2The scoundrel’s own description of the proceedings was: “they shave my head—they burn my back—they march me in review.”
2The scoundrel’s own description of the proceedings was: “they shave my head—they burn my back—they march me in review.”
Here, too, we received a reinforcement of 180 drafted men, who were assigned to the different companies, and of whom we made good soldiers.
Between the 10th of October and the 29th of November the Army of the Potomac and the Army of Virginia were waltzing about the country between Culpepper and Fairfax. Frequently it was “forward and back,” sometimes “forward all,” and occasionally “back to back.” Generals Meade and Lee called the figures, and we danced to the music of artillery and rifles. There was in fact no fun in all this; the campaigning was severe, and some of the engagements were marked by sharp fighting, but the campaign was mainly one of manœuvres.
Sunday morning, November 29th, found our corps in position, in the centre of the line of battle at Mine Run, with orders to be ready to charge the enemy’s works at a given hour, when a signal gun was to be fired. There the two great armies of Virginia were brought face to face, each occupying a strong natural position, about a mile apart, with a deep valley between, through which passed a small stream called Mine Run.
We have said that each army occupied a strong natural position. The Confederate army however, had us at a great disadvantage. They knew it and expressed it by acts which spoke louder than words—coming out from behind their works by hundreds in the open field, seemingly to challenge us to charge across the valley, which they knew—and so did we—would be to many of our number the valley of death. For we had to charge down the hill across the Run and up the opposite slope, in theface of a hundred guns, planted so as to sweep the field with grape and canister the moment we came within range, and thousands of muskets in the hands of the enemy, who were evidently not only ready, but anxious to see us storm their position, that they might mow us down like grass.
Before taking our place in the line we were ordered to remove our knapsacks and all needless baggage that might interfere with our movements when the charge was ordered. That was the time that tried our nerves. The field was before us. The obstacles to be met and overcome we could see, and with our past experience it was evident to all that the contemplated movement if executed must involve a fearful sacrifice of life on our side. For hours we watched, and waited in suspense the signal that was to open the conflict, and the relief we experienced when the order to charge was countermanded, can better be imagined than described.
At dark we retired a little way from our position in the line of battle, built our camp fires, cooked our supper, and laid down to rest. About midnight we were aroused, and falling into line moved to the right about a mile, where our corps joined the 6th corps which occupied a position in the woods, and there we formed in line of battle. The following day will long be remembered by us on account of our bitter conflict with Jack Frost instead of Johnnie Reb. The day was extremely cold, freezing the water in our canteens, and although in danger of freezing ourselves, we wereordered not to build fires, or in any way make ourselves conspicuous, for we were within range of the enemy’s guns. Our situation was one of exposure and peril, for if we obeyed orders we were sure to perish with the cold, and if we disobeyed, as sure to draw the enemy’s fire, with the risk of losing life or limb. We took the latter risk—built fires by which to warm ourselves, or chased each other in a circle around a tree or stump to keep our blood in circulation and our limbs from freezing. And when a solid shot or a fragment of a shell came whizzing through the woods where we lay, we hugged the ground more closely, or sought the shelter of some rock or stump or tree, until the firing ceased, then resumed our exercise, or gathered around the fire again to cook our coffee, warm ourselves, and make another target for the enemy.
Thus for three days and nights the two great armies of Virginia menaced each other across the valley of Mine Run. At last the movement was abandoned and the campaign ended by the withdrawal of our army to the north of the Rappahannock, and two days afterward we found ourselves in what proved to be our winter quarters at Liberty.
While in winter quarters we had the pleasure of seeing several ladies about the cantonments, among them Mrs. Faxon, the young wife of our surgeon, whose experience and memories of the time it may be better to render in the first person.
EARLY in the winter of 1864, the 32d was in winter cantonments at Liberty, near Bealton Station, on the Orange & Alexandria railroad. Of course somebody must have commanded the army, but whoever he was, he never called upon me, and is of no consequence to my story. My orders to join came from an officer much more important in my eyes—the surgeon of the 32d, who, queerly enough, was also my husband.
After all manner of experiences I arrived at Bealton Station, a locality which by daylight appeared to be a quarter-section of Virginia land and a small, rough, and inconvenient platform of planks; but it was evening when I arrived—yes, a dark, rainy, December evening. A shadowy form having the voice of our garrulous quartermaster waited to welcome me, and by it I was ushered into the damp darkness, out of which loomed, by and by, the hazy form of an ambulance and two hazy mules—and then, but beyond and more misty, the upper half of what seemed to be my husband, and the ears of his horse. Whether I was sufficiently hearty in my greeting I do not know—I am afraid not, for allthis was not what I had imagined would be my first impressions on coming within army lines.
My idea of an army was made up of brilliant sights and stirring sounds. Nice clean flags—bright-buttoned uniforms—flying horses and full bands of music, were essential parts of the picture which my fancy had painted, and here was nothing but wet and darkness and mud. Through mud a foot deep, the creaking of the vehicle and “soh” of the feet of the wading mules, only breaking the moist silence—I was driven to the mansion in which my husband was quartered, and which was to be my home for the winter. Out of all this dreariness, however, I stepped into the cheerful light of glowing windows, and was welcomed to a most hospitable wood fire, in front of which was a table set out with a smoking supper of tempting odor—and my surgeon appeared no longer misty and uncorporeal, but solid humanity, and looking really quite bright in the eyes, and happy in my coming.
The hearty welcome, the bright light, and the cheering warmth soon obliterated all memory of the weary journey and the dismal night. The fatted chicken had been killed for me, and was served with hot potatoes, corn-bread, tea, and cold meat. A bright little negro girl waited upon me, and it added to the pleasant novelty of my position to be served by a piece even so small of the “peculiar institution.”
The “mansion” consisted of four rooms, the two on the lower floor separated by a hall; the kitchenwas a small building across the yard—earth floored—and it was not only kitchen but bed-room for the black servants, who, however, did not seem to use any beds. But all this I did not learn until daylight came again, and the drums, fifes, and bugles bursting out into reveille woke me amid dreams of home-life to the consciousness of my surroundings. Listening to that stirring music (how exhilarating even now is the bare memory of the reveille) and looking out from my window upon the camp of our Regiment and of many other regiments, seeing everywhere the signs of real service, I was more than satisfied, and no longer bewailed the absence of my ideal army.
This winter was one of halcyon days to me. Accustomed to the rigors of a Northern winter, the many bright warm days of the season, in Virginia, were peculiarly enjoyable. The country had been stripped of fences, and our horseback rides were limited only by our picket lines. Now we walked our horses through the woods, the dry underbrush crackling beneath their hoofs—now cantered freely over some wide expanse of old fields,—reining up to pass some ugly bit of corduroy road, or to ford a full water-course. In the foreground might be a “mansion,” occupied by some general officer as his headquarters, or a group of negro huts still tenanted by blacks of all ages. In the distance the high hills of the Blue Ridge, and perhaps between, in the middle distance, picturesque camps of artillery, cavalry, or infantry.
A few of the houses were still occupied by the families of their owners, among whom we made acquaintances; the able-bodied men were all “away,” the women said; where,—they never told.
Besides our almost daily rides, we paid and received visits, and exchanged rather limited hospitalities. Quartermaster Hoyt entertained us frequently, and although hispiece de résistancewas invariably a dish of fish balls, yet having a cook who knew how to make good ones, his fare always seemed sumptuous. Once we dined with Colonel Prescott, who flared out with a joint of roast beef, but this was exceptional grandeur.
Our quarters became quite the evening resort for officers of the 32d, and the few ladies who were there, and the hours passed pleasantly away with chat and games and jokes and stories. I could not then with any success assume a matronly role, and sometimes perhaps actually enjoyed the practical jokes which abounded in the camp. Then, too, where ladies are but few, they certainly are better appreciated than in the crowded halls of fashion, and it was pleasant (for I am human and woman) to be the attraction in a circle of young and brave men.
Please don’t anybody think that my time was entirely taken up with pleasures or trifling occupations. Even doctors need all manner of work done for them by their wives—there were some housekeeping cares, and the regimental hospital was none the worse for having a woman’s eye over it. Myfirst experience in dressmaking was in behalf of Mrs. O., a native neighbor, who had been useful, and possibly earned a trifle by mending for officers and men. To be sure when it was done it appeared that I had made the back of the basque all in one piece, without any seam, but that may be the fashion some day. No, I was not idle, and all days were not bright and happy, but the bright ones linger longest in my memory.
I did, once in a while, wish that in my peaceful life there might be mingled, just for seasoning, a trifle of real war; but one evening, when we were attending a dance over at the spacious log camp of Martin’s battery, there came an orderly all splashed with mud, with news that a raiding party of the enemy was close at hand, and the party scattered, infantry officers hurrying back to their regiments, and all to their posts. The brass guns, which, decked in fresh evergreen, had formed quite a striking decoration to the temporary ball-room, were hustled away into position. The voices which had been saying pretty things to us changed to tones of command, hardly softening to tell us that safety forbade our return to quarters. Some sort of a hole was prepared for our safe-keeping in case of attack, but when all was quiet, beds were made in the log house assigned to us ladies, of boughs laid on raised boards, on which we slept soundly until daylight came, when the alarm was over, and it was safe for us to ride home. It was very nice for once, but my ambition for stirring scenes was fully satisfied.
Late in the season there was quite a grand ball, and on St. Patrick’s day a merry party gathered to witness the games, races, and sports which had been organized by the officers of the 9th Massachusetts Regiment in honor of the festival. This was the height of the winter’s gaiety; with the milder air of spring, we non-combatants must flit away to our homes, and leave our soldiers alone to meet the stern realities of the coming campaign.
But there were stern realities too, for us at home, as we waited, sometimes in dread, because we heard nothing, and yet again trembling for fear that we should hear a more dreadsomething—trying even, while oppressed thus with terror and anxiety, to compose cheerful letters to the dear ones out of sight under the war-cloud. Is it wonderful that we welcomed with something of a weird satisfaction every call in behalf of the soldiers for our time, our labor, and our energy, or that we plunged into the work of our own sphere with a certain reckless desire to drown out in stirring occupation, the care and anxiety which haunted each idle hour.
Can anyone realize in these peaceful days what was one of the chief of women’s sorrows then—that very often that which was the cause of their deepest grief and affliction, might be the occasion for public and general rejoicing, and that the wife of yesterday, the widow of today, must don her weeds of mourning at the moment when the country clad itself in gay bunting, and threw rockets to the sky for very joy that out of bloodshed there had come victory.
DURING the winter of 1863-4, the portion of the Army of the Potomac which included our Regiment was encamped in a position to defend the railroad between Bealton and Warrenton, from attacks by guerillas, and the camp of the 32d was in close proximity to the village of Liberty, a very small place whose name meant, before the war, liberty to the white man only, and but for the “little unpleasantness” and its results, the name would have had no significance to men of color.
Liberty proved to be an agreeable camp for the 32d, for their rows of tented dwellings were pitched on a pleasant wooded slope where the ground was dry, with good drainage, an abundant supply of water near at hand, and soil less inclined to mud than in the greater part of the old Commonwealth of Virginia.
The picket duty was severe, as at this point there was a thoroughfare leading directly into the country of the enemy, and a railroad bridge, the loss of which would cause great annoyance to our own army by interrupting our line of communication, and cutting off one portion from its base of supply. Butthere was much to enliven us and break the monotony of camp life.
It was a little past midnight on the evening of the dance which was so rudely interrupted, that the long roll was sounded and, in scarcely more time than is necessary to write it, the Regiment was under arms and deployed in various directions for the protection of the camp. The disturbance was caused by a squad of rebel cavalry who had forced the picket line at a weak point, their presumable object being a raid on the United States paymaster, who came into camp that night to payoff the brigade; but the yankee soldier generally keeps picket with eyes and ears open, and whoever would cross his beat must have a feather tread. The paymaster (the late Major Holman), although the object of the attack, slept quietly through the whole uproar, and did not wake until morning. Apparently his safe might have been stolen and carried off without his being aware of it. We were out about two hours, when the enemy having been driven beyond our lines, we were sent back to our quarters.
An amusing incident occurred here one dark night which created quite a sensation on the picket line, at that time under command of Captain Farnsworth. Going the rounds at two o’clock A. M., posts eight, nine, and ten were found on thequi vive. They were stationed in the edge of a wood, where just across a narrow strip of grass-land there was another belt of forest. For some little time they had heard footsteps and other sounds which led them to believethat their posts were being reconnoitered by the enemy. After waiting some minutes and leaving orders that no aggressive movement should be made, but that in case any party should be seen to leave the opposite wood, the sentinels should order “halt,” and if not obeyed should fire, the captain passed on his tour of inspection. Before the round was completed he heard a shot from this direction, succeeded by perfect quiet, and when again at post nine the sentinel reported that he had done as directed, that some object had, in spite of his challenge, continued to approach, that he had fired and dropped the intruder, who or which, upon examination, proved to be amule. Well, he ought to have halted.
It was from this camp that a night expedition was sent after deserters. Outside our lines, at distances varying from two to four miles, were several dwelling houses occupied by families for whose protection it was common to billet a man on the premises as a “safeguard.” Such men were not subject to capture on this neutral ground, and their posts were very desirable, as they were well cared for by those under their guardianship, and had little to do, plenty of leisure, and often very pleasant society. But there were troubles connected with such arrangements. The men in camp hearing of the attractions of these places so near at hand where coffee, salt, and other supplies were exceeding scarce, and where gifts of them were acknowledged by various favors—were tempted to slip over the lines, each with little parcels saved from his abundant rations, supplemented, perhaps, with a sparejackknife and a few needles, to seek adventures among the natives. The fact that they ran the risk of capture and imprisonment probably added zest to such escapades, but was of itself a good reason why they should be prevented. In fact, it was within this very territory that Major Edmunds and his orderly were captured.
At the roll call at retreat, March 31st, 1864, it appeared that several men were “unaccounted for,” and there was little doubt as to the cause of their absence. The colonel, who had previously considered the propriety of some action on his part, was now at the end of his patience, and determined to put a check upon the practice. Sending for an officer who was at that time serving on a general court martial, and consequently not considered “for duty” in the Regiment, he told him of his wishes and offered him the command of the detachment which should make a detour through a portion of the neutral territory, and search for and, if possible, capture the missing men.
A detail of twenty-eight men was finally made from nearly twice that number who volunteered for the duty. Included in this number was one man who had been on safeguard duty in the neighborhood that we proposed to visit, and who could act as a guide to the party.
The party were in light marching order, each man with a day’s rations and forty rounds of ammunition in the cartridge boxes, and it left camp an hour and a half before midnight, at which hour itwas intended to reach the house of Colonel N——. The path was a narrow forest roadway, and for the greater part of the distance led through what was known as the “three-mile wood.” The night was moonless and very dark, and the detachment filed on, mile after mile, always on the alert and suspicious of every sound, until at last, and in good time, they reached the cleared land about Colonel N.’s “palatial mansion.” Deploying an advance guard they proceeded with the utmost caution to surround the house, and but for the dogs, who challenged loudly, the purpose would have been readily accomplished; but the inmates were speedily astir, alarmed by the baying of the hounds, and lights danced about from window to window. Whether rebel soldiers were among the occupants or not could not be told, but soon men came out at the doors, and their footsteps could be heard as they ran, but no one could see ten feet away to distinguish a man from a tree.
Orders had been given not to fire without command, and to give chase in the darkness would risk the loss of men without any good result. The party therefore went on cautiously to surround the house, and men were posted in such manner as to command all approaches to the mansion, with orders to halt and arrest whoever attempted to enter or to leave. After these guards were posted, the remainder, under a sergeant, were marched away for a half mile up the road, making considerable noise as they went, and then halted to await orders. In the meantimethe squad about the house was kept quiet in the darkness, out of the way of any light from the windows. After ten minutes had elapsed the door of the mansion was opened and some one looked out, thinking, no doubt, that the disturbers were well away. Then, as if the door opening had been a signal, the sound of footsteps was heard approaching slowly through the dry leaves and twigs in the woods; then a whispered conversation, and again the steps approached. A moment later two men came on, until, when within five feet of the commander, they were halted with the order, “Surrender, or I fire.” At first they turned, evidently with the intention of escaping, but changed their minds, saying, “Don’t fire, we surrender.” These proved to be two of the men of whom the expedition was in search. They had been in the house, and had started at the alarm, thinking that the troops were from the rebel lines; had waited until, as they supposed, the detachment had passed on its way, and then were going back to the house. Leaving these men under guard the house itself was summoned. The door being opened by a woman, and the lady of the house called for, four of the party entered and were referred to a beautiful and accomplished young lady of perhaps twenty years. Miss N. received them courteously, but declared upon her honor that no men from our camp had been in the house that day or evening. She was informed as politely as possible that there was an error in this statement—that two such men had already been secured, and that search would bemade for more. This resulted in the arrest of a third man, and having bagged him and apologized for the disturbance that had been caused, the party moved away.
“While life lasts,” says the captain, who commanded, “I shall not forget the flash of the young lady’s eyes when I questioned her assertion. I have often thought that if every southern soldier had to look for approval or disapproval into such a pair of eyes, it was no wonder victory often perched on their banners when the odds were against them.”
At half past two in the morning the party was back again in camp with three prisoners, and found that two others who ran from the house had returned of their own accord. All of these were of course technically deserters, but none were severely punished. The result of this expedition was to put a stop to a practice by means of which valuable information, no doubt, reached the enemy.
PICKET duty may be the most agreeable or it may be the most disagreeable of all the duties of a soldier, but it is always an important, and is often a dangerous one.
Picket-guards are formed by details on orders from headquarters. Sometimes the guard will include the entire regiment, or details from several regiments, but if the orders are from the battalion headquarters, it is usually composed of detachments from several companies. The officers are detailed from the adjutant’s roster and the designation of the enlisted men from each company devolves upon the first or orderly sergeants. The officers, non-commissioned officers and men, are supposed to be taken for duty in rotation, and woe befall the unfortunate orderly who designates one of the confirmed growlers out of what he considers his turn, as laid down on his own time-table, and many are the threats heaped on the head of the sergeants, which happily are never executed.
Under command of the ranking officer, the detachment is marched out and posted to guard the line assigned to its protection—usually there ismerely a chain of sentinels who are relieved at regular intervals of time from the main body; but sometimes, and always in the case of detached outposts, the men are divided into groups of three or more, under the supervision of the non-commissioned officers of the guard, while the commander of the whole line establishes reserves at points convenient for reinforcing it in case of need, and assigns to the subalterns the command of various portions.
Relieved from the wearisome round of camp duties and parades, and placed where each man has his own responsibilities, and must exercise his own judgment, picket duty often becomes an acceptable change, both for officers and men. In the warm season the men make a sort of picnic of their tour, and out on the front edge of the occupying army they can frequently obtain articles of food, which, although common enough in civil life, are real luxuries to those who have been limited in their diet to the rations issued in the army. They bask in the sunshine, or loiter in the shade—and when it is their turn for repose, the jackknives are busy and the chat is lively.
Sometimes our picket-line would be on a river, the opposite bank of which was guarded by the enemy, and there would be times of unofficial truce when we traded over the stream coffee for tobacco, etc., and when we even made visits to each other, and talked as freely as if we might not at a moment’s notice be enemies again.
But it is one of the unfortunate facts in a soldier’s life, that picket duty is not confined to quiet times or pleasant weather. The growlers usually maintained that it was always stormy when they were out on picket, and in three winters that we dwelt in tents within the boundaries of Virginia, there were many rough times on the picket lines when the rain poured down continuously, saturating the ground, clinging to the grass in the open, and to the undergrowth in the forests, and streaming down from the boughs—wet, wet—water, water, everywhere; on the ground where we slept, on the stone or log which was the only seat; dribbling through a corner of the tent, usually down the neck of its occupant, or making a little rill off one’s overcoat and into one’s boot top.
Or perhaps it was snow or sleet that stung our faces and chilled us to the marrow; or perhaps, worst of all, the clear cold of winter which our little picket fires, when they were permitted, did but little to overcome.
There was one occasion while we were at Liberty, on which we were indulged with all of these in turn. It was early in the spring of ‘64, the day had been warm and rainy, unseasonably warm and quite seasonably rainy, the rain continuing into the night and the wind rising to a gale that made all manner of noises in the wood in which our line was posted. The men all soaked through, had hard work to keep their ammunition dry and their rifles in condition for use, and all of us, uncomfortable as mortalscould be, feeling as if the night would never pass and morning never come, wished more heartily than ever “that this cruel war was over,” that we might have a chance to get in out of the rain.
All of a sudden the wind shifted to the northwest, and we had first hail, then snow, and finally clear cold weather, the gale all the time continuing; the men themselves, almost chilled to icicles, were soon clothed in armor of ice, which cracked and rustled as they tramped along their beat, beneath a clear sky and stars that shone with winter brilliancy.
The morning came at last, and with the rising sun there was exhibited one of those marvels of beauty which can come only from such a preparation. Every twig and branch of tree or shrub, and every spear of grass or tuft of herbage clad in a coating of ice, blazed with the hue of the rainbow. The trees in the forest seemed loaded with jewels, and the meadows were strewn with them.
But the power of the spring sunshine dissolved the gorgeous display, and thawed out the sentinels from their encasements of ice; the wind ceased, the mildness of the balmy Southern spring returned, and soon from every man a cloud of steam rose in the quiet air, and as their clothing dried and their bodies warmed, the spirits of the men thawed out, and they who, in the previous twenty-four hours, had passed through various stages of discomfort, were cheerily chaffing one another as they made their breakfast of hot coffee and soaked cakes of what had once been hard-tack, and very likely wrotehome the next day about the charms of the Southern climate, which gave them such delicious spring weather in what was at home the winter month of March.
Whether it is summer or winter, hot or cold, sunshine or rain, day or night, and however peaceful or stormy the scene may be, the picket guard must keep their eyes open and their powder dry. Constituting the outposts of an army which trusts to them, they must be always alert against surprise. And although we may have been accustomed for weeks to exchange friendly civilities with the pickets over the river, the time would come when each would do his best to kill the other. When some change was contemplated, or some movement began which it was desirable to conceal from our adversary, orders would be sent to the pickets to open fire on those of the enemy.
Such orders were of course first notified to the other side, and no advantage was taken by either of existing truce relations. After that warning, whoever showed out of cover was a target for the enemy’s picket, and frequently no fires were allowed, because the light or smoke would aid the aim of the foe.
If the movement was a direct advance from our front, the first order would be announced by shouts of “Look out, Johnnie, we’re coming,” and some shots sent purposely in the air, and then came the driving in of the enemy’s pickets.
Or possibly the boot was on the other leg and it was we that were driven in, in which case it wasour duty to cause all possible delay to the attacking force. The reserves were added to the line, and as we fell back the whole would be relieved by other troops sent forward at the alarm and interposed between us and the rebels, whereupon we were marched to join our respective regiments and companies.
Sometimes it is desirable to capture some men from the pickets of the opposing army, in order or in hopes of obtaining information, and sometimes a picket is captured for a lark, or because of a favorable chance—a chance which generally implies neglect of duty on the part of the captured men.
In one instance an outpost party of five men, believing themselves to be at a safe distance from the enemy, ventured to indulge in the luxury of a game of cards, for which purpose they placed their arms in a stack, and soon became deeply interested in the game, from which they were aroused by a summons to surrender. Upon looking up they discovered a single man of the enemy, standing between them and the stack, his rifle trained on the group, and himself so posted as that he could supply himself with their rifles after discharging his own. Thus he could put two or three of his opponentshors de combat, while, all unarmed, they could not possibly harm him; and so the five surrendered to the one, who marched them before him to his own lines.
When things were lively on the picket lines and the men alert, it was wearing business. The strain of constant watchfulness, especially at night,peering into the gloom and imagining that you see forms or hear movements—the knowledge that your own life may depend upon the keenness of your vision—the fear of mistaking friend for foe—the need of quick intelligence and rapid reasoning—all make up an exhausting kind of duty.
At one such time, one of our officers, a brave fellow, but one whose experience of picket duty was insufficient, thinking to ascertain the origin of suspicious sounds outside our lines, went out on a scout, expecting to return at the point where he left, but mistaking his way in the night, he came upon our chain of pickets at another post which he had neglected to warn of his doings. As he continued to approach when challenged, the sentinel fired, and next day among the casualties reported was, “One officer wounded on the picket line, arm, severely.” No one was to blame but himself.
That same night the men, nervous from the frequent firing along the line, one of the posts became aware of the sound of steps out in the bush field on their front, evidently approaching nearer and nearer; then one of the men could see what seemed to be a man crouching near the earth and creeping through the brush with frequent hesitation; finally the sentinel challenged, and receiving no reply, fired. The crack of his rifle was followed by the agonizing grunts and dying squeals of a stray Southern porker who had yielded up his life for the lost cause.
It may be that accidents of this last type were more frequent than was necessary (there were threepigs killed that night), but vigilance on the part of the guards is always praiseworthy, and the orders against marauding could not apply to such a case, even if the result was a good supply of fresh pork-chops along the picket lines next day.
IN the winter of 1863-4, the great majority of the men of the 32d reënlisted for a term of three years, under an order which in such cases gave the entire reënlisting body a furlough of thirty days. It was only after much struggling with bumbledom that everything was smoothed out and the furlough granted, so that the Regiment could return as one body.
Leaving the camp and the remainder of the men under command of Captain Fuller of Company C, the Regiment left for Massachusetts to enjoy its vacation. It was a little before noon on Sunday, the 17th of January, 1864, a bright and mild winter day, that we arrived in Boston, and our first impression upon arrival was that all the people of Boston were gathered about the Old Colony station, but there were enough of them left to line the whole route through the city, as we marched first to the State House to pay our respects to Governor Andrew, and as we moved thence to Faneuil Hall, where a bounteous collation awaited us. Notwithstanding the day the troops were saluted along the line by the cheers of the people, and the salvos of artillery.
At Faneuil Hall, after all had been satisfied with the repast, Governor Andrew arose to address them and was greeted with hearty cheers. He spoke in substance as follows:
Soldiers:—In the name and in behalf of the Commonwealth and of the people of Massachusetts, I greet your return once more to your homes and to the soil of the venerable Bay State. The cordial voices of the people who have welcomed your procession through the streets of Boston, these waving banners, these booming cannon breaking the stillness of our Sabbath day with voices echoing the sounds of battle—all, all bid you welcome—welcome home. The grateful hospitality of Boston beneath the venerable arches of Faneuil Hall welcomes you. Our hearts, speaking the eloquence of affection, admiration, and pride no words of mortal lips can utter, with beating throbs bid you welcome. Hail then, soldiers of our cause, returning for brief relaxation from the toils, the conflicts, the perils of war, hail to your homes. Here let the war-worn soldier-boy rest for a while, and rejuvenate his spirits, refresh his heart, and re-erect his frame. Here, too, I trust, shall your ranks be filled by fresh recruits of brave and patriotic hearts, imitating your zeal, vying with your courage, and following your example. I cannot, soldiers of the Union Army, by words, by eloquence of speech, in fitting measure repeat your praise. This battle flag, riddled with shot and torn with shell, is more eloquent than human voice, more speaking than language, more inspiring, more pathetic than music or song. This banner tells what you have done; it reveals what you have borne. And it shall be preserved so long as the last thread remains, so long as time shall leave a splinter of its staff—a memorial of your heroism, your patriotism and your valor.While I greet the return of these brave and stalwart men to the homes of Massachusetts, I remember those comrades in arms whose forms you have left behind. Yielding to the shock of battle, many of those brave soldier-boys to whom, in behalf of the Commonwealth, I bade farewellsome months ago, fighting for that flag, defending the rights and honor of our common country, maintaining the liberties of her people, the traditions of the fathers, and the rights of humanity—have been laid low. They sleep beneath the sod that covers the rude grave of the soldier. Oh, rest in peace, ye hero martyrs, until the resurrection summons shall call you to that otherHome! No longer obedient to any earthly voice or any human leader, you have made your last report, and in the spirit have already ascended to join the Great Commander! The humblest soldiers who have given their lives away, will be remembered so long as our country shall preserve a history. Their fame will be acknowledged with grateful affection when ten thousand prouder names shall have been forgot.“While thousand as absurd as I,Cling to their skirts, they still shall fly,And spring to immortality.”I give you praise from the bottom of a grateful heart, in behalf of a grateful and patriotic people, for all that you have suffered and for all that you have attempted. And now on this holy sabbath day, let us remember with the filial thankfulness of sons, with the devoted piety of Christians, as well as the exulting confidence of patriots what theGod of our fathershas done for us, from the beginning. UntoHimand not unto us be all the praise and the glory. Unto Him who sitteth upon the throne and ruleth the nations let us give everlasting ascriptions of praise, that through the trials of many a defeat, through the despondency of many a temporary repulse, our arms have been conducted to many a triumph, and our minds to still loftier heights of moral victory. You are fighting now for the cause of your country, and also—for Washington used to love to declare he drew his sword—“for the rights of human nature.” And now let all of us, living men, on this holy day and on this sacred spot where our fathers were wont to meet in the dark hours of earlier history—let all of us living men, consecrate ourselves anew, by the vows of a new obedience, to our country, to humanity, and to God.
Soldiers:—In the name and in behalf of the Commonwealth and of the people of Massachusetts, I greet your return once more to your homes and to the soil of the venerable Bay State. The cordial voices of the people who have welcomed your procession through the streets of Boston, these waving banners, these booming cannon breaking the stillness of our Sabbath day with voices echoing the sounds of battle—all, all bid you welcome—welcome home. The grateful hospitality of Boston beneath the venerable arches of Faneuil Hall welcomes you. Our hearts, speaking the eloquence of affection, admiration, and pride no words of mortal lips can utter, with beating throbs bid you welcome. Hail then, soldiers of our cause, returning for brief relaxation from the toils, the conflicts, the perils of war, hail to your homes. Here let the war-worn soldier-boy rest for a while, and rejuvenate his spirits, refresh his heart, and re-erect his frame. Here, too, I trust, shall your ranks be filled by fresh recruits of brave and patriotic hearts, imitating your zeal, vying with your courage, and following your example. I cannot, soldiers of the Union Army, by words, by eloquence of speech, in fitting measure repeat your praise. This battle flag, riddled with shot and torn with shell, is more eloquent than human voice, more speaking than language, more inspiring, more pathetic than music or song. This banner tells what you have done; it reveals what you have borne. And it shall be preserved so long as the last thread remains, so long as time shall leave a splinter of its staff—a memorial of your heroism, your patriotism and your valor.
While I greet the return of these brave and stalwart men to the homes of Massachusetts, I remember those comrades in arms whose forms you have left behind. Yielding to the shock of battle, many of those brave soldier-boys to whom, in behalf of the Commonwealth, I bade farewellsome months ago, fighting for that flag, defending the rights and honor of our common country, maintaining the liberties of her people, the traditions of the fathers, and the rights of humanity—have been laid low. They sleep beneath the sod that covers the rude grave of the soldier. Oh, rest in peace, ye hero martyrs, until the resurrection summons shall call you to that otherHome! No longer obedient to any earthly voice or any human leader, you have made your last report, and in the spirit have already ascended to join the Great Commander! The humblest soldiers who have given their lives away, will be remembered so long as our country shall preserve a history. Their fame will be acknowledged with grateful affection when ten thousand prouder names shall have been forgot.
“While thousand as absurd as I,Cling to their skirts, they still shall fly,And spring to immortality.”
“While thousand as absurd as I,Cling to their skirts, they still shall fly,And spring to immortality.”
“While thousand as absurd as I,Cling to their skirts, they still shall fly,And spring to immortality.”
I give you praise from the bottom of a grateful heart, in behalf of a grateful and patriotic people, for all that you have suffered and for all that you have attempted. And now on this holy sabbath day, let us remember with the filial thankfulness of sons, with the devoted piety of Christians, as well as the exulting confidence of patriots what theGod of our fathershas done for us, from the beginning. UntoHimand not unto us be all the praise and the glory. Unto Him who sitteth upon the throne and ruleth the nations let us give everlasting ascriptions of praise, that through the trials of many a defeat, through the despondency of many a temporary repulse, our arms have been conducted to many a triumph, and our minds to still loftier heights of moral victory. You are fighting now for the cause of your country, and also—for Washington used to love to declare he drew his sword—“for the rights of human nature.” And now let all of us, living men, on this holy day and on this sacred spot where our fathers were wont to meet in the dark hours of earlier history—let all of us living men, consecrate ourselves anew, by the vows of a new obedience, to our country, to humanity, and to God.
At the hall the Regiment was dismissed, but only to meet renewed evidences of cordial hospitality. Company I was entertained the same day by the civic authorities of Charlestown, and Company K the next day at Newton. The officers breakfasted with Colonel Parker at the Parker House on Monday, and on the 16th of February, on the eve of their return, dined with him at the Revere House, on which latter occasion Governor Andrew was present and expressed, as no one could do more more heartily or more genially, his appreciation of the past service of the Regiment, and his good wishes for their future.
Besides these there were balls and dinners and entertainments to occupy all the time that the soldiers were willing to spare from their home enjoyments, until their departure February 17th, and on the Monday ensuing the Regiment was again in camp at Liberty, with its new title of “Veteran,” which the 32d was the first, from Massachusetts, to assume.
WHEN one of the many interviewers of President Lincoln introduced the subject of the election of his successor, the President is reported to have declared, with his wonted quaintness of expression, that “it wasn’t a good plan to swap horses while crossing a stream,” by which he was understood to argue in favor of his own reëlection.
Unfortunately he limited in practice the force of this pithy saying to his own office and his own continuance therein. He showed little hesitation in “swapping” one general for another, and often selected the middle of a very rapid stream as the place for the swap.
The last of these changes—that which placed General Grant in command of all the armies in place of Halleck—was certainly no injury to the service. Perhaps the greatest mistake of all, in a military point of view, was that which took General McClellan from the same position. It was the long-continued service of Lee which made him what he proved to be—the ablest of the Confederate generals. Such a mistake as he made in attacking Meade at Gettysburg would, or should have, proved the ruin of any Union general.
But at last we had generals who had come to stay, and Grant’s obstinate pluck, assisted by Meade’s tactical ability, well supported by the political powers at Washington, were to give us final success.
April 30th, 1864, we broke camp at Liberty, and with the army led by our new General-in-Chief Grant, advanced to meet the enemy. The first day’s march was only five miles. Our division, gathering near Rappahannock Station, encamped for the night. The next morning we crossed the river for the fifteenth time, making another short march to Brandy Station.
May 3d we marched leisurely to Culpepper (distance six miles), and halted there several hours. Marched all the night following, crossing the Rapidan at Germania Ford at eight o’clock in the morning, where we halted for breakfast. During the day we pushed steadily forward into the Wilderness, marching till dark, when we bivouacked near Wilderness Tavern, in close proximity to the enemy.
May 5th.—Early in the morning we were in line of battle, with orders to fortify our position. We had an abundance of material with which to build breastworks, and axes, spades, and picks were freely used by willing hands. In a few hours we built a formidable line of defense, behind which we expected to fight, but were disappointed (as we had often been before) when the order “forward” was sounded. About noon we advanced, leaving our entrenched position for other troops to occupy. Ourdivision, which had the honor of opening the campaign, moved cautiously forward to attack the enemy. Soon we encountered their skirmishers and drove them back to their lines. As we approached the enemy the Regiment made quick time in crossing a road along which poured a shower of grape and canister. Scarcely had we reached the shelter of the woods on the opposite side of this road when we came under fire of infantry, who gave us a warm reception, but were pushed back before our steady advance to their second line, where we engaged them until dark.
In this our first engagement in the Wilderness campaign our Regiment suffered little, owing to the favorable lay of the ground over which we advanced. We lost none killed, and but thirteen wounded.
That night we lay on our arms. There was, however, but little chance for sleep, as we were in the extreme front, and almost within speaking distance of the enemy. Early the following morning the fighting was renewed on our right and left, and was then very severe. The rattle of musketry and the roar of artillery, as it reverberated through the forest, was terrific. Although we were under the fire of artillery, with the din of battle thundering in our ears, many of us slept, unable longer to resist nature’s demand for repose.
A pine tree standing just in the rear of our line of battle was severed about midway by a cannon ball, and the top fell to the ground and stood there erect beside the trunk.
Towards midnight we were suddenly withdrawn, and after marching (or rather stumbling) through the woods in the darkness for about a mile, we halted near where we were on the morning of the 5th. There we laid down our arms and unconditionally surrendered to an overwhelming force—“nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep.”
As it was quite dark when we arrived, we did not know that a twelve-pound battery was in position behind us and only a few rods distant, until about daylight, when it opened fire and brought us to our feet in quick time. The occasion was quickly ascertained. The enemy had assumed the offensive, and was advancing in force against our works. They were handsomely repulsed, however, and with this exception we were not disturbed that day. Several times the enemy shelled us, but being protected by breastworks, we suffered no loss. The line behind us was less fortunate, several shells exploding there, killing and wounding a number of men. Thus we passed the third day of the battle of the Wilderness.
At night the location of both armies was plainly indicated by blazing camp-fires, as well as by the cheers of theYanksand the yells of theRebs—demonstrations that were intended by each to blind the other in regard to their contemplated movements.
About nine o’clock we began our first flank movement towards Richmond. Neither tongue nor pen would do justice to our experience of night marches such as this. All night we marched and halted (buthalted more than we marched). We did not often stop to rest, but jogged along at a snail-like pace. When our column moved we marched route step, arms at will, and when it halted we came to order arms and leaned upon our guns, keeping our places in the ranks, so as to be on the alert to prevent a surprise, ready for any emergency.
About midnight we had just emerged from the woods and, halting in the road, stood leaning on our guns. It has been said that soldiers can sleep while marching. Whether this be so or not, it is certain that at this time three quarters of the men were three quarters asleep, and the other quarter more so, as we waited there for the column to start.
At this moment the troops ahead came suddenly to the front to meet, as they supposed, an attack of the enemy in ambush, which proved to be only a squad of stragglers who had stolen away into the bushes by the roadside, and turned in for a good night’s rest, but had been awakened at our approach. The sudden alarm created a panic which ran like an electric flash through the entire column, sweeping the soldiers from the road as quickly and effectually as though a battalion of cavalry had charged upon us unawares. Lieutenant-Colonel Stephenson was on his horse, but availed himself of the momentary halt to drop off into a gentle slumber. Suddenly he was awakened to find his horse whirling around and himself apparently alone.
Our double-quick movement in the dark from the road to cover effectually awakened us, and weresumed our places in line, to laugh over our experience and continue our tramp till daylight, when we halted near Spottsylvania. One would suppose that we needed rest and sleep by that time, but instead of that our Regiment was ordered to support a battery, and we remained during the day (Sunday), spending most of the time fortifying the position. There was considerable fighting during the day, and at its close we moved to a new line of battle, which we occupied during the 9th, 10th, and 11th of May. This was within easy rifle range from the enemy, and being able only partially to protect ourselves behind the breastworks, several casualties occurred in the Regiment.
Sergeant Spalding was hit in the neck by a spent ball, which he carefully saved. A man by his side was struck in the forehead by a bullet which knocked off his hat, made an ugly scalp wound, and finally left him stunned and bleeding; the first symptoms of his revival were a hand outstretched and a “Good-bye, boys,” to those around him; but he soon recovered enough to go to the rear for repairs.
On the morning of the 11th, General Grant sent to Washington that memorable dispatch which was characteristic of our leader and meant success, although at a terrible sacrifice of life, limb and treasure: “We have ended the sixth day of heavy fighting, and expect to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer.”
Captain Dana had been on detached service, acting as aide-de-camp to General Dana, who was incommand somewhere out West. Having obtained a leave of absence of sixty days he returned to the Regiment, which he joined here in the Wilderness, and resumed command of his company. Early in the campaign he “captured” a wooden chair from some house as we passed, which he persistently carried wherever he went. At every halt the captain brought his chair to the ground and sat himself down in it comfortably and complacently. In every fight his “private chair,” as he called it, shared his dangers and rode upon his shoulder. In one of our scrimmages a rifle shot struck the chair, and the captain returned, among his casualties that day as wounded, “Private Chair in the leg—badly.”
The 12th of May, 1864, is a date never to be forgotten by any of the 32d who were present in the attack on Laurel Hill that day. Brief as was the action, the loss of the Regiment in proportion to the numbers engaged, was greater than in any battle of the war.
That morning found us where we had been for two or three days, in front of Laurel Hill, and distant hardly more than a quarter of a mile from the works of the enemy. Between us and them were two swells of land, which afforded us some protection from the enemy’s missiles. The summit of one of these was occupied by our pickets, and the other by the pickets of the rebels.
About nine o’clock A. M. we received orders to attack the position of the enemy on Laurel Hill, and the brigade, commanded by Colonel Prescott, advanced with a rush across the intervening space.
As the line of battle started, it overran the picket line—dashed down the little depression in their front, over the next rise of ground, but at the foot of Laurel Hill the men, whose momentum had carried them thus far, faltered under the terrible fire, and laid down within a short distance of the enemy’s line of works. Here the ground did not cover the left of the Regiment, and while Colonel Stephenson was trying to draw his left under shelter, he saw that the regiment on his right had broken and was falling back in great disorder, and at once ordered the men to save themselves.
The advance had been disastrous, but as usual the retreat was far more so. In the 32d five bearers fell before the colors reached the old position behind our works; of the 190 men who advanced in the regimental line, 103 were killed or wounded, and from the time that they left the works until the remnant had returned, less than thirty minutes had elapsed. Among our wounded were Lieutenants Lauriat, Hudson, and Farnsworth, Adjutant Kingsbury, and Captains Bancroft and Hamilton; the latter of whom died two months later of his wounds.
From that day until the 23d, the Regiment was almost constantly in position in front of the enemy at Spottsylvania Court House and other localities, the service varied by repeated change of location all in the direction of the left, the building of new breastworks, picket duty, etc.
At the commencement of the war, the shovel was derided by a considerable portion of the people ofthe North, and even by the inexperienced and over-reckless men in the army, but the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac learned from experience the value and advantage of the utensil. After long and weary marches, the tired soldiers, if placed in positions confronting the enemy, would almost invariably, and often without orders, throw up earthworks before they wrapped themselves in their blankets for sleep.
On the morning of the 23d we resumed our march in the direction of the North Anna River, Crawford’s division of our corps, which was composed almost entirely of Pennsylvania troops, taking the advance.
Our destination was Jericho Ford on the North Anna. When within a mile or two of the ford, at a fork in the road, General Crawford by mistake took the wrong way, and had advanced some distance in that direction before his error was discovered. Without waiting for that division to countermarch, General Warren, our corps commander, directed General Griffin with his division to cross the ford. Our brigade took the advance and forded the stream, which was about four feet deep. Reforming at once upon a plain, the brigade advanced in line of battle into a piece of woods, preceded by the 22d Massachusetts as skirmishers, under the command of Major Burt, one of the most skilful officers in command of a skirmish line in the army. We had barely entered the woods when our skirmishers drew the fire from the enemy’s picket line, and the bullets came whistling over our heads quite freely.
The enemy soon fell back, and after gaining some ground we were directed to fell trees and erect another line of works. The men worked with great zeal, but had not finished when the enemy came upon us in full force, General Hill’s corps essaying to drive us from our position into the river. The attack fell upon our division, which received the impetuous charge with a steady fire, and the enemy retired. Yet, notwithstanding the merciless reception which was given them, the Confederates pushed forward again about 5 P. M., and finally the line of the 9th Massachusetts broke under the pressure, rendering our position critical. The enemy poured through the interval, thus endangering our whole line; but their headlong course was checked by a well-directed fire from a battery hastily placed in position, and served under the eye of General Warren.
Unable to sustain this raking fire of canister, the Confederates gave way, and our line was reformed and strengthened. During this time the 32d, which formed the left flank of our battle line, maintained a continuous fire, the men loading and discharging their rifles with great rapidity. It is impossible to tell how long this action was in progress, as in the excitement of battle one can make but little note of the passage of time, but after a sharp, quick struggle, which seemed to last but a few minutes, and yet probably consumed more than an hour’s time, the enemy withdrew, baffled in his attempt to force our position.
If such a thing could well be, this was the most enjoyable fight in which we participated during thepounding process we were obliged to undergo from the Wilderness to Petersburg. It was the only engagement in which we had the advantage of remaining under the cover of our works and receiving the attack of the enemy. In every other action during this campaign these conditions were reversed, and our comparatively trifling loss demonstrated the disadvantage under which we had habitually been placed.
This engagement proved that the enemy was on our front in force, that he had again divined his adversary’s plan of flanking his army, and that any further advance in this direction must be gained by hard fighting. We remained in our position during the night, receiving no further annoyance from the enemy. The next day we were moved to the right, and on the 25th again moved a short distance in the direction of Hanover Junction, where we threw up works and did picket duty until nightfall of the 26th, when we received orders to retire, which we did silently, leaving our pickets to face the enemy until the army had recrossed the North Anna. Our division crossed at Quarles’ Ford, and marched all night and the next day in the direction of the Pamunkey River.
After leaving the North Anna our next encounter with the enemy was in the vicinity of Mechanicsville. On the morning of the 30th our brigade advanced in line of battle through the Tolopotomy Swamp, driving the enemy’s skirmish line, which made but little resistance, until we came to openfields around Shady Grove Church, where we found him in force, protected by earthworks. This advance through the woods was very toilsome; briars, fallen trees, and similar obstructions impeding our progress, made it difficult to preserve the line of battle. Many of the men were badly shod; some had no covering for the feet, yet were compelled to march over briars and stumps which abounded.
The men had started on the campaign well provided with shoes—not new, perhaps, but in good condition—and twenty-five days’ constant service, in rain and sun, dust and mud, had left them in a pitiable condition. Yet there was no help for it, no supplies upon which to draw, for it was the 6th of June before we saw our baggage and supply trains. During this period of thirty days, neither men nor officers could obtain any change of clothing; the best that could be done was to catch a few hours, while at rest, for washing, wait for the sun to do the drying, and meantime go without.
During the afternoon there was considerable desultory firing, and our loss for the day amounted to twenty-one killed or wounded, among them Lieutenant George W. Bibby, killed.
About midnight we were relieved by a brigade of the 9th Corps, and went into camp. June 1st and 2d we were in the reserve, but on the 3d were aroused before daybreak to take part in the battle of Cold Harbor.
Our part consisted of a charge across an open field under a severe fire of grape and canister. Wedrove the enemy out of one line of earthworks and into another, where he made a stand. The real battle of Cold Harbor, probably, did not occupy more than twenty minutes. It was the same along the whole line as with us—a rapid charge under a galling fire from the enemy, who, protected by earthworks of great strength, easily repelled our attacks. Our brigade was, perhaps, as successful as any, for we did drive the enemy from his most advanced position, but he retired to one of greater strength. This attack was made before five o’clock in the morning. During the remainder of the day we laid quiet, within the redoubt we had captured, the enemy occupying his interior line not more than two hundred yards away. We kept up a constant fire, watching for every man who had the courage to show himself, thus hindering as far as was possible the working of the Confederate guns. The defences on our front were well constructed, and evidently laid out under the supervision of an experienced engineer. Indeed we learned from a prisoner that they were begun two weeks before we reached the place, by order of General Lee, who, it appears, foresaw that General Grant would necessarily be brought to this point if he continued “to fight it out on that line.”
Between the lines of works occupied by our brigade and the enemy, the ground was covered with pine-trees felled and slashed across each other, making the passage through exceedingly difficult for troops, even had they been unopposed. But, in addition, the enemy had posted a battery in such aposition that he could sweep the field with the fire of his guns, from which there was no shelter.
In view of all this we were not much elated when we received an order that at six o’clock P. M. we were to attack the enemy in our front, without regard to the movements of the troops on either flank. Lieutenant-Colonel Stephenson, believing that, under the circumstances, the movement could not be successful, sent to General Griffin, the division commander, a description and sketch of the position of the enemy and the ground before us, whereupon the order was so changed that we were not to advance until the 9th Corps, which joined our right, should move. It can be imagined how anxiously we watched the movements of the 9th, but the hour came, and the artillery signal for the charge was unnoticed by the troops on our right, who did not budge, and we were glad indeed when darkness came on and we knew that we had, at least for the time, escaped the terrible ordeal we had expected. We know now that the order to charge was given to the commanders of every corps, but was disregarded by every one; feeling that, after the experiences of the morning, another charge would result in fearful loss of life, with no effect upon the enemy’s position. Our loss during the day was ten killed and twenty-one wounded. The loss to the Union army was over thirteen thousand killed and wounded; that of the Confederates, less than one thousand.
For a few days after the battle of Cold Harbor there seemed to be an intention on the part of General Grant to commence siege operations. We werethen about twelve miles from Richmond, and on the same ground where, nearly two years before, was fought the action of Gaines’ Mill—the first of McClellan’s seven days’ battle in 1862. The prospect of another campaign in the swamps of the Chickahominy was not attractive, and no regrets were expressed when on the 12th of June, General Grant abandoned his attempt to attack Richmond directly, and headed his columns for the James River.
To cover this change of plan, the 5th Corps crossed the Chickahominy at Long Bridge, and threatened to force a passage through White Oak Swamp, but as soon as the rest of the army had crossed the James, we took up our march southward, and followed to a point a little below Wilcox Landing, where we were ferried over the river, and on the 16th the whole army was on the right bank preparing for a new campaign.
AFTER the long marches of the spring campaign of 1864, through the Wilderness to Spottsylvania Court House, across the North Anna, through the Tolopotomy Swamp to Bethesda Church, thenceviathe Chickahominy, White Oak Swamp, and Charles City Court House to the James River, the 32d Regiment crossed the James and marched to a point on the Norfolk Railroad, about three miles from Petersburg, where, on the 18th of June, they took part in the charge which drove the enemy into their last line of intrenchments. It was in this action that Colonel George L. Prescott fell, mortally wounded. While the engagement was not an entire success, it gave us the vantage ground of the crest of a hill, which we retained, and whereon we established our line of entrenchments; and this was the position from which the Burnside mine was afterwards made and exploded. After this line was established, our Brigade was ordered to the rear, into camp along the Jerusalem plank road, where we were held as reserves for special duty; and this was not, as might be supposed, light duty, for while there we werebusy day and night, building a large earthwork fort, which was named Fort Prescott in honor of our colonel. Here Lieutenant-Colonel Stephenson, suffering from his wounds, resigned and left us, to return to civil life, and Major Edmunds was appointed Colonel, Captain Cunningham, Lieutenant-Colonel, and Captain Shepard, Major.
On the 12th of July, after being in reserve somewhat over three weeks, during which we had been called upon twice to reinforce the 2d and 6th Corps lines, we were ordered into the trenches, and began our life in the bomb proofs. Our first term of service there extended from July 12th to August 16th, a continuous period of five weeks, and must have been experienced to be fully realized.
In order to give the reader an idea of what a bomb proof is, we will describe the method of its construction. First, a hole is dug in the ground, which, of necessity, when in front of an active enemy, must be done under cover of darkness; this hole is perhaps four or five feet deep, providing the ground is not too wet; then the top is roofed over with logs of wood held up by cross timbers; then the earth which has been dug out is thrown over the logs, which makes the whole comparatively water-tight and proof against solid shot or shells, such as the enemy seemed to delight in tossing over into our lines in season and out of season, giving us frequent surprises and placing some of ushors du combat. There were, of course, openings to these subterranean caverns so that those who were to occupythem could crawl in and out. The openings were usually not much larger than was needed for a man comfortably to get in and out, and had an adjustable log to cover the major portion of the aperture, so arranged that it could be moved on and off at pleasure. This entrance was left on the side opposite the enemy, so that direct shots could not penetrate it, the only danger on that side being from shells exploded among the bomb proofs casting their fragments through the doorways into our underground domiciles. This would, after all, occasionally occur, sometimes arousing a sleeping soldier with a summons to another world. If one could choose the ground where he would locate such an underground mansion, he might make it a dry and comfortable abode, and one that would be comparatively healthy; but the ground assigned to the 32d was a clay soil, rather springy, where in many places two feet of excavation brought us to water, therefore a part of the domicile had to be above ground; and this was protected by inclined timbers, built like a lean-to, with a palisade front to make it proof against the ordinary shot and shell.
There were many exciting scenes and occurrences among the bomb proofs. Occasionally, in the middle of the night, a solid shot or a shell would come singing through the air and pounce down on one of the huts where half-a-dozen soldiers were dozing away, and the shock would startle them so that for a short time they would hardly know whether it was an earthquake or an attack by the enemy, butfinding that the roof had not fallen in, and seeing no danger at hand, they would usually turn over and resume their slumbers.
Within these huts we were obliged to pass our time when off duty and, as would be naturally expected, they proved a fruitful source of sickness.
Many of our men, delirious with malarial fever, were sent from the bomb proofs to the hospital, where they were dosed, first with a medicine composed largely of spirits of turpentine, next with strong acids, and then with quinine and spirituous liquors. If there is anything that will take the conceit out of a man in a short space of time, it is this malarial fever when it gets a good hold. It is wonderfully tenacious in its grip when once it does get hold, leaving the strong man when it must, but never leaving the weak man while the breath of life remains in him.
On Saturday the 30th of July, the Burnside mine as it was called, was exploded, but the result was hardly what had been hoped and expected. There was indeed a great panic among the enemy, but the advance obtained for our lines was inconsiderable, and the fear of similar incidents was not confined to the rebel troops. Men thought and some spoke of possible counter-mines, and to the dangers of war which had become in some degree familiar, there was now added another and an unpleasant possibility—of an irresistible explosion from beneath; one which bayonets could not repel, and from which our bomb proofs could afford no protection. Confined tounhealthy caves when not exposed to more palpable dangers, deprived of opportunity for wholesome exercise and limited by the circumstances in the range of our diet, wearied by excitement and worn down by constant new alarms, it is no wonder that our numbers decreased nor that men were despondent.
Scarcely a day passed that some were not killed or wounded, and sickness was more effective than gunpowder in sending men to the rear or putting them out of the fight.
Our second tour of duty in the trenches was from the 1st to the 3d of September,—but it was in a drier place, and we suffered comparatively little.
Five weeks in the bomb proofs depleted the Regiment as much as any whole campaign in the field had done before, and it was with glad hearts that we received the order to give place to a relieving force.
Surgeon Faxon of the 32d was placed in command of the hospital of the 5th corps, near City Point, and when the army had settled down to the siege of Petersburg, Mrs. Faxon was ordered to the front, and a description of the hospital and of hospital life from her point of view will not be uninteresting.