock on the 11th, had succeeded in establishing his bridges; but before the upper pontoon bridges could be laid, the rebel right wing, under Jackson, had effected its junction with the lines of Longstreet, and Lee’s army was again united.
December 13th, 1862,—the day of the battle of Fredericksburg,—opened clear and bright, except that over the lowlands bordering the river was stretched a veil of vapor which laid there until 9 o’clock. The grand divisions of Sumner and Franklin were over the river and ready for battle—Sumner in the streets of Fredericksburg, which ran parallel to the river, and Franklin in the open plain below the town. Our (Hooker’s) grand division yet occupied the heights on the eastern side of the Rappahannock, from which—except for the fog—could be seen the slightly undulating plain, which was to be Franklin’s field of battle, but from which the greater part of Sumner’s field was hidden by the town itself.
The letter A may be used to demonstrate the topography of the battle. The left limb of that letter may represent the line of higher land occupied by the Confederates, the right limb the line of theRappahannock river, and the cross-bar the course of a sunken creek which separated the lines of Sumner’s troops from those of Franklin, but which offered no advantage to our troops, and no impediment to the fire of either of the combatants. Below the cross-bar of the A, the space between the limbs may have averaged two-thirds of a mile in width, over which Franklin’s men must advance to the attack, almost constantly exposed to the fire from the batteries of the rebels, and for at least half the way to that from the rifles of their infantry. Within the triangle—the upper portion of the A—was included the city of Fredericksburg and Sumner’saceldama, and here the lines of the enemy were strengthened by earthworks on the summit of the heights, (not fifty feet above the level of the plain), and by stone walls and rifle pits along their base. Here the space between the foremost rebel line, and the nearest blocks of houses in the town was nowhere two thousand feet, and within this narrow space, under the fire of a mile of batteries, and at least ten thousand rifles, the Union lines must be formed for the attack.
What we saw of Franklin’s battle was what happened before noon, and after 9 o’clock,—at which latter hour the fog disappeared, revealing to us and to the enemy the advancing line of Meade’s division, to us a moving strip of blue on the dun-colored plain. We saw it halt, covered no doubt by some undulation of the land, while a battery on the left was silenced by the Union guns—then the line movedon, fringed sometimes with the smoke of its own volleys, at other times with the silver-like sheen of the rifle barrels. We saw the smoke of the rebel rifles burst from the woods that covered the first rise of ground—saw Meade’s line disappear in the woods, followed by at least one other line,—then our bugles called “attention! forward!” and we saw no more of Franklin’s fight.
Early in the morning two of Hooker’s divisions had been sent to strengthen Franklin, and now two others, Humphrey’s and Griffins’ (ours) were ordered to the support of Sumner. A new boat-bridge had been laid, crossing the river at the lower part of the town, just below the naked piers of what had been and is now the railroad bridge, and just above the outlet of a small stream. The two divisions were massed on the hill-side near this bridge—an attractive mark for the rebel cannoneers, who however, having food for powder close at hand, spared to us only occasionally a shell. The crossing must have occupied an hour. Down the steep hill-side and the steeper bank; over the river and toiling up the western side; with many waits and hitches—the serpent-like column moved tediously along. Once up the bank, and the rifle balls whistled about us and our casualties began; but we wound our way, bearing a little to the left, through the lower portion of the town, where the buildings were detached and open lots were frequent, availing ourselves of such cover as could be used, until in a vacant hollow each regiment as it came up was halted toleave its knapsacks and blankets. These were bestowed in heaps, and the men and boys of the drum-corps were left to guard them. Here too, by order of the Colonel, the field and staff officers dismounted, leaving their horses in charge of servants. Then in fighting trim we moved forward past the last buildings, out upon the field of battle. Here was still between us and the enemy a swell of land, six or eight feet in its greatest height, affording some slight protection, and we trailed our arms to conceal our presence from the enemy.
The confusing roar of the battle was all about us. Our own batteries of heavy guns from Stafford Heights were firing over us—a few of our field pieces were in action near by. The rebel guns all along their line were actively at work—their shells exploded all around us, or crashed into the walls of neighboring buildings, dropping fragments at every crash; whatever room there might have been in the atmosphere for other noise, was filled by the rattle of musketry and the shouts of men.
No words can fully convey to a reader’s mind the confusion which exists when one is near enough to see and know the details of battle. One reads with interest in the reports of the generals, the letters of newspaper correspondents, or in the later histories constructed from those sources, a clear story of what was done; of formations and movements as if they were those of the parade; of attack and repulse—so graphically and carefully described as to leave clear pictures in one’s mind. But it may bedoubted whether one who was actively engaged, and in the thick of the fight, can correctly describe that which occurred about him, or tell with any degree of accuracy the order of events or the time consumed.
The reports of the battle of Fredericksburg describe occurrences that never happened, movements that were never made, incidents that were impossible. “History” tells how six brigades formed for attack on our right, in column of brigades, with intervals of two hundred paces—where no such formation was possible, and no such space existed. And at least one general (Meagher), in his reports must have depended much upon imagination for the facts so glowingly described.
To the memory now comes a strange jumble of such situations and occurrences as do not appear in the battles of history or of fiction. Of our Regiment separated from the rest of the brigade, getting into such positions that it was equally a matter of wonder that we should ever have gone there, or having gone should ever have escaped alive—of rejoining the division, where, one behind the other and close together in the railroad cut, were three brigades waiting the order for attack.
We recall the terrific accession to the roar of battle with which the enemy welcomed each brigade before us as it left the cover of the cut, and with which at last it welcomed us. We remember the rush across that open field where, in ten minutes, every tenth man was killed or wounded, and whereMarshall Davis, carrying the flag, was, for those minutes, the fastest traveller in the line; and the Colonel wondering, calls to mind the fact that he saw men in the midst of the severest fire, stoop to pick the leaves of cabbages as they swept along.
We remember how, coming up with the 62d Pennsylvania of our brigade, their ammunition exhausted and the men lying flat on the earth for protection, our men, proudly disdaining cover, stood every man erect and with steady file-firing kept the rebels down behind the cover of their stone wall, and held the position until nightfall. And it was a pleasant consequence to this that the men of the gallant 62d, who had before been almost foes, were ever after our fast friends.
Night closed upon a bloody field. A battle of which there seems to have been no plan, had been fought with no strategic result. The line of the rebel infantry at the stone wall in our front was precisely where it was in the morning. We were not forty yards from it, shielded only by a slight roll of the land from the fire of their riflemen, and so close to their batteries on the higher land that the guns could not be depressed to bear on us. At night our pickets were within ten yards of the enemy.
Here we passed the night, sleeping, if at all, in the mud, and literally on our arms. Happily for all, and especially for the wounded, the night was warm. In the night our supply of ammunition was replenished, and toward morning orders were received not to recommence the action.
The next day, a bright and beautiful Sunday, there was comparative quiet along the lines, but to prevent the enemy from trees or houses or from vantage spots of higher land bringing to bear upon our line the rifles of their sharp-shooters, required constant watchfulness and an almost constant dropping fire from our side.
Several attempts were made to communicate with us from the town, but every such endeavor drew a withering fire from the enemy. None of us could stand erect without drawing a hail of rifle balls. A single field-piece from the corner of two streets in the city exchanged a few shots over our heads with one of the batteries on the heights, but soon got the worst of it and retired.
Sergeant Spalding, in a printed description of this day, says: “It was impossible for the men in our brigade to obtain water without crossing the plain below us, which was a hazardous thing to attempt to do, as he who ventured was sure to draw the enemy’s fire; nevertheless, it was not an uncommon thing to see a comrade take a lot of canteens and run the gauntlet.” Seldom were they hit, but in a few instances we saw them fall, pierced by the rebel bullet.
“I remember seeing a soldier approaching us from the city, with knapsack on his back and gun on his shoulder. I watched him with special interest as he advanced, knowing that he was liable to be fired upon as soon as he came within range of the enemy’s rifles. He came deliberately along, climbedover the fence, and was coming directly towards where we lay, when crack went a rifle and down went the man—killed, as we supposed, for he lay perfectly still. But not so, he was only playing possum. Doubtless he thought that by feigning to be dead for a few moments he would escape the notice of the enemy. So it proved, for unexpectedly to us, and I doubt not to the man who shot him (as he supposed), he sprang to his feet and reached the cover of the hill before another shot was fired.”
The day wore away and the night came again, and we, relieved by other troops, returned to refresh ourselves by sleeping on the wet sidewalks of one of the city streets.
The next day three lines of infantry were massed in this street, which ran parallel to the river, but the day passed without any renewal of the battle. It was not pleasant, looking down the long street so full of soldiers, to think what might happen if the rebel guns, less than a thousand yards away, should open on the town—but it was none of our business. As it came on to storm at nightfall we took military possession of a block of stores, and the men, for the first time for many months, slept under the cover of a roof. It was a fearfully windy night, and whether it was the wind, or anxiety about the situation, the Colonel could not sleep. His horses were kept in the street conveniently at hand, and once or twice he rode out to the front and heard Captain Martin objurgating the General for his orders to entrench his battery with one pick and one shovel.
About 3 A. M. came an orderly seeking the commander of the brigade, whom nobody had seen for the past two days. The Colonel was inclined to be gruff until he learned that the orders were to move the brigade back over the river; then, indeed, he was sprightly. Declaring himself the ranking officer of the brigade, he receipted for the order and, sending his orders to the other regiments, began to retire the brigade to the easterly bank, and thence ordered the regiments to their old camps at Stoneman’s Switch, where the real brigadier found them soon after dawn.
At 8 A. M. Burnside had withdrawn his entire army and taken up his bridges. The storm was over, but again the fog filled the low lands. As it cleared away, some of us, from the piazza of the Phillips House, saw the rebel skirmishers cautiously creeping toward the town, and it was not long before the shouts from their lines told that the evacuation was discovered. In the battle of Fredericksburg the 32d lost thirty-five killed and wounded. Among the killed was Captain Charles A. Dearborn, Jr.