ON THE BATTLE-FIELD OF ANTIETAMON THE BATTLE-FIELD OF ANTIETAMFourth Reunion of Survivors of 132d Regiment P. V., held Sept. 17, 1891, on the ground occupied by the Regiment during the battle, in front of Sunken Road, near Roulette House(see image enlarged)
The chief events were horse races. The army abounded in excellent thoroughbreds, private property of officers, and all were anxious to show the mettle of their steeds. Everybody was invited to be present and take such part as he pleased in any of the events. It was a royal gala day to the army; from morning until night there were excitement and side-splitting amusement. Nor was there, throughout the whole day, a thing, not even a small fight, that I heard of, to mar the wholesome fun, until towards night our old enemy, John Barleycorn, managed to get in some of his work.
The chief event of the day and the wind-up was a hurdle and ditch race, open to officers only. Hurdles and ditches alternated the course at a distance of two hundred yards, except at the finish, where a hurdle and ditch were together, the ditch behind the hurdle. Such a race was a hare-brained performance in the highest degree; but so was army life at its best, and this was not out of keeping with its surroundings. Excitement was what was wanted, and this was well calculated to produce it.
The hurdles were four and five feet high and did not prove serious obstacles to the jumpers, but the ditches, four and five feet wide and filled with water, proved abête noirto most of the racers. Some twenty-five, all young staff-officers, started, but few got beyond the first ditch. Many horses that took the hurdle all right positively refused the ditch. Several officers were dumped at the first hurdle, and two were thrown squarely over their horses' heads into the first ditch, and were nice-looking specimens as they crawled out of that bath of muddy water. They were unhurt, however, and remounted and tried it again, with better success.
The crowning incident of the day occurred at the finish of this race at the combination hurdle and ditch. Out of the number who started, only three had compassed safely all the hurdles and ditches and come to the final leap. The horses were about a length apart each. The first took the hurdle in good shape, but failed to reach the further bank of the ditch and fell over sideways into it, carrying down his rider. Whilst they were struggling to get out, the second man practically repeated the performance and fell on the first pair, and the rear man, now unable to check his horse, spurred him over, only to fall on the others. It was a fearful sight for a moment, and it seemed certain that the officers were killed or suffocated in that water, now thick with mud. But a hundred hands were instantly to the rescue, and in less time than it takes to tell it all were gotten out and, strange to say, the horses were unhurt and only one officer seriously injured, a broken leg only to the bad for the escapade. But neither officers nor horses were particularly handsome as they emerged from that ditch. The incident can be set down as a terrific finale to this first and last army celebration of St. Patrick's day.
The tedium of routine duty occupied our time without specially exciting incident until pleasanter weather towards the middle of April brought rumors of impending army movements again. About April 20 we heard the cavalry under Stoneman were on the move, and this was confirmed the next day, when I saw that general with quite a body of cavalry marching leisurely north. The horses appeared in excellent condition after a winter of partial rest. General Stoneman was a large man, with short gray whiskers and gray hair and a strikingly bronzed red face. This story was told of him anent this movement, that Hooker had told him to do something with his horses; to cross the river at one of the fords above and shake out his cavalry, that it was "about time the army saw a dead cavalryman." Stoneman had replied, asking for materials to build bridges with, and "Fighting Joe" had impatiently replied that he wouldn't "give a d—n for a cavalryman who couldn't make a bridge without materials," meaning who could not cross a river without a bridge.
Soon orders came to supply ourselves with extra ammunition, and be prepared to move with six days' rations at a moment's notice. This settled it that "business" was about to commence again in earnest. What the contemplated movement was we had not the remotest idea, though we knew, of course, it was to be another whack in some form at the Johnnies on the other side of the river. We set about disposing of all surplus baggage which had accumulated for winter quarters, and putting everything in trim for field living once more. We could now see columns of troops in the distance marching north. Was the new movement, then, to be in that direction? This was the topic upon all lips. The desire to know something of what was being done with us was naturally very strong. Where were we going? What were we going to do? Yet a desire that in the nature of things could not be satisfied. One can have no conception of the feeling of going day after day blindly ahead, not knowing whither or why; knowing only that sooner or later you are going to fetch up against a fight, and calculating from your surroundings the probabilities of when.
We felt one satisfaction, however, that this was to be our last campaign as a regiment. Most of our men had enlisted in the July previous for nine months, and their time was now practically out; but, to their credit be it said, they would not raise this question during an active movement. There were troops who threw down their arms on the eve of battle and refused to go into action because their time was out. Such action has been severely criticised, and I think uncharitably. After a man has honorably and patriotically served his full time and is entitled to his discharge, it would seem pretty hard to force him to go into battle and be killed or wounded. Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, nearly this whole campaign was overtime for most of our regiment, yet the question was not raised.
On April 28 our corps broke camp and joined the column northward. The winter's rest had brought some accessions to our ranks from the sick and wounded, though the severe picket duty and the excessively damp weather had given us a large sick list. We had, to start with, upward of three hundred and seventy-five men, to which was added some twenty-five or thirty from the sick list, who came up to us on the march. It is a curious fact that many men left sick in camp, unable to march when the regiment leaves, will get themselves together after the former has been gone a few hours and pull out to overtake it. I saw men crying like children because the surgeon had forbidden them going with the regiment. The loneliness and homesickness, or whatever you please to call it, after the regiment has gone are too much for them. They simply cannot endure it, and so they strike out and follow. They will start by easy marches, and they generally improve in health from the moment they start. Courage and nerve are both summoned for the effort, and the result is that at the end of the second or third day they rejoin the regiment and report for duty. This does not mean that they were not really sick, but that will power and exercise have beaten the disease. I have heard many a sick man say he would rather die than be left behind.
We marched about six miles the first day, much of our route being through a wooded country, some of it so wet and spongy that corduroy roads had to be built for the wagons and artillery. The army can, as a rule, move as rapidly as it can move its artillery and supply trains, and no faster. Of course, for short distances and special expeditions, where circumstances require, both cavalry and infantry move very rapidly, ignoring the wagon trains and artillery; but on a general campaign this is impossible, and so where the ground is bad these must be helped along. In a wooded country the usual method is by corduroy road. Extra details are made to assist the pioneer corps, who cut down young saplings three to six inches in diameter and about six feet in length and lay them side by side on the ground, which is roughly levelled to receive them. They do not make a handsome road to speed over, but they bear up the artillery and army schooners, and that is all that is wanted of them.
The second day we crossed the Rappahannock at United States ford on a pontoon bridge. There had been a sharp skirmish here when the first troops crossed a couple of days before, and a battery of artillery was still in position guarding the crossing. We now began to experience once more the unmistakable symptoms of approaching battle,—sharp spurts of cannonading at irregular intervals some distance to the south and west of us, with the hurry of marching troops, ambulances and stretcher corps towards the front; more or less of army débris scattered about, and the nervous bustle everywhere apparent. We reached the famous Chancellorsville House shortly after midnight. This was an old-time hostelry, situated on what was called the Culpeper plank-road. It stood with two or three smaller houses in a cleared square space containing some twenty or thirty acres, in the midst of the densest forest of trees and undergrowth I ever saw. We had marched all day on plank and corduroy roads, through this wild tanglewood forest, most of the time in a drizzling rain, and we had been much delayed by the artillery trains, and it was after midnight when we reached our destination. The distance marched must have been twelve or more miles, and our men became greatly fatigued towards the last.
It was my first experience with the regiment on the march in the field in my new position as major. As adjutant my place had been with the colonel at the head of the column. Now my duties required me to march in the rear and keep up the stragglers. After nightfall it became intensely dark, and at each rest the men would drop down just where they were and would be instantly sound asleep. Whether they dropped down into mud or not made little difference to many of them, for they were soaking wet and were so exhausted that they did not care. My troubles began when the "forward" was sounded, to arouse these seeming logs and get them on their feet once more and started. All who were practically exhausted had drifted to the rear and were on my hands. We had a provost guard in the rear, whose duty it was to bring up every man and permit no straggling, but they were in almost as bad a plight as the rest of the regiment. To arouse these sleeping men I had occasionally to resort to a smart blow with the flat of my sword and follow it up with the most energetic orders and entreaties. An appeal to their pluck and nerve was generally sufficient, and they would summon new courage and push manfully on. My own condition was scarcely better than that of the men. I rode that night considerable distances between our halts for rest, sitting bolt upright in my saddle fast asleep. I had all day alternated with some of the men in marching whilst they rode, and was not only thoroughly tired, but wet through. The march was much more trying to us because of our unseasoned condition owing to the long winter's exemption from this exercise. Furthermore, we had been marching towards the firing, and were under the nervous strain always incident to operations in the presence of the enemy. Nothing will quicker exhaust men than the nervous tension occasioned by the continued firing which indicates the imminence of a battle.
At daylight we were aroused and under arms again. We found we were at the head-quarters of the army. The Chancellorsville House, which had been vacated by its occupants, was used for office purposes, and much of the open space around it was occupied by the tents of General Hooker and staff and hospital tents. Of the latter there were three or four pitched so as to connect with each other, and over them was flying the yellow flag of the corps hospital. The First and Third Divisions of our Second Corps were massed in this Chancellorsville square, beside Pettit's battery. Our brigade now consisted of the Fourth New York, First Delaware, and our regiment. The first named was sent off on some guard duty, which left Colonel Albright, of our regiment, the senior officer in command of the brigade. The ominous rattle of musketry not far away became momentarily more pronounced, and ambulances and stretcher-carriers were passing back and forth to the hospitals, carrying wounded men. The dead body of a regular army captain was soon brought back from the front, where Sykes's division of regulars was sharply engaged. I do not know the name of this captain, but he was a fine-looking young officer. He had been killed by a minie-ball squarely through his forehead.
We were marching out the plank-road as they brought this body in. Passing out of the clearing, the woods and undergrowth each side the road was so dense that we could not see into it a half-dozen steps. We had gone possibly a quarter of a mile when we were overtaken by a staff-officer, who in whispers ordered us to turn back, regardless of orders from the front, and get back to the Chancellorsville House as rapidly as possible, and to do so absolutely noiselessly; that a heavy force of rebels were in the woods on both sides of us, and we were in great danger of being cut to pieces and captured. We obeyed, and he rapidly worked his way to the front of the brigade and succeeded very quickly in getting us all safely out. We formed line near the Chancellorsville House and were resting on our arms when I noticed another brigade going down that same road from which we had just been so hurriedly gotten out. The circumstance was so strange that I inquired what brigade it was, and learned that it was Colonel (afterwards Governor) James A. Beaver's brigade of Hancock's division of our corps. They had been gone but a short time when the rebels opened upon them from both sides of the road, and they were very roughly handled. Colonel Beaver was soon brought back, supposed mortally wounded. I saw him as he was brought to the rear. It was said he was shot through the body. Afterwards, whilst he was governor, I mentioned the circumstance to him, and asked how he succeeded in fighting off the last enemy at that time. He said he then fully believed his wound was mortal. The bullet had struck him nearly midway of his body and appeared to have passed through and out of his back, and he was bleeding freely. He was brought to the hospital, where the corps surgeon—his own family physician at home—found him, and with an expression of countenance indicating the gravest fear proceeded to examine his wound. Suddenly, with a sigh of relief, he exclaimed: "Colonel, you are all right; the ball has struck a rib and followed it around and out." It was one of the hundreds of remarkable freaks performed by those ugly minie-balls during the war. Why that brigade should have been allowed to march into that ambuscade, from which we had so narrowly escaped, I could not understand. It was one of the earlyfaux pasof that unfortunate comedy, rather tragedy of errors,—battle.
In view of the events of the next two days, it will be interesting to recall the somewhat windy order published to the army by General Hooker on the morning of the 1st of May, the date of the first day's battle, on which the events narrated in the last chapter occurred. This is the order:
Head-quarters Army of the Potomac,Camp near Falmouth, Va., April 30, 1863.
It is with heartfelt satisfaction the commanding general announces to the army that the operations of the last three days have determined that our enemy must either ingloriously fly or come out from behind his defences and give us battle on our own ground, when certain destruction awaits him.
By command of Major-General Hooker.
S. Williams,Asst. Adjt.-Gen'l.
My recollection recalls a phrase in this order reading something like this: "We have got the enemy where God Almighty can't save him, and he must either ingloriously," etc. I have been surprised not to find it in the records, and my memory is not alone in this respect, for a lieutenant-colonel of Portland, Me., in his account of this battle alludes to Hooker's blasphemous order.
The purpose of this order was to encourage the men and inspire them with the enthusiasm of forthcoming victory. But when we consider that the portion of the army operating around Chancellorsville was at that very moment apparently as thoroughly caged up in a wilderness of almost impenetrable undergrowth, which made it impossible to move troops, and into which one could not see a dozen feet, as though they were actually behind iron bars, it will be seen how little ground there was for encouragement. I can think of no better comparison of the situation than to liken it to a fleet of ships enveloped in a dense fog endeavoring to operate against another having the advantage of the open.
It will be remembered that when this movement commenced the Army of the Potomac numbered from one hundred and twenty thousand to one hundred and thirty thousand men, about double the opposing rebel force. Hooker divided this army, taking with him four corps, numbering probably seventy thousand men, to operate from Chancellorsville towards Fredericksburg, and leaving three corps, about fifty thousand men, under Sedgwick, to move upon the latter place from below. The purpose was to get Lee's army between these two forces and crush him. All historians of this battle agree that up to a certain point Hooker's strategy was most admirable. General Pleasanton, who commanded our cavalry forces in that action, says that up to a certain point the movement on Chancellorsville was one of the most brilliant in the annals of war. He put that point at the close of Thursday, April 30. He had made a full reconnoissance of all that country and had informed General Hooker of the nature of the ground, that for a depth of from four to five miles it was all unbroken tanglewood of the densest undergrowth, in which it was impossible to manœuvre an army or to know anything of the movements of the enemy; that beyond this wilderness the country was open and well adapted to military movements, and he had taken occasion to urge upon him the importance of moving forward at once, so as to meet the enemy in open ground, but his information and advice, he tells us, fell upon leaden ears.
Lee had, up to this time, no information of the movement upon Chancellorsville, having been wholly occupied with Sedgwick at Fredericksburg. The former was therefore a complete surprise to him. The "golden moment," according to Pleasanton, to move forward and carry the battle out into the open, where the army could have been handled and would have had a chance, was on that day, as instantly the movement was disclosed, the enemy, being familiar with every foot of the country, would detach a sufficient force to operate in the open, and along the edge of the wilderness could keep us practically bottled up there and beat us in detail; and that is precisely what seems to have been done. The inexplicable question is, Why did fighting "Joe Hooker," with seventy thousand as good troops as ever fired a gun, sit down in the middle of that tanglewood forest and allow Lee to make a monkey of him while Sedgwick was doing such magnificent work below?
Two distinguished participants in all these events holding high commands, namely, General Alfred Pleasanton, quoted above, and General Doubleday, commanding First Division, First Army Corps, have written articles upon this battle, agreeing on the feasibility and brilliancy of the movement, but by inference and things unsaid have practically left the same question suspended in the air. It is possible the correct answer should not now be given.
To return to our own doings, on that Friday, 1st of May, our division was drawn up in line of battle in front of the Chancellorsville House, and we were permitted to rest on our arms. This meant that any moment we might be expected to move forward. The battle was now on in earnest. Heavy firing was heard some miles below us, which was Sedgwick's work at Fredericksburg. Nearer by there was cannonading and more or less severe musketry firing. Ambulances and stretcher-carriers were constantly coming back from the front with wounded soldiers, taking them to the field hospital, which was just in our rear, and we could see the growing piles of amputated legs and arms which were thrown outside with as little care as if they were so many pieces of wood. We were evidently waiting for something, nobody seemed to know what. Everything appeared to be "at heads." Our corps and division commanders, Couch, Hancock, and French, with their staffs, were in close proximity to the troops, and all seemed to be in a condition of nervous uncertainty. What might be progressing in those black woods in front, was the question. A nearer volley of musketry would start everybody up, and we would stand arms in hand, as if expecting the unseen enemy to burst through the woods upon us. Then the firing would slacken and we would drop down again for a time.
In the mean time shells were screeching over us continually, and an occasional bullet would whiz uncomfortably near. The nervous strain under such conditions may be imagined. This state of affairs continued all through Friday night and most of Saturday. Of course, sleep was out of the question for any of our officers. On Thursday and Friday nights the men got snatches of sleep, lying on their arms, between the times all were aroused against some fresh alarm.
On Saturday some beef cattle were driven up and slaughtered in the open square in front of our lines, and the details were progressing with the work of preparing the meat for issue when the storm of disaster of Saturday afternoon burst upon us and their work was rudely interrupted. We had anxious premonitions of this impending storm for some hours. Captain Pettit, who commanded the famous battery of that name, which was posted immediately in our rear, had spent much of his time in the forenoon of Saturday high up in a tall tree which stood just in front of the Chancellorsville House and close to our line, with his field glass reconnoitring. Several times he had come down with information that heavy bodies of the enemy were massing for a blow upon our front and where he believed they would strike. This information, we were told, he imparted to Hooker's chief of staff, and begged permission to open at long range with his rifled guns, but no attention was paid to him. I saw him up the tree and heard some of his ejaculating, which indicated that he was almost wild with apprehension of what was coming. Once on coming down he remarked to General Hancock that we would "catch h—l in less than an hour." The latter seemed to be thoroughly alive to the situation and exceedingly anxious, as were Couch and French, to do something to prepare for what was coming, yet nothing more was done until suddenly the firing, which had been growing in volume and intensity and gradually drawing nearer, developed in a storm of musketry of terrific fury immediately in our right front, apparently not more than three hundred yards away.
We could not see a thing. What there might be between us and it, or whether it was the onslaught of the enemy or the firing of our troops, we knew not. But we had not long to wait. Soon stragglers, few in numbers, began to appear, emerging from the woods into our clearing, and then more of them, these running, and then almost at once an avalanche of panic-stricken, flying men without arms, without knapsacks, many bareheaded, swearing, cursing, a wild, frenzied mob tearing to the rear. Instantly they began to appear, General Couch, commanding our corps, took in the situation and deployed two divisions to catch and hold the fugitives. Part of the Third Corps was also deployed on our left. We were ordered to charge bayonets and permit no man to pass through our ranks. We soon had a seething, howling mob of Dutchmen twenty to thirty feet in depth in front of our line, holding them back on the points of our bayonets, and still they came. Every officer of our division, with drawn sword and pistol, was required to use all possible endeavor to hold them, and threatening to shoot the first man who refused to stand as ordered. General French and staff were galloping up and down our division line assisting in this work.
In the mean time another line of battle was rapidly thrown in between these fugitives and the woods to stay the expected advance of the enemy. This was the famous break of the Eleventh Corps, starting with Blenker's division and finally extending through the whole corps, some fifteen thousand men. It seemed as though the whole army was being stampeded. We soon had a vast throng of these fugitives dammed up in our front, a terrible menace to the integrity of our own line as well as of all in our rear. We were powerless to do anything should the enemy break through, and were in great danger of being ourselves swept away and disintegrated by this frantic mob. All this time the air was filled with shrieking shells from our own batteries as well as those of the enemy, doing, however, little damage beyond adding to the terror of the situation. The noise was deafening. Pandemonium seemed to reign supreme in our front. Our line, as well as that of the Third Corps on our left, was holding firm as a rock. I noticed a general officer, I thought it was General Sickles, was very conspicuous in the vigor of his efforts to hold the line. A couple of fugitives had broken through his line and were rapidly going to the rear. I heard him order them to halt and turn back. One of them turned and cast a look at him, but paid no further attention to his order. He repeated the order in stentorian tones, this time with his pistol levelled, but it was not obeyed, and he fired, dropping the first man dead in his tracks. He again ordered the other man to halt, and it was sullenly obeyed. These men seemed to be almost stupid, deaf to orders or entreaty in their frenzy.
An incident in our own front will illustrate. I noticed some extra commotion near our colors and rushed to see the cause. I found an officer with drawn sword threatening to run the color-sergeant through if he was not allowed to pass. He was a colonel and evidently a German. My orders to him to desist were answered with a curse, and I had to thrust my pistol into his face, with an energetic threat to blow his head off if he made one more move, before he seemed to come to his senses. I then appealed to him to see what an example he as an officer was setting, and demanded that he should get to work and help to stem the flight of his men rather than assist in their demoralization. To his credit be it said, he at once regained his better self, and thenceforth did splendid work up and down amongst these German fugitives, and later on, when they were moved to the rear, he rendered very material assistance. I did not learn who he was, but he was a splendid-looking officer and spoke both English and German fluently.
One may ask why those men should have lost their heads so completely. To answer the question intelligently, one needs to put oneself into their place. The facts as we were told at the time were: That the Eleventh Corps, which contained two divisions of German troops, under Schurz and Blenker (I think Steinwehr commanded the latter division in this action), was posted on the right of Hooker's line in the woods, some distance in front and to the right of the Chancellorsville House. That at the time Stonewall Jackson made his famous attack, above referred to, he caught one of those divisions "napping"—off their guard. They had stacked their guns and knapsacks, and were back some twenty yards, making their evening coffee, when suddenly the rebel skirmishers burst through the brush upon them, followed immediately by the main line, and before they realized it were between these troops and their guns. Consternation reigned supreme in an instant and a helter-skelter flight followed. Jackson followed up this advantage with his usual impetuosity, and although the other divisions of the Eleventh made an effort to hold their ground, this big hole in the line was fatal to them and all were quickly swept away. Of course, the division and brigade commanders were responsible for that unpardonable carelessness. No valid excuse can be made for such criminal want of watchfulness, especially for troops occupying a front line, and which had heard, or should have heard, as we a half mile farther in the rear had, all the premonitions of the coming storm. But it was an incident showing the utter folly of the attempt to maintain a line of battle in the midst of a dense undergrowth, through which nothing could be seen. It is exceedingly doubtful whether they could have held their line against Jackson's onset under those conditions had they been on the alert, for he would have been on and over them almost before they could have seen him. To resist such an onset needs time to deliver a steady volley and then be ready with the bayonet.
It was towards six o'clock in the evening when this flying mob struck our lines, and darkness had fallen before we were rid of them and something like order had been restored. In the mean time it certainly seemed as if everything was going to pieces. I got a little idea of what a panic-stricken army means. The fearful thing about it was, we knew it was terribly contagious, and that with all the uncertainties in that black wilderness from which this mob came and the pandemonium in progress all about us, it might seize our own troops and we be swept away to certain destruction in spite of all our efforts. It is said death rides on horseback with a fleeing army. Nothing can be more horrible. Hence a panic must be stopped, cost what it may. Night undoubtedly came to our rescue with this one.
One of the most heroic deeds I saw done to help stem the fleeing tide of men and restore courage was not the work of a battery, nor a charge of cavalry, but the charge of a band of music! The band of the Fourteenth Connecticut went right out into that open space between our new line and the rebels, with shot and shell crashing all about them, and played "The Star-Spangled Banner," the "Red, White, and Blue," and "Yankee Doodle," and repeated them for fully twenty minutes. They never played better. Did that require nerve? It was undoubtedly the first and only band concert ever given under such conditions. Never was American grit more finely illustrated. Its effect upon the men was magical. Imagine the strains of our grand national hymn, "The Star-Spangled Banner," suddenly bursting upon your ears out of that horrible pandemonium of panic-born yells, mingled with the roaring of musketry and the crashing of artillery. To what may it be likened? The carol of birds in the midst of the blackest thunder-storm? No simile can be adequate. Its strains were clear and thrilling for a moment, then smothered by that fearful din, an instant later sounding bold and clear again, as if it would fearlessly emphasize the refrain, "Our flag is still there."
THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE—CONTINUED
Recurringagain to the incident of the band playing out there between the two hostile lines in the midst of that panic of the Eleventh Corps, it was a remarkable circumstance that none of them were killed. I think one or two were slightly wounded by pieces of exploding shells, and one or two of their instruments carried away scars from that scene. The rebels did not follow up their advantage, as we expected, probably owing to the effective work of our batteries, otherwise they would all have been either killed or captured. None of the enemy came into our clearing that I saw. We must have corralled upward of eight thousand of our demoralized men. Some had their arms, most of them had none, which confirmed the story of their surprise narrated in the last chapter. They were marched to the rear under guard, and thus the further spread of the panic was avoided.
It was now dark and the firing ceased, but only for a few moments, for the two picket-lines were posted so close together, neither knowing exactly where the other was, that both were exceedingly nervous; and the slightest movement, the stepping of a picket, the scurry of a rabbit, would set the firing going again. First it would be the firing of a single musket, then the quick rattle of a half-dozen, then the whole line with the reserves, for all were on the line together there; and then the batteries, of which there were now at least a half-dozen massed right around us, would open with terrific vigor, all firing into the darkness, whence the enemy was supposed to be coming. This continued at short intervals all night long.
After the mob of fugitives had been disposed of, our division had formed in line of battle directly in front of the Chancellorsville House, supporting the provisional line which had been hurriedly thrown in to cover the break of the Eleventh Corps, and we were "resting (?) on our arms." At each of these alarms every man was instantly on his feet, with guns at a "ready." General French and staff were close to us, and General Couch and his staff only a few feet away. All were exceedingly nervous and keenly on the alert. It was a night of terrific experience long to be remembered.
The nervous strain upon all was simply awful. We knew that the Eleventh Corps had been stampeded by the impetuous charge of Stonewall Jackson, and we felt sure he would seek to reap the fruits of the break he had made by an effort to pierce our centre, and this we would have to meet and repel when it came. We did not then know that in the general mix-up of that fateful afternoon that able and intrepid leader had himself fallen and was then dying. This fact, fortunate for us, undoubtedly accounts for the failure of the expected onset to materialize. We could probably have held him, for we had two divisions of the Second Corps and part of the Third Corps in double lines, all comparatively fresh, and before midnight the First Corps was in position on our right. But the slaughter would have been horrible.
After midnight these outbursts became less frequent, and we officers lay down with the men and tried to sleep. I do not think any of our general officers or their staffs even sat down that whole night, so apprehensive were they of the descent of the rebels upon our position. I said in the last chapter that on Saturday morning some beef cattle were slaughtered near our line for issue to our division; that the work of distribution had not been completed before the panic came, and then these carcasses of beef were between ours and the rebel line on "debatable ground." This was too much for some of our men, and two or three crawled out to them during the night and helped themselves to such cuts as they could make from our side. One party next day told of being surprised by hearing cutting on the other side of the beef, and found, on investigating, that a "Johnny" was there, when the following colloquy took place:
"Hello, Johnny, are ye there?"
"Yes, Yank; too bad to let this 'fresh' spoil. I say, Yank, lend me your knife, mine's a poor one. We 'uns and you 'uns is all right here. Yank, I'll help you if you'll help me, and we'll get all we want."
The knife was passed over, and these two foes helped each other in that friendly darkness. How much actual truth there was in this story I do not know, but I do know that there was considerable fresh beef among the men in the morning, and it was not at all unlikely that the Johnnies also profited by the presence of that "fresh" between the lines. Soldiers of either army would run almost any risk to get a bit of fresh beef.
The next morning we were ordered to pile up our knapsacks and make a breastwork of them for such protection as they might afford, in anticipation of the still expected attack. We managed to make a cup of coffee and eat a hardtack without getting off our guard for an instant, and about ten o'clock the First Brigade, now Carroll's, and ours, consisting of two regiments only, the First Delaware and ours, under command of our Colonel Albright, were ordered forward into the woods to the right of the Chancellorsville House. This was the opening of the third day's battle. We moved forward in excellent line until we struck the edge of the woods. The moment the crackling of the brush under our feet apprised the enemy of our advance we received a heavy volley, which must have been very hurriedly delivered, for it passed over our heads, not a man being hit, I think. The morning was lowering and misty and the air very light, so that the smoke made by the rebel volley, not more than fifty yards away, hung like a chalk line and indicated their exact position. The sudden retirement of our lieutenant-colonel at this point placed the command of the regiment on me, and I shouted to the men to aim below that line of smoke and then gave the order, fire by battalion, and we emptied our guns as one man, reloaded, and receiving no reply to our volley, moved forward through the thick brush and undergrowth. We soon came upon the rebel line, and a dreadful sight it was. The first officer I saw was a rebel captain, an Irishman. He ejaculated, "We're all killed! We're all killed!" and offered to surrender. The commanding officer must have suffered the fate of his men. Most of them were either killed or wounded. The hundred or so living promptly threw down their arms, and Colonel Albright sent them to the rear under guard. This Irish captain vouchsafed the remark sotto voce that he was glad to be captured, that he'd been trying to get out of the d—n Confederacy for a year. Our battalion volley had exactly reached its mark and had done fearful execution. There must have been more than two hundred lying there either dead or wounded, marking their line of battle. This was the only instance in my war experience where we delivered a volley as a battalion. The usual order of firing in line of battle is by "file," each man firing as rapidly as he can effectively, without regard to any other man. The volley they had delivered at us was a battalion volley, and it would have effectively disposed of our advance had it been well delivered. Fortunately for us, it was not, and their smoke-line gave us the opportunity to deliver a very effective counter-stroke. It had to be quickly done, we were so close together. There was no time to meditate. It was us or them. Instantly I resolved to give them all we could, aiming well under their line of smoke, and take our chances with the bayonet if necessary. The order was calmly given and the volley was coolly delivered. I have never heard a better one. The value of coolness in delivering and the effectiveness of such a volley were clearly demonstrated in this instance.
We again moved forward, working our way through the tangled undergrowth, and had gained probably five or six hundred yards when we encountered another line, and sharp firing began on both sides. We could see the enemy dodging behind trees and stumps not more than one hundred yards away. We also utilized the same shelter, and therefore suffered comparatively little. Suddenly I found bullets beginning to come from our left and rear as well as from our front. Two of these bullets had been aimed at me as I stood behind a small tree on our line. The first knowledge I had of them was from the splinters of bark in my face from the tree, first one and then the other in quick succession as the bullets struck, not more than three inches from my head. They were fairly good shots. I was thankful they were no better. But now I had to move a couple of companies to the left to meet this flank attack. It did not prove a serious matter, and the enemy was quickly driven back. The same thing was tried shortly after on our right flank, and was again disposed of the same way. They were probably groups of sharpshooters hunting for our officers. One of them, I happened to know, never went back, for I saw one of our sergeants kill him. I was at that moment standing by him, when he clapped his hand to his ear and exclaimed, "That was a 'hot one,'" as a bullet just ticked it. "There is the devil who did it. See him behind that bush?" and with that he aimed and fired. The fellow rolled over dead.
We soon had the better of this fighting and our opponents withdrew. We seemed now to be isolated. We must have been nearly a half mile from where we entered the woods. We could not see nor hear of any troops on our immediate right or left. Colonel Albright came back to consult as to what was best to be done now. The brush and undergrowth were exceedingly dense. What there might be on our right or left we could not know without sending skirmishers out. The colonel said his orders were to advance and engage the enemy. No orders had come to him since our advance commenced, two hours and more before. We had met and beaten two lines of the enemy. Should we continue the advance or retire and get further orders? My advice was to retire; that with our small force, not more than five hundred men, isolated in that dense wood, we were liable to be gobbled up. The colonel agreed with this view and ordered the line faced about and marched to the rear. I mention this consultation over the situation because here we were, two young men, who knew almost nothing about military matters beyond obeying orders, suddenly called upon to exercise judgment in a critical situation. Bravery suggested push ahead and fight. To retire savored of over-prudence. Nevertheless, it seemed to us we had no business remaining out there without connection with other troops on either right or left, and this decided the colonel to order the retreat.
We moved back in line of battle in excellent order and quite leisurely, having no opposition and, so far as we knew, no troops following us. We came out into the clearing just where we had entered the woods two hours before. But here we met a scene that almost froze our blood. During our absence some half-dozen batteries, forty or more guns, had been massed here. Hurried earthworks had been thrown up, covering the knapsacks our brigade had left there when we advanced. These guns were not forty yards away and were just waiting the order to open on those woods right where we were. As we emerged from the brush, our colors, fortunately, were a little in advance, and showed through before the line appeared. Their timely appearance, we were told, saved us from being literally blown to pieces by those batteries. A second later the fatal order would have been given and our brigade would have been wiped out of existence by our own guns!
As we came out of the woods an aide galloped down to us, his face perfectly livid, and in a voice portraying the greatest excitement shouted to Colonel Albright: "What in h—l and d-mnation are you doing here? Get out of here! Those woods are full of rebel troops, and we are just waiting to open on them." Albright replied very coolly, "Save your ammunition. There is not a rebel within a half mile, for we have just marched back that distance absolutely unmolested. Why haven't you sent us orders? We went in here two hours ago, and not an order have we received since." He replied, "We have sent a dozen officers in to you with orders, and they all reported that you had been captured." Albright answered, "They were a lot of cowards, for there hasn't been a minute since we advanced that an officer could not have come directly to us. There is something wrong about this. I will go and see General Hooker." And directing me to move the troops away from the front of those guns, he started for General Hooker's head-quarters, only a short distance away. As I was passing the right of that line of batteries a voice hailed me, and I turned, and there stood one of my old Scranton friends, Captain Frank P. Amsden, in command of his battery. Said he, as he gripped my hand, "Boy, you got out of those woods just in time. Our guns are double-shotted with grape and canister; the word 'fire' was just on my lips when your colors appeared." I saw his gunners standing with their hands on the lanyards. After forty years my blood almost creeps as I recall that narrow escape.
We now moved to the rear across the plank-road from the Chancellorsville House in the woods, where we supported Hancock's line. Colonel Albright soon returned from his visit to Hooker's head-quarters. His account of that visit was most remarkable, and was substantially as follows: "I scratched on the flap of the Hooker head-quarters' tent and instantly an officer appeared and asked what was wanted. I said I must see General Hooker, that I had important information for him. He said, 'You cannot see General Hooker; I am chief of staff; any information you have for the commanding general should be given to me.' I said, 'I must see General Hooker,' and with that pushed myself by him into the tent, and there lay General Hooker, apparently dead drunk. His face and position gave every indication of that condition, and I turned away sick and disgusted." It was subsequently stated that General Hooker was unconscious at that time from the concussion of a shell. That he was standing on the porch of the Chancellorsville House, leaning against one of its supports, when a shell struck it, rendering him unconscious. The incident narrated above occurred about oneP.M.on Sunday, May 3. The army was practically without a commander from this time until after sundown of that day, when General Hooker reappeared and in a most conspicuous manner rode around between the lines of the two armies. If he was physically disabled, why was not the fact made known at once to the next officer in rank, whose duty it would have been to have assumed command of the army, and if possible stem the tide of defeat now rapidly overwhelming us? A half-day of most precious time would have been saved. That this was not done I happen to know from the following circumstances.
In our new position we were only about fifty yards behind General Hancock's line. The head-quarters at this time of General Couch, commanding our corps; of General French, commanding our division, and of General Hancock were all at the right of our regiment, behind our line. These generals and their staffs were resting, as were our troops, and they were sitting about, only a few feet away from us. We therefore heard much of their conversation. Directly General Howard joined them. I well remember his remarks concerning the behavior of his corps on the previous afternoon. His chagrin was punctured with the advice of old French to shoot a few dozen of them for example's sake. Naturally, the chief subject of their conversation related to the present situation. It was perfectly clear they regarded it as very critical. We could hear heavy cannonading in the distance towards Fredericksburg. Several times Hancock broke out with a savage oath as he impatiently paced up and down, swinging his sword. "They are knocking Sedgwick to pieces. Why don't we go forward?" or a similar ejaculation, and then, "General Couch, why do you not assume command and order us forward? It is your duty." (The latter was next in rank to Hooker.)
To which General Couch replied, "I cannot assume command." French and Howard agreed with Hancock, but Couch remained imperturbable, saying, "When I am properly informed that General Hooker is disabled and not in command, I shall assume the duty which will devolve upon me." And so hour after hour passed of inactivity at this most critical juncture. They said it was plain Lee was making simply a show of force in our front whilst he had detached a large part of his army and was driving Sedgwick before him down at Fredericksburg. Now, why this period of inactivity whilst Sedgwick was being punished? Why this interregnum in the command? When Colonel Albright returned from his call at Hooker's tent, narrated above, he freely expressed his opinion that Hooker's condition was as stated above. His views were then generally believed by those about head-quarters, and this was understood as the reason why the next officer in rank was not officially notified of his chief's disability and the responsibility of the command placed upon him. Nothing was then said about the concussion of a shell. It is profoundly to be hoped that Colonel Albright's impression was wrong, and that the disability was produced, as alleged, by concussion of a shell. If so, there was a very grave dereliction of duty on the part of his chief of staff in not imparting the fact immediately to General Couch, the officer next in rank, and devolving the command upon him.
In our new position on the afternoon of Sunday, the third day's battle, we were subjected to a continuous fire of skirmishers and sharpshooters, without the ability of replying. We laid up logs for a barricade and protected ourselves as well as we could. Several were wounded during the afternoon, among them Captain Hall, of Company I. His was a most singular wound. We were all lying prone upon the ground, when suddenly he spoke rather sharply and said he had got a clip on his knee. He said it was an insignificant flesh wound, but his leg was benumbed. He tried to step on it, but could not bear his weight on it, and very soon it became exceedingly painful, and his ankle swelled to double its natural size. He was taken back to one of the hospitals, where it was found a minie-ball had entered his leg above the knee and passed down between the bones to the ankle, where it was removed. This practically ended the service of one of the youngest of our captains, a brave and brilliant young officer.
Towards night a cold, drizzling rain set in, which chilled us to our bones. We could not have any fires, not even to make our coffee, for fear of disclosing our position to the enemy. For four days now we had been continuously under the terrible nervous strain incident to a battle and practically without any rest or sleep. During this time we had no cooked food, nothing but hardtack and raw pork and coffee but once. This condition began to tell upon us all. I had been under the weather when the movement began, and was ordered by our surgeon to remain behind, but I said no, not as long as I could get around. Now I found my strength had reached its limit, and I took that officer's advice, with the colonel's orders, and went back to the division field hospital to get under cover from the rain and get a night's sleep if possible.
I found a half-dozen hospital tents standing together as one hospital, and all full to overflowing with sick and wounded men. Our brigade surgeon, a personal friend, was in charge. He finally found a place for me just under the edge of one of the tents, where I could keep part of the rain off. He brought me a stiff dose of whiskey and quinine, the universal war remedy, and I drank it and lay down, and was asleep in less time than it takes me to write it.
About midnight the surgeon came and aroused me with the information that the army was moving back across the river, and that all in the hospital who could march were ordered to make their way back as best they could; that of the others the ambulances would carry all they could and the others would be left. This was astounding information. My first impulse was, of course, to return to my regiment, but the doctor negatived that emphatically by saying, "You are under my orders here, and my instructions are to send you all directly back to the ford and across the river; and then the army is already on the march, and you might as well attempt to find a needle in a haystack as undertake to find your regiment in these woods in this darkness." If his first reason had not been sufficient, the latter one was quite convincing. I realized at once the utter madness of any attempt to reach the regiment, at the same time that in this night tramp back over the river, some eight miles, I had a job that would tax my strength to the utmost. The doctor had found one of the men of our regiment who was sick, and bidding us help each other started us back over the old plank-road.
How shall I describe the experiences of that night's tramp? The night was intensely dark and it was raining hard. The plank-road was such only in name. What few remnants remained of the old planks were rotten and were a constant menace to our footing. I must have had more than a dozen falls during that march from those broken planks, until face, arms, and legs were a mass of bruises. We were told to push forward as rapidly as we could to keep ahead of the great rabble of sick and wounded which was to follow immediately. This we tried to do, though the road was now crowded with the occupants of the other hospitals already on their way. These men were all either sick or wounded, and were making their way with the greatest difficulty, most of them in silence, but there was an occasional one whose tongue gave expression to every possible mishap in outbursts of the most shocking profanity. There were enough of these to make the night hideous.
Our road was a track just wide enough to admit a single wagon through the densest jungle of timber and undergrowth I ever saw. I cannot imagine the famed jungles of Africa more dense or impenetrable, and it seemed to be without end as we wearily plodded on hour after hour, now stepping into a hole and sprawling in the mud, again stumbling against a stolid neighbor and being in turn jostled by him, with an oath for being in his way. Many a poor fellow fell, too exhausted to rise, and we were too nearly dead to do more than mechanically note the fact.
Towards morning a quartette of men overtook us carrying a man on their shoulders. As they drew near us one of the forward pair stumbled and fell, and down came the body into the mud with a swash. If the body was not dead, the fall killed it, for it neither moved nor uttered a sound. With a fearful objurgation they went on and left it, and we did not have life enough left in us to make any investigation. It was like the case of a man on the verge of drowning seeing others perishing without the ability to help. It was a serious question whether we could pull ourselves through or should be obliged to drop in our tracks, to be run over and crushed or trampled to death, as many a poor fellow was that night. We had not an ounce of strength, nor had any of the hundreds of others in our condition, to bestow on those who could not longer care for themselves. Here it was every man for himself. This night's experience was a horrible nightmare.
It was long after daylight when we crawled out of those woods and reached United States ford. Here a pontoon bridge had been thrown over, and a double column of troops and a battery of artillery were crossing at the same time. We pushed ourselves into the throng, as to which there was no semblance of order, and were soon on the other side. On the top of the bluff, some one hundred feet above the river, on our side, we noticed a hospital tent, and we thought if we could reach that we might find shelter and rest, for it was still raining and we were drenched to the skin, and so cold that our faces were blue and our teeth chattered. A last effort landed us at this hospital. Alas for our hopes! it was crowded like sardines in a box with others who in like condition had reached it before us. I stuck my head in the tent. One glance was enough. The surgeon in charge, in answer to our mute appeal, said, "God help you, boys; I cannot. But here is a bottle of whiskey, take a good drink; it will do you good." We took a corking dose, nearly half the bottle, and lay down, spoon fashion, my comrade and I, by the side of that tent in the rain and slept for about an hour, until the stimulus of the liquor passed off and the cold began again to assert itself, when we had to start on again. I have never had any use for liquors in my life, and the use of them in any form as a beverage I consider as nothing else than harmful in the highest degree, yet I have always felt that this big dose of whiskey saved my life. Could we have had a good cup of hot coffee at that time it would possibly have been better, but we might as well have looked for lodgings in the Waldorf-Astoria as for coffee at that time and place. Imagine my feelings during all this night as I reflected that I had a good horse, overcoat, and gum blanket somewhere,—yes, somewhere, back, or wherever my regiment might be,—and here I was soaking wet, chilled to the bones and almost dead from tramping.
We got word at the Ford that the troops were to go back to their old camps, and there was nothing for us to do but to make our way back there as best we might. Soon after we started Colonel (afterwards Judge Dana, of Wilkes-Barre) Dana's regiment passed. The colonel hailed me and kindly inquired why I happened to be there by myself on foot, said I looked most wretched, and insisted on my taking another bracer from a little emergency stock he had preserved. I had been but a few months out of his law office, from which I had been admitted to the bar. His kindly attentions under these limited circumstances were very cheering and helpful. We were all day covering the eight or more miles back to camp. But early in the day the rain ceased, the sun came out, we got warmed up marching, and after some hours our clothes became sufficiently dry to be more comfortable, so that when we reached camp in the evening our condition was much improved. This was due in part probably as much to the relief from the awful nervous strain of the battle and the conditions through which we had passed in that wilderness as to rest and the changed weather. When we reached this side of the river that nervous strain ceased. We were sure that fighting was over, at least for the present. We found the regiment had been in camp some hours ahead of us. Our corps was probably on the march when we left the hospital, and had preceded us all the way back. I found my horse had brought back one of our wounded men, and this was some compensation for my own loss.
We had been gone on this campaign from the 29th of April until the 5th of May, and such a week! How much that was horrible had been crowded into it. For variety of experiences of the many dreadful sides of war, that week far exceeded any other like period of our service. The fighting was boy's play compared with either Antietam or Fredericksburg, yet for ninety-six hours continuously we were under the terrible nervous strain of battle. Our losses in this action were comparatively light, 2 men killed, 2 officers wounded (one of whom died a few days later), and 39 men wounded, and one man missing; total loss, 44, or about fifteen per cent. of the number we took into action. This missing man I met at the recent reunion of our regiment. He was picked up from our skirmish line by that flanking party of rebels on the third day's fight described in my last. The circumstance will show how close the rebels were upon us before we discovered them. Our skirmishers could not have been more than a dozen yards in advance of our main line, yet the thicket was so dense that the enemy was on him before he fairly realized it. He said he was placed with a lot of other prisoners and marched to the rear some distance, under guard, when a fine-looking Confederate officer rode up to them. He was told it was General Lee. He said he wore long, bushy whiskers and addressed them with a cheery,—
"Good-morning, boys. What did you come down here for? a picnic? You didn't think you could whip us men of the South, did you?"
One of the prisoners spoke up in reply,—
"Yes, d—n you, we did, and we will. You haven't won this fight yet, and Joe Hooker will lick h—l out of you and recapture us before you get us out of these woods."
The general laughed good-naturedly at the banter his questions had elicited, and solemnly assured them that there were not men enough in the whole North to take Richmond. Our man was probably misinformed as to who their interlocutor was. General Lee did not wear long, bushy whiskers, and was at that time probably down directing operations against Fredericksburg. This was probably Jeb Stuart, who had succeeded Jackson in command of that wing of the rebel army.
Our prisoner fared much better than most prisoners, for it was his good fortune to be exchanged after twenty-three days' durance, probably owing to the expiration of his term of service. Although the actual dates of enlistment of our men were all in July and their terms therefore expired, the government insisted upon holding us for the full period of nine months from the date of actual muster into the United States service, which would not be completed until the 14th of May. We had, therefore, eight days' service remaining after our return from the battle of Chancellorsville, and we were continued in all duties just as though we had months yet to serve. Our principal work was the old routine of picket duty again. Our friends, the enemy, were now quick to tantalize our pickets with the defeat at Chancellorsville. Such remarks as these were volleyed at us:
"We 'uns give you 'uns a right smart lickin' up in them woods."
"How d'ye like Virginny woods, Yank?"
And then they sang to us:
"Ain't ye mighty glad to get out the wilderness?"
A song just then much in vogue. Another volunteered the remark, as if to equalize the honors in some measure, "If we did wallop you 'uns, you 'uns killed our best general." "We feel mighty bad about Stonewall's death," and so their tongues would run on, whether our men replied or not.
THE MUSTER OUT AND HOME AGAIN
Onthe 14th of May we received orders to proceed to Harrisburg for muster out. There was, of course, great rejoicing at the early prospect of home scenes once more. We walked on air, and lived for the next few days in fond anticipation. We were the recipients of any amount of attention from our multitude of friends in the division. Many were the forms of leave-taking that took place. It was a great satisfaction to realize that in our comparatively brief period of service we had succeeded in winning our way so thoroughly into the big hearts of those veterans. The night before our departure was one of the gladdest and saddest of all our experience. The Fourteenth Connecticut band, that same band which had so heroically played out between the lines when the Eleventh Corps broke on that fateful Saturday night at Chancellorsville, came over and gave us a farewell serenade. They played most of the patriotic airs, with "Home, Sweet Home," which I think never sounded quite so sadly sweet, and suggestively wound up with "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." Most of the officers and men of the brigade were there to give us a soldier's good-by, and Major-General Couch, commanding our corps (the Second), also paid us the compliment of a visit and made a pleasant little speech to the men who were informally grouped around head-quarters, commending our behavior in three of the greatest battles of the war.
It had been our high honor, he said, to have had a part in those great battles, and though new and untried we had acquitted ourselves with great credit and had held our ground like veterans. He expressed the fervent hope that our patriotism would still further respond to the country's needs, and that we would all soon again be in the field. Our honors were not yet complete. General French, commanding our division, issued a farewell order, a copy of which I would have been glad to publish, but I have not been able to get it. It was, however, gratifying in the extreme. He recounted our bravery under his eye in those battles and our efficient service on all duty, and wound up by saying he felt sure that men with such a record could not long remain at home, but would soon again rally around their country's flag. Of General Couch, our corps commander, we had seen but little, and were therefore very pleasantly surprised at his visit. Of General French, bronzed and grizzly bearded, we had seen much; all our work had been under his immediate supervision. He was a typical old regular, and many were the cuffs and knocks we received for our inexperience and shortcomings, all, however, along the lines of discipline and for our good, and which had really helped to make soldiers of us. These incidents showed that each commanding general keeps a keen eye on all his regiments, and no one is quicker to detect and appreciate good behavior than they. We felt especially pleased with the praises of General French, because it revealed the other side of this old hero's character. Rough in exterior and manner of speech, he was a strong character and a true hero.
His position at the breaking out of the war will illustrate this. He was a Southerner of the type of Anderson and Farragut. When so many of his fellows of the regular army, under pretext of following their States, went over into rebellion and treason, he stood firm and under circumstances which reflect great credit upon him. He had been in Mexico and had spent a life on the frontier, and had grown old and gray in the service, reaching only the rank of captain. When the war finally came he was in command of a battery of artillery stationed some three hundred and fifty miles up the Rio Grande, on the border of Mexico. He was cut off from all communication with Washington, and the commander of his department, the notorious General David E. Twiggs, had gone over to the Confederacy. He was, therefore, thoroughly isolated. Twiggs sent him a written order to surrender his battery to the rebel commander of that district. His characteristic reply was, that he would "see him and the Confederacy in hell first;" that he was going to march his battery into God's country, and if anybody interfered with his progress they might expect a dose of shot and shell they would long remember. None of them felt disposed to test his threat, and so he marched his battery alone down through that rebel country those three hundred and fifty miles and more into our lines at the mouth of the Rio Grande, bringing off every gun and every dollar's worth of government property that he could carry, and what he could not carry he destroyed. He was immediately ordered north with his battery and justly rewarded with a brigadier-general's commission.
Early on the morning of the 15th we broke camp and bade farewell to that first of the world's great armies, the grand old Army of the Potomac. Need I say that, joyous as was our home-going, there was more than a pang at the bottom of our hearts as we severed those heroic associations? A last look at the old familiar camp, a wave of the hand to the friendly adieus of our comrades, whose good-by glances indicated that they would gladly have exchanged places with us; that if our hearts were wrung at going, theirs were, too, at remaining; a last march down those Falmouth hills, another and last glance at those terrible works behind Fredericksburg, and we passed out of the army and out of the soldier into the citizen, for our work was now done and we were soldiers only in name.
As our train reached Belle-plain, where we were to take boat for Washington, we noticed a long train of ambulances moving down towards the landing, and were told they were filled with wounded men, just now brought off the field at Chancellorsville. There were upward of a thousand of them. It seems incredible that the wounded should have been left in those woods during these ten to twelve days since the battle. How many hundreds perished during that time for want of care nobody knows, and, more horrible still, nobody knows how many poor fellows were burned up in the portions of those woods that caught fire from the artillery. But such is war. Dare any one doubt the correctness of Uncle Billy Sherman's statement that "War is hell!"
Reaching Washington, the regiment bivouacked a single night, awaiting transportation to Harrisburg. During this time discipline was relaxed and the men were permitted to see the capital city. The lieutenant-colonel and I enjoyed the extraordinary luxury of a good bath, a square meal, and a civilized bed at the Metropolitan Hotel, the first in five long months. Singular as it may seem, I caught a terrific cold as the price I paid for it. The next day we were again back in Camp Curtin, at Harrisburg, with nothing to do but to make out the necessary muster rolls, turn in our government property,—guns, accoutrements, blankets, etc., and receive our discharges. This took over a week, so that it was the 24th of May before we were finally discharged and paid off. Then the several companies finally separated.
If it had been hard to leave our comrades of the Army of the Potomac, it was harder to sever the close comradeship of our own regiment, a relationship formed and cemented amidst the scenes that try men's souls, a comradeship born of fellowship in privation, danger, and suffering. I could hardly restrain my tears as we finally parted with our torn and tattered colors, the staff of one of which had been shot away in my hands. We had fought under their silken folds on three battle-fields, upon which we had left one-third of our number killed and wounded, including a colonel and three line officers and upward of seventy-five men killed and two hundred and fifteen wounded. Out of our regiment of one thousand and twenty-four men mustered into the service August 14, 1862, we had present at our muster out six hundred and eighteen. We had lost in battle two hundred and ninety-five in killed and wounded and one hundred and eleven from physical disability, sickness, etc., and all in the short space of nine months. Of the sixteen nine-months regiments formed in August, 1862, the One Hundred and Thirtieth and ours were the only regiments to actively participate in the three great battles of Antietam, Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville, and we lost more men than either of the others.
I should mention a minor incident that occurred during our stay in Harrisburg preparing for muster out. A large number of our men had asked me to see if I could not get authority to re-enlist a battalion from the regiment. I was assured that three-fourths of the men would go back with me, provided they could have a two weeks' furlough. I laid the matter before Governor Curtin. He said the government should take them by all means; that here was a splendid body of seasoned men that would be worth more than double their number of new recruits; but he was without authority to take them, and suggested that I go over to Washington and lay the matter before the Secretary of War. He gave me a letter to the latter and I hurried off. I had no doubt of my ability to raise an entire regiment from the great number of nine-months men now being discharged. I repaired to the War Department, and here my troubles began. Had the lines of sentries that guarded the approach to the armies in the field been half as efficient as the cordon of flunkies that barred the way to the War Office, the former would have been beyond the reach of any enemy. At the entrance my pedigree was taken, with my credentials and a statement of my business. I was finally permitted to sit down in a waiting-room with a waiting crowd. Occasionally a senator or a congressman would break the monotony by pushing himself in whilst we cultivated our patience by waiting. Lunch time came and went. I waited. Several times I ventured some remarks to the attendant as to when I might expect my turn to come, but he looked at me with a sort of far-off look, as though I could not have realized to whom I was speaking. Finally, driven to desperation, after waiting more than four hours, I tried a little bluster and insisted that I would go in and see somebody. Then I was assured that the only official about the office was a Colonel——, acting assistant adjutant-general. I might see him.
"Yes," I said, "let me see him, anybody!"
I was ushered into the great official's presence. He was a lieutenant-colonel, just one step above my own rank. He was dressed in a faultless new uniform. His hair was almost as red as a fresh red rose and parted in the middle, and his pose and dignity were quite worthy of the national snob hatchery at West Point, of which he was a recent product.
"Young man," said he, with a supercilious air, "what might your business be?"
I stated that I had brought a letter from His Excellency, Governor Curtin, of Pennsylvania, to the Secretary of War, whom I desired to see on important business.
"Where is your letter, sir?"
"I gave it up to the attendant four hours ago, who, I supposed, took it to the Secretary."
"There is no letter here, sir! What is your business? You cannot see the Secretary of War."
I then briefly stated my errand. His reply was,—
"Young man, if you really desire to serve your country, go home and enlist."
Thoroughly disgusted, I retired, and so ended what might have saved to the service one of the best bodies of men that ever wore a government uniform, and at a time when the country was sorely in need of them.
A word now of the personnel of the One Hundred and Thirty-second Regiment and I am done. Dr. Bates, in his history of the Pennsylvania troops, remarks that this regiment was composed of a remarkable body of men. This judgment must have been based upon his knowledge of their work. Every known trade was represented in its ranks. Danville gave us a company of iron workers and merchants, Catawissa and Bloomsburg, mechanics, tradesmen, and farmers. From Mauch Chunk we had two companies, which included many miners. From Wyoming and Bradford we had three companies of sturdy, intelligent young farmers intermingled with some mechanics and tradesmen. Scranton, small as she was then, gave us two companies, which was scarcely a moiety of the number she sent into the service. I well remember how our flourishing Young Men's Christian Association was practically suspended because its members had gone to the war, and old Nay Aug Hose Company, the pride of the town, in which many of us had learned the little we knew of drill, was practically defunct for want of a membership which had "gone to the war." Of these two Scranton companies, Company K had as its basis the old Scranton City Guard, a militia organization which, if not large, was thoroughly well drilled and made up of most excellent material. Captain Richard Stillwell, who commanded this company, had organized the City Guard and been its captain from the beginning. The other Scranton company was perhaps more distinctively peculiar in its personnel than either of the other companies. It was composed almost exclusively of Delaware, Lackawanna & Western Railroad shop and coal men, and was known as the Railroad Guards. In its ranks were locomotive engineers, firemen, brakemen, trainmen, machinists, telegraph operators, despatchers, railroad-shop men, a few miners, foremen, coal-breaker men, etc. Their captain, James Archbald, Jr., was assistant to his father as chief engineer of the road, and he used to say that with his company he could survey, lay out, build and operate a railroad. The first sergeant of that company, George Conklin, brother of D. H. Conklin, chief despatcher of the Delaware, Lackawanna & Western, and his assistant, had been one of the first to learn the art of reading telegraph messages by ear, an accomplishment then quite uncommon. His memory had therefore been so developed that after a few times calling his company roll he dispensed with the book and called it alphabetically from memory. Keeping a hundred names in his mind in proper order we thought quite a feat. Forty years later, at one of our reunions, Mr. Conklin, now superintendent of a railroad, was present. I asked him if he remembered calling his company roll from memory.
"Yes," said he, "and I can do it now, and recall every face and voice," and he began and rattled off the names of his roll. He said sometimes in the old days the boys would try to fool him by getting a comrade to answer for them, but they could never do it, he would detect the different voice instantly.
Now, as I close this narrative, shall I speak of the gala day of our home-coming? I can, of course, only speak of the one I participated in, the coming home to Scranton of Companies I and K and the members of the field and staff who lived here. This, however, will be a fair description of the reception each of the other companies received at their respective homes. Home-coming from the war! Can we who know of it only as we read appreciate such a home-coming? That was forty-one years ago the 25th of last May. Union Hall, on Lackawanna Avenue, midway between Wyoming and Penn, had been festooned with flags, and in it a sumptuous dinner awaited us. A committee of prominent citizens, our old friends, not one of whom is now living, met us some distance down the road. A large delegation of Scranton's ladies were at the hall to welcome and serve us, and of these, the last one, one of the mothers and matrons, has just passed into the great beyond. Many of those of our own age, the special attraction of the returning "boys," have also gone, but a goodly number still remain. They will recall this picture with not a little interest, I am sure. If perchance cheeks should be wet and spectacles moistened as they read, it will be but a reproduction of the emotions of that beautiful day more than forty years ago. No soldier boys ever received a more joyous or hearty welcome. The bountiful repast was hurriedly eaten, for anxious mothers, wives, sisters, and sweethearts were there, whose claim upon their returning "boy in blue" for holier and tenderer relationship was paramount.