Thomas Walter on 91st PA
Location: [unknown]
Introduction
Thomas F Walter served from 1861 to 1865 in company A of the 91st Pennsylvania Infantry. He began as a sergeant, and ended as a first lieutenant, before he was cashiered by a court martial in April 1865.
He wrote these recollections, he claims 'for pastime and to refresh my memory, and not as a contribution to history; neither was it intended for publication' (Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail 11 October 1884, page 2, column 2). He claims that the published version omits 'parts of it', and blames 'its occasional disjointedness' on that (11 Oct 1884, p.2, col.2).
[source for the first and last installments: Historical Society of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; source for the other installments: Free Library of Philadelphia, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania]
Transcription
[source: Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail, volume 3, number 34, page 1]
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS AND EXPERIENCES OF AN Obscure Soldier, BY T. F. WALTER, Company A, 91st P. V. V., Post 8, Phila.
It seems to me that every many whose service in the war for this Union was in any way creditable to him, must cherish a desire to keep alive the memories of his experiences in that colossal and extraordinary struggle. Though his company, his regiment, or he himself may have achieved no special distinction, yet if he participated in the trials and dangers that were felt by the great majority of our comrades for months and years, I cannot but believe that [a crease obscures about half a line here] made an impression on him that [a crease obscures about half a line here] well as adds a pleasure to his memories of those times.
The particular command that I served in for more than three and a half years of the war of the Rebellion, was not often lauded in the reports of our commanding generals or puffed in the columns of home newspapers.
We wore no gay or distinctive uniform, and we had not in our ranks any individual whose former success or greatness gave him a prestige that could benefit us. I think the regiment as an organization was almost as obscure as I was as a soldier.
Nevertheless the regiment creditably filled the measure of its duty, made an enviable record, and has a history of which its members may well be proud of [sic]. I refer to the 91st Pennsylvania Volunteers, recruited at Philadelphia, in the autumn of 1861, and whose colonel nearly all through the war was the late General E. M. Gregory.
I was one of the first squad that was mustered for the organization, having been sworn into Company A on the 20th of August. My nineteenth birthday had occurred in the previous June. I had received a little military instruction at school, and had gained a little practical experience in soldiering during the period of the three months' service. Recruiting was not very brisk, and when the formation of the company was completed, early in September, I was made fourth sergeant.
I suppose I received the position for merit, for I have it to say that never during the war did I make any direct effort to secure promotion, and it is also a somewhat singular fact that not a man in the company or regiment knew me previous to the war. I felt no trepidation in thus "going it alone," for it had been my fortune to support myself among strangers before I was ten years of [page 2] age, and I well knew what it was to "hoe my own row."
Our first drills took place at the northeast corner of Eighth and Callowhill streets, and our first quarters were in the old building at the northeast corner of Broad and Wallace streets. We soon went into camp with several other companies, along Darby road, about half a mile south west of Gray's Ferry bridge. Our camp ground was a beautiful and convenient spot, and I found it quite easy to adapt myself to camp fare and camp accomodations. Not so, however, with some of the other members, for they so often ran the guard, and were absent without leave so much, that four of them were court martialed and sentenced to a term in the guard-house and to walk in a circle each day for several hours, carrying a knapsack loaded with bricks. Thus some discipline was maintained, and drills and camp duties carried on in something of soldierly style. I became an efficient instructor in drilling a squad, or even the company, and during my first year in the service did a great amount of that kind of work.
I said but little beyond what duty required, and was doubtless considered a sort of mysterious character to some of my comrades. A little incident I will relate served to show the company that I was a pretty prompt and decided individual in emergencies.
One pleasant evening, late in October, a large dead owl was lying in the company street. Several of the quieter members were having a pleasant talk in one of the tents, the front of which was thrown open, when some roystering fellow picked up the owl and threw it among them. They threw it out, but it was soon pitched in again. Again they threw it out, and I being near, was asked to stop the annoyance.
Thinking the fun had gone far enough, I picked up the owl and walked towards the guard line to throw it out of camp. I had gone but a few steps when a comrade about my own size, sneaked behind me and knocked the bird out of my hand, and tried to run away, but before he could do so I had about faced and struck him on the nose with my fist. Blood came promptly, and he closed with me for a fight. I realized quickly that I must not fight, and being the strongest I held him until [his friends] [some words are missing because of a crease] from getting himself into a worse scrape. There was nothing more said or done about the matter on my part, but I soon perceived that my action had made an impression favorable to myself in the company.
The organization of the regiment was not completed until the 4th of December. Our company formed the right of the command, we being strong both in number and material, and having commissioned officers something above the average. Cold weather began to detract from the pleasures of camp life, and the men became desirous of being sent to the front. Our orders to move to Washington came on the 21st of January, 1862.
It was a cold, wet storm, the day we left Camp Chase, as we called it, and the camp ground was a batter of mud, thus giving us at the start a taste of the condition of things with which we were soon to become proverbially familiar. There were no very strong ties binding me to any particular place, and the start for the front made neither whirl nor ripple in the ordinary current of my life. I was not even anxious about "the girl I left behind me." We expected, of course, to be sent over into Virginia, to tough it in camp until spring, but after spending a day or two at the capital, found that a somewhat better fate awaited us.
We went into camp on a hill near the Bladensburg road, a little more than a mile north of the capitol building. We received good Sibley tents, and fourteen comrades made themselves pretty comfortable in each of them, as they were furnished with stoves and we had a fair supply of wood.
This was Camp Stanton, and although nothing of special important to myself or command [sic] happened during our stay of several weeks in it, there are a few recollections of the time that I am inclined to mention.
In February a fierce wind storm came and knocked things about generally. Nearly all the canvas in camp was blown down, and among other things, I saw a heavy sheet iron stove going end over end out of camp, before the breeze.
Many are aware that early in the war, when several men were tenting together, it was customary to give their abode some distinctive name. Going through a camp such as ours, you might see one tent marked with the name of some grand hotel; others would be marked "Gay Brothers Inn," "Old Friends' Retreat," "Union Home," or with some other fancy title. Humorous and sarcastic names seemed to please the men most, and you might see a forlorn tent marked as the "United States Free and Easy," another "Headquarters for High Livers," or the "Divan of Luxury," or some other appellation that suggested a very different condition of affairs from what really existed. In the north-western part of Philadelphia is a well-known institution, the Northern Home for Friendless Children. I noticed that one of our tents had a new and prominent sign out one day, and had made a transposition of the above title that was both cute and amusing, as it read "The Friendless Home for Northern Children." It struck me as being pathetically applicable and appropriate. The chaplain here made an effort to do his duty by holding prayer meetings in the tents of the different companies, but though he had the strong backing of the colonel and other officers, his opponents were so numerous, persistent and annoying, that he was soon disheartened.[1]
At no time during the war did there seem to be any considerable religious interest in the command. A very large proportion of our men were entirely indifferent to religion; and a few like me held that the necessary excitements and privations of life in camps and campaigns left little room for religious instruction or formality. I was a member of the Presbyterian Church prior to the war, and when there was religious [sic] service in camp I generally gave it respectful attention, but did not importune others to do so. I contented myself with perseveringly showing them a good example. Nearly all the men seemed to think that if the chaplain attended to mail matters, and got our share of supplies from the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, and did not get drunk or gamble, he was doing himself very much credit.
In Camp Stanton I had the misfortune to get into another domestic skirmish. One dull day I was sitting on the ground in the tent writing, while the rest of my tent mates were trying to while away the time in a more roystering manner. One of them stumbled over my feet twice, [a line is missing here because of a crease] again I would "go for him." He paid little attention and soon jostled me the third time, and in about five second he had come into the possession of a black eye. There was no additional fuss about it, but it served as a pretty strong proof to the company that I was not a fellow for much boncombe talk before getting to business.
Near the end of February company A was detailed for duty at the old capitol prison in Washington, where we relieved a portion of the Regular army. Here our first actual service to the government began, for for [sic] although some of us had been soldiers for more than six months, all our former exercises had been of a merely preparatory character.
The old capitol prison was a peculiar old three-story brick building, that stood on the hill near the new capitol, and had a considerable history of its own in connection with the law makers and administrators of the government before the present splended marble capitol building was erected.
When we took charge of it some forty or more rebel citizens and soldiers were confined in a large room on the second floor, while several smaller rooms on the third floor were occupied by prisoneres not of the general character. Among these were several females, whose particular offences I cannot now recall. The two of these who were the most distinguished, both among ourselves and outsiders, were Mrs. Greenhough[2] and Mrs. Baxley.[3] I think I may say that Mrs. Greenhough was a genuine lady, and I believe she was a somewhat distinguished literary character. She seemed to have a host of friends within our lines that were of the kind that are worth cherishing.
Presents of things that pertained to outside comforts as well as those that might tempt a failing appetite, often came to the prison for her. Though she was a rank secessionist she was not foolish enough to throw away good eatables that she did not want, but would give them to the guard near her door if he happened to be a gentlemanly fellow. Of course the men were suspicious of her generosity at first, and a few remained so, but those that ate had the best of them. The government at this time was still inclined to handle its enemies, with gloves, as it were, and was pursuing a police of forbearance and kindness that was nearly always miconstrued and unappreciated.
Mrs. Baxley was a genius of a different order from Mrs. Greenhough. With her the government was a murderout tyranny, that was contemptible enough to make war on defenceless women and children. We soldiers were unfortunate and mercenary dupes, whose careers would soon end in the South, beneath its soil, which would be contaminated by its contact with our carcasses.
The male prisoners gave us little extra trouble. They sang recesh [sic] songs at time, and as they could have the windows up and look out in daytime, the outside guards sometimes received the burden of their minds in a strain that was neither complimentary nor consoling. Our first tour of duty at the 'Old Capitol," [sic] lasting about six days, was a pretty severe one, as every many had to be on duty every day and night, because we had not men enough to arrange proper reliefs. This resulted in giving me an advance in the line of promotion. The captain thought the third sergeant had not performed his guard duties efficiently, so he was reduced to the ranks, and I took his place. In commemoration of this trip I wrote a lot of doggerel that was quite amusing to those who participated. Soon after our return to camp the whole regiment was ordered to Washington for general provost duty. The command was divided and stationed at various points about the city; some going to the Long Bridge, that crosses the Potomac to Virginia, others to the central guard house and on patrol duty, others to the hospitals and railroad depots, as guards, while most of our company, including myself, went back to the prison.
It was during this second service there, which lasted for several week, that I was arrested for the first time and it happened in this wise: As we had received no orders to stay in quarters when not on duty, I assumed that we were at liberty to walk about the city, and one morning, with one of our corporals, started out for a promenade on Pennsylvania avenue. We had just reached that thoroughfare when we met a patrol of our own company, and commanded by our second sergeant.
He halted us and asked us if we had a pass. We said no. He said his orders were to arrest every soldier he found without a pass. He ordered us to fall in, and we were marched as prisoners for several squares along the avenue to the guard-house.
[source: Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail, volume 3, number 35, page 1]
We being located close to the new capitol building, myself and others frequently went over and wandered about in it, visiting the senate and representative chambers, and admiring the beautiful art work that so plentifully abounded in most every part of the structure. The dome and rotunda received there [sic] share of attention, and the grand paintings there were scanned again and again. At that time the extreme top of the dome was not finished, and no work was being done on it. Visitors could only go as high as an outside gallery that is around it; that, I suppose, is sixty or seventy feet below where the goddess of liberty now stands. There was a scaffold up to the extreme height, the upper part of which was very frail looking, and a fifteen foot ladder loosely tied in a perpendicular manner, led to the top. One day I concluded that I would like to take in the splendid view that might be had from that very elevated position. By a little dexteritous [sic] climbing, I got from the upper gallery through a window aperature [sic] that was above my head, and quickly mounted the swinging ladder. Only a strong will and steady nerves enabled me to keep on and stand on the little platform that formed the summit.
I cannot do justice to the beautiful, interesting and suggestive prospect that was spread out, around and beneath me. The bright waters of the Potomac could be seen for several miles above and below the city. The teams and pedestrians that thronged Pennsylvania avenue were mere pygmies in size. Georgetown and Alexandria were distinct in the near distance. The President's house, the patent office, post office, treasure buildings, the navy yard, Smithsonian Institute, Long Bridge, Arlington, the unfortunate Washington Monument and camps and forts on every side, and much more that was in plain sight, formed a panorama that was never to be forgotten.
In other leisure hours I took in the interesting sights in the patent office and [three illegible words], but did not enter the president's house or see its illustrious occupant. I was not very anxious to see him, because I had been [two or three illegible words] him about a year before, when he raised the Stars and Stripes over Independence Hall, in Philadelphia. During the latter part of our stay at the old capital an event occurred in which our regiment shed the life-blood of a rebel for the first time.
[page 2]
A member of Co. C was on guard in the yard one day, when one of the citizen prisoners in the second story came to the window and cursed and dared the guard to fire on him. [4] A young corporal of our company had charge of the guard just then, and when he came around the sentinal told what had happened. He told the guard that if the offence was repeated he was to shoot. The man soon returned and began a fresh tirade against the government and the guard, when the guard shot him through the arm and chest, so that he died in a few minutes.
The rebel was a man of means and influence, and his shooting seemed to have stirred up some indignation outside as well as inside the prison, for a few days afterward both the corporal and sentinal were arrested and confined in uncomfortable quarters in the Central Guard House. [5]
About this time also, the first death in our company occurred. A young man whose family at home were poor died of a fever in the hospital. [6] Some of his friends began to canvass the company with a view to forming an association to send his body home, as well as the bodies of any other comrades who might die in the service. I opposed it at once. I said the family would have one great grief when they heard of his death, and another great grief and a serious expense when they received the body. I argued that it was better that they should remember him as they had seen him in health and that we owed the dead no more than circumstances forced us to spend on them. I asked that no money or ceremony be wasted on me after the breath was out of me. The subject was then dropped and was not revived among us again.
On the 27th of April, 1862, the regiment was relieved from duty at Washington and transferred by steamer to Alexandria, Virginia, to do provost duty there. Here the command was divided as before, and quartered in different locations about the city in private residences whose owners had gone South to serve the Confederacy. Co. A was quartered in a nice three-story brick house on Washington street near King. King was the main business street, and Washington was a wide, clean avenue; and though our house had been cleared of nearly all its furniture, we had very pleasant quarters. But few Virginians remained in the city, and of these, quite a number made their sentiments known by going out of their way rather than walk under the flag we had hung over the pavement. The old Episcopal Church that Washington had sometimes attended in his day was close by, and I attended service there once or twice. [7] The Marshall House, where Colonel Ellsworth was shot, was also near, and a regular slave-pen or slave-market on the southwestern edge of the city was an emphatic reminder to us of the cause of the war and the peculiar chivalry of the South. [8]
The slave-dealing firm who had this establishment in the days when such places flourished, must have been wealthy and aristocratic, for they had good accomodations for themselves as well as extensive and strong quarters for their stock-in-trade.
To those of us who were familiar with the abolition arguments and literature that were popular at home, then pen, the cells and the dungeons were very suggestive. We had been several weeks in Alexandria and still our corporal and the sentinel, who were concerned in the shooting of the rebel at the old capital-prison, were kept in close and filthy confinement at Washington. One morning our captain [sc. Frank Gilbert] called me into his room and told me that though there were no written charges against them, the several efforts that had been made to have them released had been without effect. He asked me to write a petition in their favor, and the major, [sc. George Todd] who was going up to Washington, would present it to President Lincoln.
The corporal was a fellow of such excellent character, that I was glad of a chance to serve him, so I wrote it and made it strong, and it went to the president, and before the day was past the men were free and had rejoined their companies.
One of my pleasantest reminiscences of the fine old town we were in, is of the swimming we had there during that summer in the Potomac River. During the hottest weather there would sometimes be as many as twenty of our company at one time diving, swimming or floundering about in the water. I and several others who were expert and fond of that kind of exercise made most too frequent use of our opportunities. [Bates lists two soldiers as dying of drowning at Alexandria: William Campbell (d.31 May 1862) and John Mallon (d.26 Apr 1862).]
About the middle of June, Gordon, myself and the corporal, recently out of prison, concluded to visit Mount Vernon. [Two Gordan's served in the 91st: George Gordan, a private in company G, and James Gordan, a sergeant in company A. The latter seems more likely to be this Gordon, given his company.] As we would be gone all day, and as the way was not entirely safe, we were afraid the captain would not give us permission if asked, so we decided to go on "French leave." The only way to get there was to walk. I believe the distance is eight miles. Selecting a day when neither of us would be on guard and having some extra grub on hand, we arose before the rest of the comrades were astir, and set gaily off on the road leading south from the city. When we had gone about four miles, we stopped and had a lunch and a short rest, meanwhile speculating on what would be said when the morning roll-call made our disappearance known. We soon trudged on, and though the road became wild, woody and lonely, we kept going until we came to a deserted lodge and a dilapidated gateway on the east side of the road.
We thought it was time to turn off, so we followed the obscure track through the gateway, and after going a half mile or so through woods, came to some fields, and very soon after to the celebrated home we were seeking. We approached the home with some caution, for being runaways, we wanted to meet neither friends nor foes. I believe we did not see any person about the place, though the garden and buildings showed that they were being cared for. The house was open and we walked through the wide hall and looked into the lower rooms, but there was little of value to be seen. I suppose much of the belongings of the house had been removed to Washington city for safety.
We spent some time on the front porch and at the tomb, and loitered about the well, the orchard and the out-buildings. Cherries were ripe and several trees near by tempted us with their loads of red and black fruit. Their limbs hung near the ground and we ate all we wanted, and, of course, made some remarks about truthful George Washington and his immortal little hatchet. The moral of that hatchet-story went right to our stomachs with the fruit, and I expect we have been more inclined to the truth ever since.
About the middle of the afternoon we started leisurely homeward, and got safely into our quarters about dusk. Our return was soon reported, and we were summoned before the captain. [sc. Frank Gilbert] We supposed that we were in a scrape, but as it was our first offence of the kind, we escaped with only a decided reprimand. I thought afterwards what a verdant and inexcusable pair we would have been had we been "gobbled" on this trip by some scouting party of the enemy and sent to Richmond, or stripped of our uniforms and sent back to our command.
The house we were quartered in stood alone, and the sun had nearly a clear chance at it, so when the sultry weather of July and August came, sleeping at home became very difficult on account of the heat and mosquitoes; some of us would quietly go out after last roll-call and crawl through the window of an unused Methodist Church close by, and spread ourselves down on the carpet in the aisles. Here we had a better chance, as there was plenty of room for the heat to rise and no light or open windows to favor the mosquitoes.
But even this did not always satisfy us. A couple of squares away was a Presbyterian Church that had a cupola on, around the upper part of which was a narrow gallery. Several nights we groped our way up to this gallery, and with music books from the choir for pillows, snoozed in the open air. If there was any breeze we were sure to get it, and we were too high for the blood-sucking insects. We felt, on those occasions, that though we were quite young, we were occupying very high positions in the military service of our country, and that our religious elevation was far above the average height of other soldiers.
During those times battalion drills were frequent. The colonel (sc. Edgar Gregory) being provost marshall, the instructing of our regiment devolved on the lieutenant-colonel [sc. Edward Wallace] and major [sc. George Todd].
They proved quite efficient, and the command became well versed in the most important tactical movements. The adjutant [sc. Benjamin Tayman] gave us non-commissioned officers a good deal of practical instruction in our duties, and the drum major gave his corps such attention that they became fairly proficient performers. [9]
Our dress parades were nearly perfect, and our drum and fife corps, for three years, was among the best in the army. When out in force our company would make an excellent appearance, and might have easily been mistaken for regulars.
As the summer wore away many of our men became tired of the monotonous and exacting duty we were performing. The details for guard and patrol duty took about half the the [sic] command each day and when the men were not on duty, they often had to drill or do duty as escort and firing party at the funerals from the various hospitals about the city.
Much growling and comment was indulged in, and many expressions not complimentary to the officers or general character of the regiment were uttered. Of course, we were aware that we had great cause to be thankful, that we were escaping so easily the extreme dangers and privations of the front; still there were many complainers, and we were taunted and jeered at times by those who were familiar with the whistle of bullets and the whine of shells. For the general good of the organization, I was in favor of taking the field. There were strong influences of demorilazation about Alexandria that no amount of vigilance or severity seemed able to overcome. Whisky and bad women seemed to be doing the regiment as much harm as the rebels were likely to with powder and ball. It was not until the 28th of August, and some of us had been more than a year in service, that our provost duty ended and we went into camp a short distance southwest of the city at Cloud's Mills.
We had been "feather-bed," "band-box" and "soft-bread' soldiers a good while, but the end of that kind of soldiering had come, and we began fairly to realize it when our little shelter tents were issued to us, which proved that in subsequent migrations we were expected to carry our homes as well as our arms, wardrobe, utensils and rations.
We had a few days of pleasant rest, and then one midnight were ordered to pack up and fall in. We were soon tramping the highway that led in the direction of Fairfax, Manassas and the enemy. [10]
Our company being the first of the regiment as well as the strongest and best drilled, formed the advance guard, and was kept a considerable distance ahead of the column. We marched quietly and leisurely on without knowing anything definite of our destination or the reason of our night expedition. When daylight came we we [sic] had gone about ten miles, and were so far ahead that the rest of the regiment were not in sight. We halted at a stone bridge and spent an hour in loitering about and getting breakfast. Then we took the back track and the whole command returned to our former camp.
We learned that we had been out as escort to a wagon-train that carried supplies to a division of McClellan's army, that then was creeping along to reinforce Pope. We found that we had breakfasted near Fairfax, and the rebels were in possession of that place at the time. Had a a [sic] squadron of the enemy's cavalry dashed among us while we were fooling about that bridge, they could have "scooped" in our whole company.
That day the second battle of Bull Run was fought [sc. 29-30 August], and hundreds of Pope's brave men were sacrificed to the McClellanism that then cursed the Union forces in Virginia, and the mismanagement that prevailed at Washington. I felt that we ought to have been in the fight, and wrong had been done to those who were there and so sorely needed our support. [for another event that probably occurred on that trip, see 'A straddle bug']
Several days more sped away and then one sultry, dusty morning we were marched clear to Washington to attend the funeral of a paymaster. I suppose there were fifty regiments nearer the capital than we were, but we were the victims. The regiment, though not strong in numbers, was good at marching, and making a good soldierly appearance.
After this, a week or more was spent in marching and counter-marching about Washington, and about the time Lee crossed into Maryland we had made a halt at Meredian Hill, which is just beyond the north side of the city. McClellan was again in command of the Army of the Potomac, and needed reinforcements to overwhelm Lee.
We became part of a brigade of four regiments, then formed and placed under command of General H. B. Tyler, of Ohio. He was a good officer, who had seen some hard sacrifice in the Shenendoah Valley. The other three regiments were new and green troops, and two of them were enlisted for nine months only. [The other regiments were the 140th and 146th New York Infantry (the nine-months regiments), and the 155th Pennsylvania Infantry. The brigade was actually formed earlier, on 21 August. Perhaps Walter is thinking of the division, which was formed only on 12 September (see Humphreys' statement).]
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #36 p.1]
Early in the morning of the day that we started on our Maryland campaign [presumably 14 or 15 September 1862], an order was issued that, to enable the men to march longer and faster, the knapsacks would be turned over to the quartermaster. [see lost property] He was to secure safe storage for them and when we were settled in camp again, they would be forwarded to us. This plan pleased most of the men greatly, as most of them had bulky knapsacks and knew what an inconvenient burden they were on long marches in hot weather. I was opposed to this arrangement at once; my baggage was not much either for size or value, but I was not inclined to trust it in Washington, as I said quietly to the boys around me. Several others were of the same mind, and when the line was formed, we fell in with our extra duds and sundries in their usual place. The colonel came along and wanted to know what we men were doing with knapsacks? and had there been time we would have been ordered out to give them up. As it was there was a growl and we were allowed to retain them.
At this time I was one of the regular color bearers of the regiment, though it was a distinction I was in no wise partial to. Our regiment, like many others, always had a State, as well as National colors, or at least we had as much of them as their hard service allowed to hang together. I did not object to the colors because they increased my chances of being shot, but because they kept so close to the ranks. The color-sergeants and color-guard had to be first in line when the regiments was found, and were last to get away when the command was dismissed. We had no chance to do any foraging on the march, neither could we feel as free when off duty in camp.
Three or four days of moderately hard marching brought us to the vicinity of Frederick City Junction, on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and near to Monocacy Creek. The weather was fine and our route was through a highly cultivated part of Maryland. It was the middle of September [16 September 1862], and the country looked beautiful, and some of the orchards by the way were gorgeous with tempting fruit. Our column, however, was allowed to do very little foraging. When we got to the Monocacy we were on ground lately occupied by the Confederates, and here we got some of the details of Miles' [p.2] misfortune at Harper's Ferry, two days before.
The day we arrived here the battle of Antietam was fought [16-17 September 1862], and again we had been cleared of the struggle and danger that I thought we should have shared. It was said that the division we belonged to was on the reserve, but I made up my mind that we had been reserved entirely too far in the rear if it was intended to carry on the war vigorously on our side.
The night after the battle we made a march of near eighteen miles, and the following morning went on the battlefield near the Sharpsburg Pike. [17 September 1862] There had been hard fighting over the ground, but only a few prominent traces of it now remained. The victors had gone from the field, some of the dead had been buried, the wounded removed, and the litter and wreck of army outfit pretty generally carried off. In one spot on the spike lay four artillery horses that had appeared to have been killed by one shell. Some of our men found two dead rebels in a small house near the eastern end of Sharpsburg, who seemed who [sic] have been shot dead while trying to hide or looking for plunder, for one was in a loft and the other in a closet.
We soon moved forward and to the left towards the Potomac, and spent some time near a battery that was throwing shells across the river. We moved forward a little again, and then many of the men were taken down to the river bank to act as sharpshooters. [This occurred on 20 September 1862.] The rest of us could not see what was going on down at the river, but it seemed probable that a crossing was to be attempted, and it looked likely that we would soon be made familiar with the music of a fight under circumstances favorable to the enemy, and particularly unfavorable to us color bearers. Our sharpshooters soon came back and we learned that another command had been across, but had been repulsed with serious loss.
The movement seemed to have been only a feint to discover what force of the foe remained opposite; but it proved a very severe experiment to the 118th Pennsylvania, a Philadelphia organization, in which our men had many acquaintances. [They suffered 269/737 casualties (36%); see their report.] The Potomac, at this point, a short distance below Sheppardstown, is easily fordable, being generally less than waist deep, and less than three hundred yards wide. The opposite bank is bold and hilly, and though not wooded, gave the enemy great advantage. After this we went into camp a mile or more west of Sharpsburg, and it was "all quiet along the Potomac" once more.
We now belonged to the 3d Division of the 5th Army Corps, commanded by Gen. F. J. Porter, and realized that we were surely a part of that great organization called the Army of the Potomac, and were likely to be full sharers in its fortunes. Our new abode was on a nice open piece of ground, and as soon as we were fairly settled there, an agitation began about the knapsacks that had been left at Washington. [see lost property]
Weeks passed and not one came; neither did any postal matter reach us. Finally an officer was sent to make special effort to rectify these matters, but he accomplished nothing, and never came back himself; so the knapsacks were given up as lost. I got considerable credit for having gumption enough to hold on to mine. [11] Matters remained very quiet for nearly a month, or until the 16th of October.
At dawn on that day our brigade marched back to the ford of the Potomac, and waded the river without opposition. Several regiments of Regulars had gone over ahead of us; we were to form the reserve of a strong reconnoitering force. We passed up through Sheppardstown, and out on the highway leading westward. We had gone but a short distance when the booming of cannon ahead intimated that our excursion was going to be attended with some diversion.
Our regiment was deployed across the road so as to cover a space about a quarter of a mile wide, and we moved slowly forward through an open and cultivated country. The firing in our front did not increase, but sounded only at irregular and lengthy intervals, and it seemed to recede about as fast as we advanced. We concluded the Regulars were driving a small force of the enemy, and that they only stopped to send back a few compliments when they had an extra good chance.
So matters went on until near the middle of the afternoon, when we were halted for an hour near a substantial farm house. No tenants were seen, and some of the men began to investigate the premises. Some bloody bandages and other evidence of wounded men having been cared for there were found. In ransacking the house, the only additional interesting find was about a dozen large jars of preserves, and these were soon divided around to help sweeten the existence of us Yanks.
We leisurely retraced our steps after this for several miles, and as night came on, rain began to fall in torrents. By the time it was pitch dark we got back to where a reserve force was lying along the road.
Here we were marched into a field of standing corn and invited to make ourselves comfortable for the night. How very kind and considerate this attention was, as well as how much we were gratified, will be better understood when I tell a little more of our circumstances. Having been on the go since daybreak we were pretty well exhausted; having breakfasted light, taken a slim dinner and no taste of supper, we were sure we were hungry. We were also confident that we were wet to the skin and chilly. All the fences were completely soaked, and fires and coffee could not be made to give us their comforting influence. Many of the men had left their blankets and pieces of tent in camp not expecting to be away all night. Intense darkness and rainfall continued until past midnight, and rivulets formed in the furrows made by the last plowing to "tall up" the corn.
Our condition was such that a man needed a little time to consider just how to fix himself to be entirely comfortable. You may be sure there were [sic] some wild swearing done as well as a large number of emotional and imprecational remarks indulged in. I was a character that was too self-possessed to take matters other than calmly, and I soon made up my mind that I was tired enough to sleep even if I was wet, cold and famished; but I wanted to find a spot where I could snooze without being flooded. A few yards in front of the company I found the stump of a tree. The ground close to it was a little elevated and had not been plowed. Here I made my bed by cutting an armful of the full-grown cornstalk with my pocket-knife and throwing them on the ground. I turned in with my head to the stump, my blanket covering me all over. I soon slept, but every little while would be awakened by the vehement remarks of some comrade whose bed had become too watery for him. Sometime between midnight and dawn I awoke suddenly and found the heads of two horses over me and their fore feet within a few inches of my body. I raised up a little and could just make out that the horses were mounted.
A clear voice asked, "Who's here?".
I said, "Don't you men ride through this cornfield, it's full of infantry."
They wheeled their horses and rode quietly away towards the front, and I was asleep again. I can hardly doubt that they were a pair of rebel scouts, and that I would have been ridden over had not the horses refused to go forward. [sc. 17 October 1862] Morning came, clear and pleasant, and continuing our retreat we had soon waded the Potomac again, and were back to our old camp.
Thus ended our first reconnoiscence [sic], and the regiment's loss was only one man, a member of Co. K, who was killed or captured while venturing some distance away from the flank of the command. [I couldn't find anyone listed in Bates as dying on 16 or 17 October 1862. Perhaps he was captured and exchanged.] Matter remained quiet about the camp for some time, except that we were on picket in force at Antietam Bridge for several days, at the time Stuart made his brilliant raid around our army and gave us the slip so effectually.
This humiliation of our army, as well as its inefficiency, after all its experience, must have afforded a soldier so practical and vigorous as him, a good deal of amusement. The government, at this time, was using balloons for observing the enemy, and one of the balloon-stations was close to our camp, and added some interest to our life as the beautiful autumn days went by. Two or three signal stations were in sight also, and we became familiar with the spasmodic gyrations of those "wonderful flags that talk."
Finally, on the 30th of October, tents were again struck, and with the rest of the army, our faces were turned southward. Along the base of South Mountain and through Happy Valley to Harper's Ferry was our route. The autumn scenery in the valley and along the cultivated and wild side of the great hills was superb, and was a good prelude to the grand scenery that environs the meeting-place of the Potomac and Shenandoah. At Harper's Ferry we crossed both of these rivers, and bearing east followed the road that leads south along the east base of the Blue Ridge.
Three nights afterward [probably 2 November 1862] we and a large part of the army bivouacked in the vicinity of Snicker's Gap, we resting close to the highway that crosses the mountains here. The following morning our regiment was sent to the top of the mountain a little distance south of the road, where we made ourselves easy on a pleasant open piece of ground. Soon after getting off our accoutrements, the lieutentant-colonel, several others and myself, started off for a short scout, taking a westerly direction which led us toward the enemy. About the same time a column of infantry started through the gap, on the road, on an advance for observation, I suppose. [Perhaps this is the reconnaissance to and skirmish at Snicker's Gap that occurred on 3 November 1862, with the 1st Mass Cavalry, and the 6th, 7th, and 14th US infantry (Dyer, v.3, p.910). Hill briefly describes this reconnaissance from the Confederate viewpoint.] When they reached an open, level space near the edge of the Shenandoah River they were opened on by a masked rebel battery that was admirably posted on high ground on the other side. Our little party being well up on the west side of the mountain, had a full view of the firing of this battery, it being distant only half a mile. Ere we returned to camp we sighted a lank hog, of the "racer" species, and after firing enough bullets at it to bring down a grizzly bear, it fell into our hands, and its carcase was divided among us; it furnished fresh pork for our suppers.
This, I believe, was the only time during my military service that I foraged for fresh meat. My system made no demand for flesh under the severest courses of duty, so that, except to gratify a taste for variety, it mattered not to me whether I ate meat at any season of the year. I was a poor forager, anyhow, as I shrank from butchering of any kind, and was always backward about invading any premises in search of meal barrels, cured pork or other eatables. Fruits and vegetables were the usual objects of my efforts to forage, and my comrades soon knew that I could distinguish fruit trees of most any kind at a great distance.
The first night we spent on the mountain top we were visited by a furious gale. We had no tents up, and with the hurricane about us sleeping was well nigh impossible. I remember gathering a lot of large stones to pile up to windward of my knapsack in the hope of getting enough protection for my head so that I could get into a little nap.
Another day and night passed and early the succeeding morning we were on the march again, being the rear guard of McClellan's south-moving army. By way of Middleburg and White Plains we traveled, and after two or three days tramping we came to another lengthy halt at a pleasant spot between New Baltimore and Warrenton. Here McClellan left us, and we were drawn up in line along the road to witness the departure of the army's "Old Commander." [7 November 1862] Our brigade commander, General Tyler, still had faith in him, and told us we were losing a good officer. In the 91st Pennsylvania he had few friends; still there was a number that were rampant in his favor, and could see nothing but disaster in store for us without him as our leader. A little corporal of our company named Zane [sc. Simeon Zane], was so earnest and outspoken for little "Little Mac" for several months after he was relieved, that some of the comrades called him McClellan until the end of the war. From the matter he had wasted his time and his army in the swamp and ditches before Yorktown, I had not been able to rest much hope on him, and though I did not expect to relish fighting or enjoy hard campaigning, I could not help objecting to his hesitating and dilatory way of carrying on the war, so that when he, accompanied by his numerous staff disappeared on his homeward journey, I felt a kind of relief and took new courage.
We had been in camp a week or so when an orderly from the colonel came to me and asked me if I was afraid to go on an expedition back to Snicker's Gap. Two men and two horses, with wagon gears and saddles, were to be sent. The reason of the sending was this: When we laid on the mountain at the gap the officers of the regiment had the wagon brought up that carried their baggage. When we left there the wagon, while following us down the mountain, ran into a place where the ground was soft and against a rock, and stuck fast. Three guards were left to help the teamster to get out of his difficulty, and start the team forward, and we moved on. [One of the guards was Bob Gray] I believe the wagon had to be unloaded, and about the time the goods were all out the driver thought he saw the enemy coming and mounting in a hurry, he and his horses soon came up with the regiment that had already gone several miles. He was sent back again, but was scared away the second time without the wagon. So the guard and the baggage had to be abandoned for the time.
The company books and papers, with the officers' clothes and other property, were considered worth another attempt, so that as soon as we got into camp an effort was made to get authority to send back the expedition mentioned. Finally a document was obtained bearing the the [sic] assenting signatures of Generals F. J. Porter, A. A. Humphries and E. B. Tyler, corps, division and brigade commanders. A lieutenant of Co. H was to lead this "forlorn hope," but so much time had elapsed since the wagon had been left that he declined to go. [12] It was desired that some one should volunteer to take his place and somebody suggested that I be asked. The enterprise was an extremely hazardous one for two men to undertake, as rebel cavalry were known to have been scouting the country we would have to pass through, and all the while inhabitants along the route were enemies. Almost a miracle it would be if we should accomplish our errand or escape capture, still I was entirely willing to go at once; though it seemed odd that I, who was yet under age, should be preferred for a mission that involve so much of value as well as was likely to require so much courage and finesse.
The next morning, November 12, 1862, a private of Co. C and I mounted our good horses, bid fare well to our comrades and turned our faces to the rear. [13] We went without preparing to fight, but relying on our tact and a favoring Providence to get us through. Each of us had a little of both United States and Confederate money, and my companion, in his better wisdom, took his blankets, haversack and tin cup. From our camp to Snicker's Gap was something over thirty miles, through a long settled section of country.
The first day we rode twenty miles or more, and occasionally stopping at some darkey's cabin near the road to inquire if any "graybacks" were known to be in the neighborhood. They had been about frequently in squads, and appeared to be scouting the country almost daily, they said, so we went forward in constant expectation of being discovered or pursued.
I had no determined plan to pursue if the enemy appeared, nor could I bear the idea of killing the horses to prevent their capture. Part of the way I had to travel a road that I had never been over before in order to avoid Middleburg, which was a little old town of some aristocratic pretentions, and sure to contain active foes. Dusk came and I had to decide on some place to spend the night. A small, decent looking frame house near the road appeared to be a favorable place, so we dismounted and led our horses into the back yard, where we met the lady of the place. She was an elderly woman of ordinary appearance, who answered our request to purchase some food for ourselves and horses by saying that she was poor and had nothing to sell or give away, and that she was alone and was a member of the Methodist Church that stood near. The church alluded to was a bare looking little frame that was scarce a hundred yards off.
A second and a third appeal was made before she would consent to have any dealings with us, and she then added that as soon as we got supper we would have to leave. The horses were stables and fed, and supper being announced, we entered a little cabin in rear of the house and sat down to a repast composed of corn-break, flitch and milk. Only a couple of darkey women were present at first, but soon the "missus" [sic] came in and talked to us, inquiring where we were going; and among other things, asked me if there were many such boys as I in our army.
After supper we rested awhile and then asked her again to give us lodging. She could not do it, she said, for she was poor and lone, and had nothing to sell or give away, and was a member of the Methodist Church near by. I was not disposed to insist on house accomodations, so we went out and climbed into the hay loft about our horses, where we managed to sleep most of the night, though it was a chilly repose. Rising early, the horses had corn from the crib and we ate from our haversack, before I went to the house to pay our bill. Three dollars was the charge, but whether to take it in greenbacks or Confederate notes, she did not know. She went over the rigmarole [sic] about her circumstance.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #37 p.1]
[13 November 1862] I paid the woman in Confederate money, and we rode off, feeling assured that Providence had greatly favored us thus far. About three hours later we came in sight of Snickersville, a small and poor-looking town of near a dozen houses that stands near the road that leads through the gap. A halt was made, and leaving Joe, my companion, with the horses in a secluded place a little distance from the road, I went forward to reconnoitre. As I got close to the village I met two nice looking girls, scarcely half grown, and I questioned them carefully as to whether there were any soldiers about. They did not seem a bit scared, and said there were not. Cautiously I went on past several houses and saw no one except a citizen of extensive proportions, who did not manifest any interest in me.
On I went, thinking how wonderfully fortune was smiling upon us, when, as I was about to turn the corner of the last house to ascend the mountain, I suddenly found myself within a few feet of a rebel cavalry picket. They had not seen my coming, as a lieutenant and sergeant were leisurely talking, and a private was getting his horse shod near by. I turned quickly about, hoping to escape their observation, passed around to the other side of the house, and took in at once the chance of getting away. If pursued at once there was nothing to save me. Our army had destroyed the fences, and there were neither woods nor swamp within a quarter of a mile that offered me a chance. In less than half a minute I saw the officer mount and after me [sic], but I continued my retreat, disregarding his repeated order to halt, until he drew in his horse and with deliberate aim was about to send a persuader from his dragoon pistol, when I turned about and surrendered. He made no fuss, but took me back to the picket-post, and an effort was made to find out who I was, and why I was so far from the rest of our army, but these were things I did not know much about just then, so that very little light was shed upon the matter. I feared they would search me, and from my pass learn the existence of the wagon, as well as of the horses and my comrades in the vicinity. I resolved to get rid of my pass as soon as possible. I soon discovered that my captors belonged to White's [p.2] Guerillas, as they were called, a command whose reputation was something like Mosby's.
In the course of an hour the lieutenant escorted me through the gap and across the Shenendoah to their camp. On the way over he asked me why the North was so anxious to desolate the South, and what right we had to invade their homes and destroy or deprive them of their property. I asked him if Abraham Lincoln had been constitutionally elected president. He said yes. I asked him if all the States had ratified that constitution. He said they had. "Well, then," I added, "has not the president a perfect right to govern all the States, and does not his oath compel him to go to the utmost extremity if necessary to do so?" Whether he could refute this argument I do not know, as he changed the subject and made some disparaging remarks about our dead being left for them to bury, that were killed by their battery at the time our troops occupied the gap.
He was a gentleman all the time, and I have cherished kind thoughts of him and hope that he came through the war without serious harm. When we came to the river he called to a ferryman on the other side, and a scow was brought over to take me across, while he, with his horse, waded the stream a few rods above.
Now I saw a chance to get rid of my pass, so slyly getting my hand into the breast of my coat, I crushed it as small as possible and then leaning over the side of the boat, began to wash my face. As I dipped my hands the second time, I sunk the crumpled document and had the satisfaction of seeing the swift current bear it away unobserved. A few minutes later we were in the rebel camp, the military home of the four companies then composing Major White's Battalion. About thirty tents of different patterns, scattered about in a small patch of woods, and a small Confederate flag flying, was all that attracted the eye.
The men wore various costumes, some military, some civil and some mixed, while now and then, one would appear partly rigged in some article of "Uncle Sam's" blue.
The general bearing and appearance of the command was good, and most of them I believe belonged in the region they were then serving in, and were competent to do good service as scouts and pickets.
I had been in their camp a little more than an hour when I had the mortification to see Joe and the horses brought in. Having now gobbled our whole expedition they soon guessed what brought us back to the gap. They told us they had captured the wagon we were after more than week [sic] before, and that the guard that was with it were on their way to Richmond. Joe was caught by a scouting party that followed in our rear, and left him no chance to get away. They had several other Federal prisoners in camp that had been gathered in from various places within a few days.
Shortly after noon a trooper came and wanted to know if we were hungry, and soon afterward brought us some ginger-bread loaves and smoked herring. This was a rather surprising "set out" under the circumstances, and he explained it by telling us that they had captured six of our sutlers, with full loads of goods, that had followed our army down from Harper's Ferry, but had been too slow to join it before our troops left Snickerville.
You may be sure that they were in good spirits and living high, as such good fortune justified.
During the afternoon the lieutenant who captured me, came to me and said, that when I got into our lines again Major White desired me to give our colonel his compliments, and thank him for having sent back the horses and gears after leaving the wagon and its valuable contents.
We spent the night and the greater part of the next day in White's camp, and I have no complaint to make of the way we were treated. Then we Yanks were all sent to General Sam Jones' headquarters, he being at that time commander of the rebel cavalry that remained in the Shenendoah Valley. The two mounted guards who had charge of us on this tramp of eight or ten miles, were quite young fellows and chatted pleasantly with us as we went along. They said they did not want to treat us harshly, and were going to rely upon our honor a good deal not to get them in trouble; told us of some of their most exciting soldier experiences, and talked freely about the war. They said the times seemed to demand that every man should be with one side or the other, and they were with the South. They spoke against Jeff Davis, and said they would as soon see the "old flag" wave over Virginia again as any other.
It was dark and raining ere we reached General Jones' camp, and, after having a short interview with him, we had to go on a couple of miles further to a place called White Post, where the commissary headquarters of Jones' Brigade was located. When we arrived we were welcomed to a good log fire that the commissary guard had for themselves, and our guards made us some coffee and gave us some rations before they cared for their own wants.
We succeeded in sleeping a little on the damp and chilly round, and early the next morning were on the road again to go to Stonewall Jackson's headquarters, that were close to the valley pike, a little distance southwest at Winchester. It was near 9 o'clock when we got to Jackson's, and were turned over to his provost guard.
Our regretful looks and best wishes followed Mull and Wiley, White's friendly young troopers, as they rode off to rejoin their comrades. A slightly pompous young lieutenant gave us a short inspection, and then ordered a sergeant to carry us to the guard-house. The general guard-house that the sergeant marched us to was more than a quarter of a mile away, and was a small, four-roomed brick house, close to the pike on the west edge of Winchester. Here we began to experience at once some of the more impressive results that followed when a Unionist consented to accept the hospitalities of the chivalrous South.
The prisoners here were all confined in the two second story rooms, and beside our squad, there were six or eight other Yanks, about thirty Confederates, several citizens, and a couple of negroes. So closely were we packed that all could not lie down at once.
Each of us received nearly a pint of flour and about six ounces of dirty beef a day, but as our cooking facilities were next to nothing, we did not get much good of it. A family living close by would bake dough cakes for us for a part of our flour, and that was our best chance, though we could ill afford to lose the toll.
Several days were spent in these miserable quarters, and then all the Union soldiers were transferred to the large hall in the upper part of the Winchester Court House. Before leaving the guard house our squad was taken back to Jackson's headquarters and paroled. Each signed his parole in duplicate and received a copy, and the following transcript of mine, I hope may prove interesting, both on account of its peculiarity and its associations:
ARTICLES OF PAROLE
I, Thos Walter, A Co., 91st Pa. Regt., Tyler's Brigade, Porter's Division, do promise on honor, that I, Thos Walter, a prisoner of war to the Confederate States of America, do promise on honor, that I will not serve the United States in any capacity whatsoever, either civil or military, until regularly exchanged according to the terms of the cartel. THOMAS WALTER
Personally appeared this 17th day of November, 1862, before D. B. Bridgford, captain and provost marshall, and subscribed to the above article of parole. D. B. BRIDGFORD,
Captain and Provost Marshall, 2d Army Corps
The paroles were written on unruled paper, that closely resembled the common printed paper of near a century ago. I did not get a fair view of "Old Stonewall," but I remember Captain Bridgford as an unusually fine-looking man, with a kind expression.
In our court house quarters we had plenty of room and were served twice a day with good bread and boiled beef in reasonable quantities. The rebel soldiers confined with us belonged to various divisions of Lee's army, and though several of them were hard cases, they were not much disposed to impose on, or quarrel with us. Among them was a chap who had deserted his regiment and "jumped" sixteen bounties in Richmond, and as part of the result had more than three thousand dollars in Confederate money with him. One dark night he and several of his comrades lowered themselves out of a window, close to where I was sleeping, and escaped. Several days passed away, and then one morning we were ordered to fall in, and while we rested in the yard outside A. P. Hill's Division passed before us on their way to confront our army opposite Fredericksburg. Hill's command had a rather scalawag appearance, but they had seen hard service and were effective soldiers. The provost guard of the division and the rear guard of Lee's army at this time was the 1st Virginia (Irish) Battalion, and they took charge of us to conduct us South. At the time we left Winchester sugar was a dollar and seventy-five cents a pound; rye coffee, a dollar; butter a dollar and scarce; but a nice loaf of bread, near three pounds in weight, could be had for twenty-five cents in Richmond currency.
From Winchester to Gordonsville we would have to foot it, and the distance is near a hundred and twenty miles. The rest of the way to the rebel capital we would have railroad transportation. We were eight days on the march with our guards, and though they treated us pretty fairly, our living and sleeping was decidedly rough. The custom was to camp near the roadside at night, when a low rail fence would be built around us, outside of which guards would be posted. Some fuel would be given us and several fires would soon be blazing in the enclosure. A small quantity of flour and beef would be issued to us, but we had to manage to do our cooking with any culinary implements whatever.
The flour was mixed with water on a smooth stone, a board, a haversack, or something, and the dough being flattened out into a cake in inch or more think, while the fire was burning out enough to give us a chance to scoop out a hollow among its ashes and coals. Into this hollow the bare cake was thrown and coals and ashes raked on top of it. When it had been in long enough to be well heated through it was unburied, cleared off a little and eaten: no one being fastidious enough to require that it should be thoroughly or evenly baked. The meat was cut in thin slices and toasted on the end of sticks and eaten, sometimes without salt. It was no unusual thing for a man to eat all his day's rations for supper and march all the next day without a mouthful. Some of us were worse off still when bed time came. Indian summer was ended and the frosts and breezes of the nights were such as make feather beds desirable, yet we, without beds, blankets or fire, and having but a stone or piece of rail for a pillow, slept upon the bare ground. We did sleep, but not to excess, especially when spitting snow or a cold rain, such as often comes late in November, visited us with their variations.
In spite of all there was to depress us, we sometimes joked with out guards and viewed with much interest the attractive scenery with which our route abounded.
The points that had been occupied by General Bank's forces, and the places where battles or skirmishes had taken place were pointed out: our Irish guards telling us that they had lived for weeks on his commissary and were still using wagons captured from him. We told them they would have it all to pay for in the end, and a high rate of interest beside. Our route was down the famous valley pike, until we came to Newmarket, the most southern point reached by "Bank's Valley Expedition," but here we turned off to the eastward and crossed the Blue Ridge, going over Mount Hope. From the base of the mountain to its top is five miles, the ascent being regular, by an excellent winding road.
As we toiled upward the scenery about us became more wild and grand, and an occasional glimpse of the valley we were leaving, which was in a high state of cultivation, were truly beautiful. When we reached the summit, some light clouds floating away in the distance seemed lower than us. Having descended a short distance we came upon one of the most superb winter scenes that could be imagined. A few hasty glances were all that I could give it, but that was enough to impress it upon my memory with extraordinary vividness. To the right of the road huge rocks were piled up as far as the eye could reach among the green clad and giant pines that here and there had gained a safe hold in the crevices that held a little mountain-side soil. A thin trimming of glittering snow decked the upper boughs of the trees, while the lower branches were resplendent with a fringe of tiny and silver icicles.
Far up among the pines and rocks a stream had its source, and came dashing and whirling down, throwing its spray on every side and crossed the road. Like the finest diamond in its clearness and brightness, it seemed as though it might be unearthly and awfully pure. There was a weird and mysterious charm about the spot that I never had experienced elsewhere. We were glad when we got to Gordonsville, and here the guard and the rebel culprits, who had shared our journey, left us, and we were cared for by some home-guards, several of whom seemed hardly tall enough to look into the muzzle of an ordinary musket, and were young in proportion.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #38 p.1]
We were quartered for a day and a night at Gordonsville, in a large shed, and received a good feed of Confederate "hard tack" and bacon. I think both the crackers and meat were better than any I ever drew in our army. A ride of about six hours through an uninteresting country, on one of the regular passenger trains, introduced us to the Confederate capitol. Our march through the city had been a short one, when we halted in front of a large building, which I knew at once to be the Libby Prison, a place already famous and dreaded. Fortunately for us the cartel of exchange was then in operation for enlisted men, and having a large share of hopefulness and self-possession in my disposition, I entered the door when my turn came, without any great fear or misgivings. Prisoners on entering were carefully searched, and their money as well as any arms or other property that might help to make them dangerous were taken away, and a record was made of their name, rank and general appearance. I told the searchers decidedly that I would give them what I had, and they took my word and did not "go through" me. The sacredness of my pockets was not violated, but I handed over to them fourteen dollars in greenbacks and three dollars in Confederate.
The upper room in the west end of the building became our quarters while we boarded in Richmond. This room was near a hundred and twenty feet long and forty feet wide, and before we left it nearly three hundred of us were its tenants, and were not crowded. On three sides of the room there were large windows, some of which were partly boarded up, while others still had the original sash and a few pieces of broken glass. Wood enough was allowed us to keep fire about one-third of the time, and during the rest those of us who had no blankets could only keep warm by going through an amount of exercise that corresponded badly with the amount of "grub" we received. It being December, and the temperature going below the freezing point nearly every night, made open windows and bare planks for fully furnished beds seem like inferior accomodations, even to a soldier. A few sleeping bunks were in the room, but these were all possessed by three companies of the 3d Pennsylvania Cavalry, who came [page 2] in ahead of us. These troopers were active, roystering fellows, that kept up an agitation of some kind nearly all the day.
Sometimes they would sing so as to be heard a quarter of a mile away. At other times they would seize such of the prisoners as seemed to be glum and down-hearted, and race them up and down the room in a way likely to quicken their blood if it did not cheer their spirits.
The first night I slept on the floor I suffered a good deal of extra discomfort because I had nothing for a pillow except my cap. The next morning I set my wits to work to ameliorate my condition in that respect, but the chances very soon narrowed down to a brick or nothing. The rafters and gable wall were exposed in our room, and by climbing up along the edge of the gable a considerable distance, I got possession of a half brick, and this, covered with my cap, continued to be my head-rest while I honoured the Confederacy with my presence. Plenty of good water and a well-arranged sink was in the room, and on no account could a prisoner go beyond our room and the room below, except he was a candidate for the hospital, or went down with a guard to bring up wood or food.
Our fare of bread and soup was furnished us twice a day, at about nine in the morning and three in the afternoon. The bread was of wheat, and right good, and was brought to the prison in loaves that were a good size for one meal for a man. We each received a half loaf, morning and evening. The soup was made of peas and beans of various kinds, and though it was not very thick, it had a palatable taste. The great fault was that there was not enough of it, less than a pint a day being furnished for a man, and many did not even get this much, on account of having no cup or dish to get it in, but only got what their chunk of bread would absorb during a short dip.
I was one of those unfortunates at first, and I taxed my ingenuity to the utmost to improvise something to get soup in, but failed. However, in searching about in the room below, on an overhead beam, I discovered a little glass jar that would hold near half a pint. I soon had my prize, and then spent several hours cleaning off some dirty, gluey-looking stuff that had hardened about it. I used it several times, and then abandoned it for fear it would crack to pieces when dipped in the hot soup, and do mischief. Another comrade took it and used it, and I consoled myself by thinking that he probably needed it worse than I. The quantity of food we received was little more than half enough, and for this I suppose both the government and contractors were to blame. The prison guards were civil, and several of them did us small favors, but the officers seemed to have no concern to recommend themselves to us. Salt was a dollar and a half a pound in Richmond at this time, though scarcely any other necessity was so scarce or high in proportion. This was near the noon-day of the Confederacy's greatness, and it had some inclination to be just and generous, as I was made to realize when my identical greenbacks were returned to me, as I left the prison. Eleven days passed away, and then came the glad tidings that the flag-of-truce boat was again at City Point. They packed us in box cars, on the Petersburg Railroad, and after a tedious ride of several hours the "stars and stripes["] waved their welcome benediction to our eyes once more, and while the bloody and useless havoc was being made in Burnside's ranks at Fredericksburg, we were gladly speeding down the James River, on our way to Fortress Monroe.
Undemoralized and undaunted, though weary, dirty and famished, I felt grateful that my winter tour in the chivalrous and sunny South had ended so soon, and I had got away without being longer oppressed with Confederate hospitality. Then the rebellion was strong and the South defiant, and full of pride and hope, yet it seemed a mystery to me how they kept their poorly fed and outfitted army together and accomplished so much. We made a short stop at Fortress Monroe, and then took our course up Chesapeake Bay, and the following day we settled down in Parole Camp, at Annapolis, Maryland. Government rations were plenty here, and there was an extensive sutler's establishment besides, and after getting a new outfit of clothes and letting our friends know that we were safe, our only duties seemed to be to eat, to sleep and to recuperate. You may be sure that such a course of duty agreed with us for several days. The camp was on a small sandy plain, near the waters of the bay, and some-thing over a mile from town.
Large tents were in use, and there were accomodations for several thousand men. It was a singular place for a military establishment, and seemed more like a big nest for hatching demoralization than anything else. There was no organization of the paroled men, no roll calls, no inspections and no discipline worth mentioning. Several hundred men were in camp at the time we entered, and several hundred more arrived at different times before we came away. The regiment of New York volunteers that had charge of the camp could put no close restraint on the rampant spirits of the old soldiers after they began to be well fed and rested. There was no rioting or serious crimes, but we often ran the guard and went to Annapolis for a day, and hundreds of men took "French leave" and went home. Early in February I began to make preparations for a trip to Philadelphia, but just before I was ready to start a notice was published showing that nearly all men who were (or who should have been) in camp were exchanged, and might return to their commands. Us few who had been captured in the Shenandoah Valley were not specifically included, but Joe and I concluded we would return to the regiment anyhow. Steamboat transportation was furnished us February 18, and we were taken to Aquia Creek, on the Potomac.
Here I visited and spent one night with my brother, whom I had not seen for many months before. He belonged to the 109th Pennsylvania. [Alfred Walter was mustered into service in company E of the 109th Pennsylvania Infantry on 14 March 1862. He was promoted to corporal on 1 June 1864, and was discharged on 10 April 1865. (Bates, vol.3, p.968)] The next morning, following the railroad to near Falmouth. I found our regiment's camp in a piece of hilly pine woods, a mile and a half northeast of the town. All the company seemed glad to have have [sic] me back, so I had a pleasant welcome. The boys had fixed themselves regular quarters, by putting up frameworks of logs two or three feet high, and roofing them with their little tents. Little fire places were made in each, and the chimneys were built of mud and sticks. The whole appearance of the place forcibly reminded me of Washington's army at Valley Forge.
I soon had a full account of how the regiment and company had gone through the terrible ordeal of the Fredericksburg fight. They had borne a full part in one of the bravest charges that were made up the heights and on the stone wall back of the town, as well as doing other important duty. Our company had been pretty fortunate, as usual, but one man being killed on the field, and three severely wounded. [14] All three of the wounded were quite young fellows, and one of them showed a remarkable example of self-possession. He was shot through the body near the waist while upon the charge, when he brought his musket to a proper position on his shoulder, and with his other hand in the breast of his coat, he walked off the field. To a comrade who asked where he was going, he only replied, "I'm shot; I'm going back to the hospital." He lived several years, but never fully recovered.
Several important changes had occurred among the officers of the regiment. The major [sc. George Todd] was killed at Fredericksburg, and the lieutenant-colonel [sc. Edward Wallace] had resigned on a plea of ill-health. Our captain [sc. Frank Gilbert] and another of our second lieutenants [sc. Randolph Smith] had left us on the same plea. Our former first lieutenant [sc. Francis Gregory] was now captain, and the first sergeant [sc. John Brass] at time of my capture was commissioned to fill the place he had vacated. I had been promoted to first sergeant, and was entitled to a second lieutenant's commission. A feeling of better harmony and comradeship was apparent in the company since their late hardships. We, when first organized as a company, were made up of several pretty distinct lots or cliques of men. There was a strong squad known as the Fishtowners, or "Shad Hose" fellows, while another squad of a dozen or more were the Ringgold Hose gang.
The Thirteenth Ward Home Guard was the parent of our organization, and was represented by a goodly party, and lastly there was a promiscuous lot of chaps, who, like myself, were outsiders to all the rest. A little spirit of clannishness and jealousy had been an annoyance, until the fiery and bloody trials of Fredericksburg had made each to have a higher and closer regard for the other. Gen. Hooker had succeeded General Burnside in the command of the Army of the Potomac, and important reforms in its organization were taking place, and our men seemed to be in good heart, notwithstanding the late disastrous fight and unfortunate "Dead March" campaign.
The usual camp duties and picketing on the north side of the army employed us for several weeks, and then on the 13th of April the regiment left its winter quarters and went to guard two of the fords just above us, on the Rapahannock River.
Half of the command went to Banks' Ford, that is five or six miles above Fredericksburg, and the other half, including us, was sent several miles still further up to take care of United States Ford. Neither of these river crossings had ever been much used, I believe, and the country in their vicinity was hilly and woody.
The rebels had fortified their side of the river a little, and a guard was there, but we seldom saw any of them, and no firing was indulged in. A week or ten days were spent at the ford, and then we were relieved by other troops and went back to our old camp near Falmouth. [Apparently on 25 April 1863.]
On the morning of April 28, 1863, there was a general stir up of the army, that indicated the proximity of important events. Pack up was the order, and every article not absolutely necessary on a short campaign, was to be left behind. We had eatables for a day on hand, but five days' additional rations were issued, with instructions to use them carefully. It was an absurd fraud to issue such an amount of food to foot soldiers about to start on an arduous campaign. Four days' allowance of crackers, meat, coffee and sugar filled our haversacks and few of us had any facilities for carrying the rest elsewhere, except inside of us.
Haversacks crammed full became a very inconvenient part of our load on the march, and when so much stuff was given out a lot had to be uselessly eaten or else abandoned. Many others beside myself left part of out "grub" and trusted to the chances of the future.
Early in the afternoon we left camp, and formed part of a large force that moved off in a northerly direction. The march that day was not a very long one, and we slept by the roadside that night. The next day's [sc. 29 April 1863] march brought us to Kelly's Ford, on the Rapahannock, soon after the middle of the afternoon. A pontoon bridge was here, and by dusk all the troops seemed to be across the river. Night came on, but instead of preparing to sleep, we took the advance of our column and moved off along an obscure road, in a south-westerly direction. Some of us who knew the general lay of affairs soon surmised that we were on a move against the rear and flank of Lee's army, but who could have believed that we could make it by such a circuitous route, with enough secrecy and celerity to accomplish any very important result. Early in the night a drizzly, chilling rain began to fall, and our trail leading nearly the whole time through woods, made our march intensely gloomy and uncomfortable. Nor were these our only difficulties, for a lot of wagons and artillery having got ahead of us, we had a weary time in getting past them. For near two hours, I think, we could only advance a few hundred yards at a time, and then halt for a few minutes.
Loaded as we were with our tents, bedding, wardrobe, cooking utensils, arms and ammunition, with a full haversack in addition, and impeded besides by the gloom, rain and mud, this became indeed a memorable night. When we would stop half of the men would sink by the roadside and be asleep in a minute. I snatched a few minutes of slumber while standing or walking. Finally the long night wore away, and the morning [sc. of 30 April] came clear, as we toiled on. Forward, was still the command, until shortly after noon, when we came to an open space at Ely's Ford, on the Rapidan River. Here we had a chance to make coffee and get a couple of hours nap. Then we were in line again, and moved down to the verge of the river, where we prepared for a fresh ordeal. We had to wade the stream, which was over a hundred yards wide, with a swift current, that was cold and deep.
During the next forenoon [sc. 1 May] we advanced to Chancellorsville, and soon afterwards led a column that moved up a road leading toward Banks' Ford, on the Rappahannock.
We now knew that we were well around in rear of the rebels, and were astonished that matters were going on so quietly. We had even seen fires burning that the enemy had used to cook by that morning, and were quite sure that we had surprised them. We marched slowly a couple of miles and then made an "about-face" and moved back. [on 1 May 1863] Just as we neared the Chancellor house musketry firing was heard on our left.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #39 p.1]
Artillery soon began to boom and the fight to wax fierce, but instead of us hurrying over to take a hand in it, we tramped off in a northerlly direction, and afterward went east for a short distance towards United States Ford. Our regiment formed a line of battle near the edge of a field, and began to build a breast-work of logs and earth. A strong picket force was put out and some batteries of artillery were masked a short distance to our left. A big entertainment seemed to be in immediate expectation right there.
The day and the night passed away in quietness, and as we did not hear much sound of strife to the south of us, we began to consider that Lee's army must be making tracks in the direction of Richmond.
The second day and night [2 May] came and went without a break in our unaccountable tranquility.
On the third morning [3 May] a lot of straggling organizations, of the 11th Corps, came to occupy our breastworks, and we fell back to the main road leading from the north to Chancellorsville. We soon had exaggerated accounts of what Stonewall Jackson had been doing in our rear. Soon afterward our brigade was formed in line along the road, and at the command "forward!" we advanced briskly into the woods in the direction of where Jackson's victorious Corps was supposed to be. We had the right of the brigade and my position as first sergeant of the first company was the extreme right of the line. The woods was not of very large growth, and the underbrush was not dense. We had gone in but a little way when we saw a skirmish line of our own men cautiously working their way forward. We pushed on past them, and had gone a hundred yards or more when a skirmish line of the enemy let us have their doses of lead at short range. A line of battle was just behind them, and they too opened upon us in a lively style. We dropped upon the ground in good order, and promptly put our muskets to work. Bullets whistled and hummed about us by scores, making the bark and twigs fly, but the shrubbery kept the enemy concealed. They seemed to be firing too high, for near a half an hour elapsed before one of the company was struck. Our first victim had the palm of his hand torn by a ball as he was about [page 2] to ram his piece. Before this, I had concluded to stand up to enable me to see better to the front, and off on our uncovered flank. The captain [sc. [[|Gregory6963|Francis Gregory]]] and first lieutenant [sc. John Brass] were lying flat upon the ground four or five yards behind me, while the heavy and close firing all along the line showed that the rebel line was about parallel with ours. I cautioned the men about loading carefully and firing low, and kept a sharp lookout.
After awhile I caught sight of a strong column of the enemy moving in close order on our right. I told the boys we were flanked and would have to get up at once. Many promptly skedaddled, but several like myself stayed for a last good shot. Our lieutenant-colonel [sc. Joseph Sinex] was lying a short distance back of us, and when the men began to go he jumped up and begged them not to run. I ran to him and showed the condition of affairs, and he scrambled for his horse, but a bullet killed his horse just then, and its owner had to leg it out of the woods like the rest of us. The enemy charged on us at double-quick and those of us who were behind did some wild running till we came to the edge of the wood. When I reached the cleared ground I found myself right in front of one of our batteries that was in good position, and the cannoneers stood to the guns ready to fire. They motioned me quickly to lie down, which I did, and over me went their first round of grape and canister into the woods among the advancing rebs. Other batteries joined in and the foe was soon driven back. Both of our colors and color-bearers came out safe, though six of the eight corporals composing the color-guard had been struck, I believe.
The regiment was so scattered in the surrounding wilderness that only a squad of us gathered around the flags at first, and it seemed as if the command had been terribly used up. Not until next morning could we aggregate our killed, wounded and missing with any reliable approximation. Our company had two killed, two wounded (one mortally) and three were captured because they did not start to run quick enough. [15] The losses of the rest of the regiment was in about the same proportion.
The rest of that day and night were spent in quietness behind our artillery, that now pointed towards what ought to have been our rear. By the following morning [sc. 4 May 1863] nearly all of our men were out of rations, but scarcely anything could be had for either love or money. A dollar was offered and refused for a single cracker. Fortunately the coffee still held out, and this was a great help in keeping the men up. A few rations for the officers had come over on pack-horses, and I was fortunate in getting two pounds of sugar. With sugar to eat and coffee to drink I could make out first-rate.
The day succeeding the fight [sc. 5 May 1863] we marched about a little and made an attempt to put up breastworks. Near night a heavy rain came on, and weary, wet, hungry, and unsettled, we passed a wretched night.
Early the next morning [sc. 6 May 1863] we learned that most of our army had already retreated across the Rappahannock, and we, covering the rear of those who crossed at United States ford, were over by the middle of the forenoon.
With tired steps we made our way back to our old winter camp, and soon began to know a little comfort once more. Three weeks of quiet and rest followed. The nine months regiments that were serving with us ended their time and went home, and we were transferred to the 3d Brigade of the 2d Division of our corps. The 1st and 2d Brigades, of this division, were composed entirely of Regulars, and were small in numbers on account of the hard service they had gone through. The other three regiments of our brigade were newer and much stronger than we were, and wore zouave uniforms, so that we were about the strongest and gayest brigade in the army.
Near the end of May [sc. 28 May 1863] we bid a final adieu to our log huts and old camp, as we were ordered to do guard duty along the railroad leading from Stoneman's Switch, opposite Fredericksburg, to Acquia Creek on the Potomac. Great quantities of army supplies came over the road, and we had to patrol several miles of it every hour of the day and night. We took kindly to the duty and were very busy in trying to make our detached camps as comfortable as possible.
A week passed away and everything seemed serene, when lo! in the middle of the afternoon we were ordered to pack up, and our regiment started off alone in the direction of United States Ford. One of my shoes began to hurt me a little after we had gone four or five miles, and I left the ranks to remedy the matter. Soon after other stragglers gathered around, and we concluded that the regiment might go as far as it liked, but we were going to lay over for the night. Each one of us then made coffee and afterwards proceeded to fix up a little bed. The weather being pleasant we slept soundly until after sunrise the next morning. There were sixteen or eighteen of us altogether, and we got breakfast very leisurely and discussed the war awhile before we started to catch up with the regiment. We found that the command had bivouacked but a mile or so beyond us, and had started again early in the morning. Being the ranking officer present I had assumed command, and we tramped slowly along for six or seven miles, when we came to a place in the woods where a brook crossed the road. Here we turned off and went up the stream far enough to be secure from surprise or observation and halted to cook our meals and have a nap. It was towards evening when I brought my squad into camp at United States Ford. Our straggling and long absence on so short a march had stirred up the wrath of some of the officers, and dire threats, that we soon heard of, had been made against us. The colonel gave us a harangue and a reprimand, sent us to our companies, and the affair was ended; but I often think of it as the greatest "bumming trip" of my soldier days.
Our camp was in the forest close to the river, and we assumed our old duty of taking care of the ford. Here in the seclusion of the woods and among the hills and ravines that skirt the historical and romantic Rapahannock came, with the 8th of June, 1863, my twenty-first birthday. The day had to go by without any celebration on my part. No sutler was with us, and though I had plenty of money I could not add one thing to the usual meagre bill of fare of myself and tent-mates. The proximity of the enemy even precluded me indulging in the pleasure of "going a fishing" or taking a bath. It was rather a tame "coming of age" amid the wild surroundings and peculiar circumstances.
Late in the afternoon of the following day, June 9th, we were ordered to move again. That night we marched several miles over one of the roughest and muddiest roads I ever knew. In the morning [10 June], with the rest of our brigade, we were off again in a north-easterly direction, making us think it probable that we were bound for Washington. Why we should go there, or what the rest of the army was doing we had no idea. There was nothing unusual about this march, but the day following [The dates are off here. The 91st was at Manassas Junction on 16 June], when we marched up to the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, and along it past Manasses Junction and near to Centreville, was a memorable one. The weather was exceedingly hot, water was very scarce and the road dusty. Early in the day the men began to wilt under the sun and leave the ranks to rest awhile in the shade, or scout far out on either flank in search of water. One by one we left them, but we pushed on until after the middle of the afternoon. When the order came at last to halt and stack arms there were only enough of us on the spot to make four or five stacks. All the enlisted men and officers present did not aggregate twenty-five, though we had started in the morning with about three hundred, I believe. By nine in the evening nearly every man had straggled up and rejoined his company, and the other regiments of the brigade had bivouacked near us.
We were off again in the morning [perhaps 20 June], and moving around, took a course leading to the northwest. The evening of that day we came to a halt on a small, bare hill in the vicinity of Thoroughfare Gap. It was after dark and raining fast when we stopped. Having anything warm for supper or putting up any kind of a shelter was out of the question. I was fortunate enough then to have a rubber blanket, so I tramped about until I found a little ridge that would serve to keep the rain from running under me, and then laid down and covered myself all over. Scarcely had I got settled when an order came from the adjutant [presumably Benjamin Tayman] to detail several men for picket-duty. Up I had to scramble again, and after a troublesome hunt in the extreme darkness I got the men together whose turn it was for duty, and sent them off for their night's vigil. I had thought my circumstances mean enough, but I realized that their's was worse, for the rain continued and they were tired, wet and supperless. We encamped at this place several days.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #40 p.1]
Our detour to Thoroughfare Gap left us to the rear of the army and we had to do our best to catch up. During some of those long June days we marched seventeen hours beneath the rays of a scorching sun. The little fresh meat that we got seemed scarcely fit to eat, and this, with coffee and crackers, was our diet. The marching was terrible, but the men struggled along nobly. Reports reached us that thousands of valorous militia were on their way to overwhelm the plundering invaders. We had a pretty clear idea of what would happen them [sic] if Lee's legions got a chance at them; and we wondered, too, whether the rebs would risk a fight with us, so far from their base. Most of us thought they would "get up and git" when our army closed up with them.
Through the bothering uncertainty of the enemy's whereabouts and movements, our corps passed beyond Gettysburg, and July 1st, the day the fighting began, were near Hanover, which was nearly a day's march to the east. [Walter is wrong here; the Fifth Corps was in Maryland until 1 July.]
That evening we took the back track and marched most of the night. The next morning [sc. 2 July] we got into position on the extreme right of our army. Everything seemed to be quiet at that time and we saw no indication of a foe being near, except that the captain of company E [sc. Matthew Hall] was severely wounded by a mysterious bullet that came among us.
Soon after we moved to where the Union line was posted. The line occupied by our troops was in the shape of a letter V, with the base of the letter at the town and the sides extending southward, after the dispositions that were made on the morning of the second day of the fight, July 2d.
Though our line was four or five miles long, its two ends were scarcely half that length apart. On our way over we were halted in the woods and had time to make coffee and take a lunch. In the meantime the fighting in advance of us had become very sharp, and just after noon we went into the fight in a hurry. We came on the field just to the right of Little Round Top, and started across the little valley that extends down past the Devil's Den, and seemed to be heading right for where the strife was most terrific.
Suddenly the brigade was brought to an "about face," and we "double-quicked" back and up on to Little [p.2] Round Top. As we ascended it on the upper side, a strong force of rebels were struggling up for the possession of it, on the lower side. When the left of our brigade met them a bloody fight of short duration ensued and the foe was driven back. Coming up last, our regiment was clear of that contest, and we got into position without loss. As we went up Battery I, of the 5th U.S. Artillery also dashed up and soon had their guns in position to do effective work. Little Round Top was a ridge nearly a quarter of a mile high. [16] It was exceedingly rough all over, being composed almost entirely of stones and rocks from the size of a man's fist to that of a small house. Small trees and clumps of bushes were growing here and there between the boulders, and these, with the larger stones, screened us a great deal from the rebel sharpshooters that were thick among the rocks in the valley in front of us, and on the higher ground about the "Devil's Den." We were holding an important position and we did not get it a minute too soon, for had the enemy once got full possession of it they would have been saved their great defeat, for no troops could have taken it from them, or prevented them from throwing a strong force into the rear of our lines. It would have been utter folly for them to drive us off the face of the ridge; [17] but they made it very uncomfortable for us and the battery-men who were on the crest behind us by the sharp watching and shooting they kept up for the rest of the day. I believe we were about the last of the 5th Corps to go into the engagement, for both the Regulars and the Pennsylvania Reserves, belonging with us, had done desparate fighting in the valley in front of us, and had been driven out before we arrived. [18]
Upon the other side of the valley, six or eight hundred yards off, was a piece of woods. Once during the afternoon the rebels charged through it so that their line was at a right angle to ours, and partly exposed to us. The battery behind us gave them a terrible salute, putting shot after shot into their midst with a terrible precision that soon demoralized them. Night finally came and the strife ceased. No sooner had darkness settled about us and all firing ceased, than we began to hear the appealing calls of a number of badly wounded men who were among the rocks along the near edge of the valley in our front. They had been shot when the Regulars and Reserves had engaged the enemy and were driven out. The ground was within short range of the enemy, and they had endured their agony in silence, while the day lasted, rather than do anything that might attract the attention of the foe. In piteous tones they would call out their name or company and regiment; and I think nearly two hours passed before the last of them was brought within our lines.
The position occupied by the greater part of our company was somewhat exposed, so, as soon as it was dark enough, we went to work and gathered large stones and built a barricade, which afforded us some protection from the sharpshooters' fire, and now, after the lapse of all the intervening years, those stones remain almost exactly as we left them.
We knew very little of what had happened on other parts of the field. [3 July 1863] Most of us slept from midnight till the dawn grew bright and then we began to scan the field carefully, as far as the eye could reach, feeling sure the enemy would make an attack somewhere soon, unless he was in retreat. Matters were very quiet in our neighborhood till about eight o'clock, when the rebel sharpshooters returned to their hiding places to annoy us. By this time we had all had a chance to go behind the crest of the ridge and make our coffee and get breakfast. This made us feel in pretty good trim and able to give the rebs a fitting reception should they conclude to "tackle" us.
About eleven o'clock we saw a battery being set in a field more than a half a mile to our left and it soon opened fire, sending its shells right along our line. They fired nearly thirty rounds in quick succession, but the aim was a little too high to hurt us, though the shots seemed to be very close as they howled past. Then we saw the battery limber up and move off as though going around to our front. Pretty soon, we noticed quite a stir along the edge of some timber that crowned a ridge that was more than three-fourths of a mile in front of us, and which we could see along for a couple of miles to the right and thinking artillery was being planted began to anticipate lively times.
It was near one o'clock when the first cannon gave the signal and began the salute from along that space, and before the report had fairly reached us other guns opened all along their line, a hundred pieces were thundering their tearful messengers of destruction into our lines. No one who is not familiar with the sound of all kinds of artillery shot as they fly can form a fair idea of the pandemonium of sounds that was about us. Solid shot, cone and spherical shells, grape shot and canister, rushed and hummed, and whizzed and shrieked, and tore about and above on all sides. The battery behind us promptly reciprocated the foe's attentions and the sharpshooters about the Devil's Den gave us proof that their vigilance and activity had been greatly quickened.
Along the crest of Little Round Top became a "hot" place in more than one sense as soon as the cannonade began. Behind the screening rocks we lay as flat as possible, and as the iron hail seemed to pass above us our terror soon subsided. The fire had raged nearly twenty minutes before the enemy got their range low enough to put a large shot into the ground a few feet in front of us. I was lying on my side, with my feet extending beyond our wall, when a few minutes later there came a startling thud, and I felt that the front part of my right foot had been crushed. I exclaimed, "there's a foot off," and drew it up to examine it. A solid shot had struck a rock, and glancing, had caught my foot sideways and crowded it to nearly half its natural width, just behind the toes, without bursting. It felt as though a galvanic battery was keeping hundreds of needles working about in it.
I was now a candidate for the hospital but how to get there was the question. I would not allow any of the men to risk themselves to help me back over the ridge, and I hesitated quite a while before I would brave the passage myself. Finally, on my hands and sound foot, I scrambled safely over, and after getting the torn shoe off, hobbled to our division's field hospital about a quarter of a mile farther back. The doctors were all too busy with more serious cases than mine, so I said nothing but hobbled off to the corps hospital, which was a half mile farther back, in a nice piece of woods. [19] Here I found a good friend in Sergeant Gordon, [sc. James Gordan] of our company, who was shot through the upper part of the leg at the Fredericksburg fight, and had not been able to keep up with us in our late hard marches. Coming up after we had gone into the fight, he could not find us, so he went and reported to the chief surgeon for hospital service. He got me a share of a little tent and some good beef soup, and then got bandages and went to work to get my foot in proper shape again. This was July 3d, and he cared for me till the morning of the 6th, when I got my order to leave on the first train that brought the wounded to the regular hospitals. For me the trying campaign and terrific fight were over, and I congratulated myself that we were the victors and the 91st had been so fortunate, for only one man of our company beside myself was slightly wounded, [Bates lists two: Henry C Gorgas, and Samuel A Haus.] and the casualties in the regiment amounted to only twenty. [See a list derived from Bates.]
I have always regretted that I got away from the front before the world-renowned charge of Pickett and Pettigrew occurred, for our position afforded a good view of the ground they moved over. I am disposed to commend General Longstreet for avoiding to change [sic] his corps opposite to us, in co-operation with the charging divisions to the left, for we would have meted out the same reception to his troops that so terribly used up Pickett and Pettigrew; and I believe it was because their commander thought too much of them to send them forward to the sacrifice that he failed to carry out Gen Lee's directions.
While lying in the field hospital my tent was near the surgeon's operating table, and the sickening sight of gory wounds and amputated arms and legs was no rarity. In a tent close by were two young Regulars. If I recollect aright one was shot through the muscles of the leg below the knee, and the other through the fleshy part of both legs above the knee. Suffering and almost helpless as these men were, they refused for more than two days to demand any attention from the surgeons because there were other cases more dangerous which required immediate care. Gordon [sc. James Gordan] attended to them, however, as well as he could, and nearly every hour of the day they were joking or indulging in some badinage.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #41 p.1]
Riding on top of a box car I came with the train as far as Baltimore, and then I went to see my mother who was in the Government Hospital service there. I stayed two weeks in Baltimore, and got a new uniform and some needed rest. My foot improved rapidly under my own care, and I could get about pretty well.
Assuming a bold front, I went to the provost-marshal of Baltimore and told him why I had left my wounded comrades on the train, and that I would like to have an order to rejoin them in the hospital. I got the order and soon put in an appearance among my old haunts and friends in Philadelphia. I had not much of an inclination of becoming an [sic] hospital patient, so after a few days, I started off to Cape May for a short season. Time flew on, and when the 18th of August came I had rejoined my company of my own will, having been away only a little over six weeks. My foot was almost well, although no surgeon had seen it since it was injured. The regiment was "taking it easy" in a nice camp in the woods on the east bank of the Rappahannock near Beverly Ford, Virginia. This place is a couple of miles above where the bridge of the Orange and Alexandria Railroad spans the river, and near the ground where the famous cavalry fight took place that began the Gettysburg campaign.
Several weeks went quietly by, and one of my principal recollections of the period is of the outrageous character of the "hard-tack" we received. For more than two months, I believe, we did not get a cracker that was not either wormy, musty or infested with wevil bugs. There were lots of emphatic protesting and indignant "cussin" done, but it availed nothing. The quartermaster declared that we were faring no worse than the rest of the corps, and such seemed to be the case. It was reported that the crackers had been in store ever since McClellan left the Peninsula. We thought if they had to be eaten by soldiers, they ought to have been issued to those fellows doing duty in the forts about Washington and elsewhere. We con- sidered [sic] that we were worthy of [p.2] better treatment after our Gettysburg campaign of trial and triumph.
Another of my recollections of this Beverly Ford camp is of an extraordinary military execution that we were ordered out to witness. Near the end of August [29 August] we had heard that five men, attached to the 118th Pennsylvania, had been court-martialed for "bounty-jumping" and desertion, and sentenced to be shot. These men were said to be distinguished criminals of their class, none of them having deserted less than twice, and one had done it five times, enlisting after each time in a different organization and pocketing the bounty money that was being paid. The general discipline of the army had been of such a merciful sort that many thought they would be pardoned on the day set for their death, and the culprits themselves were reported to be not much concerned. However, our order to attend and witness their end soon came, and one pleasant afternoon the regiment was formed and we marched out, taking a direction that led us up to the Rappahannock and nearer its banks. When we had gone a half a mile or more we came to a large open space that was excellently adapted to the carrying out of the tragic orders that had been issued and the accommodation of the thousands detailed to look on. The ground sloped gently forward from three sides and formed a small valley, in which were five freshly made graves, each having beside it a common board coffin. Our regiment, with the other regiments of our division (2d Division, 5th Corps), were formed in close lines on the sloping ground along two sides of the valley facing the graves, and a little more than a hundred yard from them. We were in the front line and but a little distance from the firing party. Soon the solemn strains of a dirge began far on the left, and a striking procession came into view. On the lead was the band with its mournful music and slow step. Next came a detachment of the guard and firing party, and after them the convicts, following each other a few steps apart. Their hands were closely tied behind them, and each wore a white shirt, but neither coat, vest or cap. Each was accompanied by a comrade, and another platoon of the guard completed the funeral procession by bringing up the rear. The prisoners seemed to be vigorous men, all between twenty-five and forty years of age, and excepting one, walked with pretty steady steps as they marched slowly along the whole front of our line. Then they moved down to where the graves were yawning, and each man was seated on a coffin and his eyes covered with a bandage. The firing party consisted of about forty men, and while they were taking their position at twelve or fifteen yards in in [sic] front of the victims, a citizen went forward from our lines and began to have a peculiar conversation with one of the condemned. There was gestures and signs of emotion, and sounds of recitation and responses. This performance continued for eight or ten minutes I think, and none of us could give a satisfactory explanation of it at the time, though we learned soon afterward that one of the deserters was a Jew, and that it was a Rabbi and a Hebrew religious ceremony that we had witnessed. The Rabbi departed, and quick came the clear command to the guard: "Ready!" "Aim!" "Fire!" The rifles spoke together, and four men fell over dead, while the fifth sprang forward, and ere he sank down was a corpse. We were soon on our way to camp, glad that the trying ordeal was over. [more information]
This was not the first execution we had witnessed, and a few of us would have attended of our own free will. We were not a hard-hearted set, but this scene made very little impression on us. We remembered how the terrible hail of iron and lead had torn through our ranks at Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, and how noble and dear comrades had gone down in agony and blood all around us, and we considered it probable that some of those very rascals had been paid to occupy the places where far better men had been killed; and that their perjuries and dishonesty had made them worse traitors to us than the foe that openly aimed their guns at our hearts.
Some of our most vehement comrades remarked, "d--m 'em; it served them right." Some others declared that it was a shame to shoot those fellows so soon, as they should have been kept to help to eat the wormy "hard tack." It would be perfectly in keeping with the usual course of matters in our company, if several had next joined in a discourse about the inconsiderateness of the government in compelling a man to walk so far to his own funeral, and turning out a band of music to make the occasion lively. We were certainly a curious, comical and devil-may-care set, anyhow.
Sometime near the middle of September, we started out for the south side of the Rappahnnock and marched along the Orange and Alexandria Railroad until we reached the old town of Culpeper. Near it we encamped a few days, and then moved a short distance again. So we were kept shifting and unsettled for nearly three weeks, I think, and although the general indication of things was for a fresh fight, there seemed to be some catch that we could not divine that prevented the performance from being promptly inaugurated.
About the 8th or 9th of October, we were over near where the railroad bridge crosses the Rapidan River, and matters remained unsettled and portentious as before. A morning or two later [apparently 11 October] we were on the go again, and with the rest of the brigade, we retraced our steps to the north bank of the Rappahannock, and late that night laid ourselves down to rest in our old camp near Beverly Ford. In the morning we learned something that was more suggestive than pleasant, when it was reported that Lee had flanked us, and was positively between us and Washington. If such was the case, hot, hard and terrible work was at hand.
We stayed in camp all day, and as no thunder of distant guns came to confirm the unwelcome report, the most credulous of us dismissed our forbodings. The following morning [14 October] we were harnessed and loaded early, and tramped over to Bealton Station on the railroad, where we heard more news and learned that our noble army was falling back toward the Potomac in haste. We were certain the rebels were on our flank, but could hardly judge what advantage they had obtained.
Our whole division (2d of the 5th Corps), had come together at Bealton, and from there we bore off a little to the northeast in the direction of Washington. When we got a half mile or so from the railroad, we began to move parallel with it in the direction of Alexandria. The other two divisions of the corps moved along opposite to us and nearer the railroad. Our regiment led the division that day, and all of our company was detailed to act as flankers or skirmishers, to cover the head and flank of the column where it would receive the first salute if the enemy had been smart enough to reach a position where they could attack us advantageously on that day's retreat. It was almost considered certain that there would be a "ball" of some kind ere night, and if so, we would have the "lead off."
I was placed in charge of the flankers, and having deployed my men several hundred yards away from the main body, in single line, at intervals of five paces, we moved forward, conforming our advance to that of the head of the division.
With trailed rifles, that were ready for instant use, we glided along over hill and plain, and through woods, swamps and thicket. Hours passed and Catletts and Bristow Stations were left behind us, and we neared the old Bull Run battlefield. Still no enemy "tackled" us, and we had heard nothing to alarm us except an occasional artillery report in the rear. It was said that these shots were fired by a battery that was with our cavalry behind us, for the purpose of hurrying our wagon-trains that now and then threatened to get stuck and tangled at some bad place in the road.
Just after the middle of the afternoon, we got back to the old earthworks that stood close to Manassas Junction. Here a long halt was made, and the flankers were called in. Standing on the earthworks and looking off in the direction of the Warrenton or Baltimore road to the west, the dust raised by the moving column of rebels was plainly to be seen, as well as indications that a force of them were coming over in the direction of the stations we had recently passed.
About dusk the sounds of fighting came from out near Bristow. The firing soon ceased, and night was quietly closing about us, when suddenly we were ordered to fall in, in the greatest haste, and were going directly back along the railroad, on the "double-quick." Wearied and loaded as we were, we kept up this pace for a couple of miles, and were then halted for a little rest before we turned about and marched back to where we started from. A part of the Confederate force had hurried over and struck a portion of the 2d Corps at Bristow Station, but they struck the wrong party and at the wrong time, for they were struck back with such effect, that the affair soon ended, leaving several hundred prisoners in our hands.
Somewhere about 10 or 11 o'clock, I think, there came a shower of rain, and we were in line again, and having hunted our way through the extreme darkness and mud to the high ground near Centreville, finally lay down for a little sleep about 2 o'clock in the morning. Our condition would have been too forlorn for sleeping had we not been so extremely weary. We had been on foot and loaded with our luggage for twenty hours, and had had but a little to eat. Our clothes and blankets were wet from the shower, and the night was gloomy and cold. We had waded Bull Run in the track of the artillery and wagons, and some of us were soaking wet to the knees, while our shoes inside and out were plastered with mud. There was no wood about to make fires with, and only the bare, wet ground to make a bed on. I expect there were many that were less strong and hopeful than I, who felt worse than I did that night, but I still remember it as another of the memorable nights of my soldier life.
[15 October] Long wished for daylight slowly came at last, and after overcoming the difficulties of making ourselves hot coffee to moisten our breakfast crackers, we soon satisfied our stomachs, and were prepared to take a view of the great expanse of country our high position enabled us to overlook. Quietness reigned everywhere, and it soon became pretty evident that whatever advantage the foe had gained at the beginning of his flank movement, was not going to save it from fizzling out to a contemptible end. Sometime during that day we left the Centreville heights and marched over to near Fairfax. I think the distance is five or six miles. The following day [16 October] we tramped back again to Centreville, and so for four days in succession we marched from one of these places to the other each day. So time passed away, and about October 20th we, with the rest of the army, took part in a forward movement in the direction of our old camps beyond the Rappahannock. [Is this the "advance to the Rappahannock" that took place on 7 November?] We slept one night on that part of the first Bull Run battle ground where the severest fighting took place, but we conjured up no spirit of fallen friend or foe to prophesy to us of coming victory or defeat, but each "lay like a warrior taking his rest," with his face to the stars and his blanket or tent-piece around him. Then we shifted ahead for several days in a zig-zag way, and all was quiet until the day that a few of our division and a few other troops hustled the rebels out of the forts at the Rappahannock railroad crossing. We were there, though we did not actually take a hand in this handsome and effective onslaught. Soon after daybreak our men charged over a long stretch of open ground, on the run, and took the fort on the north bank of the river and a brigade of the enemy, together with a pontoon bridge. Having this fort, the one on the other side of the river became untenable for the foe, so the rebels promptly "got up and dusted." We went over after this, and spent several days in camp on Deep Run, this being but a few miles from the forts and river. It was nearly the end of November, and chilly days and frosty nights began to make us think of fixing our tents for "winter quarters." On or about the 26th [Walter has the correct date here.], however, orders came to pack up once more, and our homes and all our household furnishing, as well as our wardrobes and rifles, were soon on our backs again, and we took up the "route step" to act our part in the memorable Mine Run campaign.
Although this trip made a pretty decided impression on many of us at the time, I find that I cannot recall the incidents of it as distinctly as I wish. Well, we strode along to the southward, and I believe it took six or seven hours to reach Gold Mine Ford, on the Rapidan River [Sykes calls it Culpeper Ford]. A pontoon bridge was ready for us, and we soon mounted to the top of the high hill on the other side, glad that no foe had been there to oppose us.
Part of the way up the hill, on the south bank, a small fortune had been spent in erecting buildings and machinery to mine gold. What the outcome had been I know not, but the works seemed to have been idle for a long time. We went a few miles further before we bivouacked for the night. We moved forward again early the following morning [27 November], and about the middle of the forenoon began to hear firing in our front [sic].
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #42 p.1]
We understood that a force of our cavalry was in advance of us, and that they had met an inferior force of mounted rebels. Our cavalrymen drove them back, but like good soldiers, they fought all the way as they went.
Our route bore to the westward, and led through a district that was undulating and almost entirely covered with forest. This condition of things compelled our cavalry to advance slowly and cautiously, and our progress was governed by theirs.
I think it was near the middle of the afternoon, when, after crossing a road that formed a right angle with ours, we came to a cleared space and an old habitation. This place, I believe, was called Hope Church, though no church was visible that I can recollect. Other Union troops were here that had come by another route, and some confusion was visible.
The rebel cavalry had got back to a strong infantry support, and our cavalry seemed to be going to the rear to leave to us the perils of forcing a further advance. There was very little firing going on, and after we had stayed at Hope Church awhile we fell back a short distance and moved northward for several miles towards what became the right of the Union lines. A [d]rizzling, chilling rain came on, and it was sometime after dark when we bivouacked in the woods, near what was known as Robertson's Tavern. [20]
Nearly all the country about here was covered with forests, and was a reminder of the Chancellorsville wilderness. It seemed to be a very undesirable region to make a campaign or fight a great battle in, as each army might become so mixed and confused, as to be unable to distinguish its front from its rear. The ground we were on had been fought over that afternoon by the 3d Corps, we were told, but despite this, and the fact that we were wet and chilly, as well as weary and lightly fed, several of our company got together and gave us a sort of burlesque of German opera, that made the place seem like bedlam for awhile. Other companies might quiet down under the influences of weariness and anxious forebodings, but our set was liable to get up a rampage in spite of the most adverse surroundings and depressing circumstances. Quietness finally reigned, and we got what sleep we could before day began to dawn [Walter seems to be running together several days here. The 91st moved to Robertson's Tavern on 28 Nov, relieved the 2nd corps at 4 am on 29 Nov, but prepared to attack the Confederate entrenchments on 30 November], for we were then hastily aroused and started off again, going still further to the right. We marched for an hour or more, part of the way being in a track that the Pioneer Corps had cleared of trees in the night, so that the artillery could get along.
We halted where the woods was [sic] not dense, and as the weather had been getting colder and colder, until the breeze had a regular icy bit about it, we began to feel very much like having some hot coffee and some sort of a breakfast. There were strict orders against making fires, and the men were ordered not to go out of sight of their officers. Generals and staff officers were riding to and fro every few minutes, and though we heard no firing, the indications were that "the ball" might begin at any moment.
After a couple of hours or more we moved on a quarter of a mile further to the right, and then soon learned what the real condition of things were [sic] in our front. We had just passed a large field of thirty or forty acres that opened towards the enemy. It sloped gradually from us for a quarter of a mile to where there was a creek of considerable size, as well as some swamps, and then rose again for a short distance to the edge of a strip of low pine woods. We could see that the pine trees were nearly all "slashed," and the work was still going on. This slashing was done by felling the trees with their tops towards us, thus forming a tangled barrier that would greatly impede the passage of any troops from our side. Back of this, where the ground was higher and the trees were more lofty and diversified, the officers' field glasses brought into view a line of breastworks held by a strong force of Lee's veterans.
It had evidently been intended that we should charge those works early in the morning, and we were at a loss to account for the long "stay of proceedings." [Meade wrote his wife on 2 Dec 1863 that 'a corps commander' [sc. Warren], who had initially been confident he could carry the Confederate works, had changed his mind just as the attack was to begin, leaving barely enough time to call off the supporting assault. The Confederates used the time to strengthen their defenses, making it impossible to attack anywhere. (The life and letters of George Gordon Meade, by George Meade. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1913. Volume 2 page 157.)] To us who knew so well what it was to attack such a foe in such a position, the prospect was anything but exilerating. After a short time part of our artillery came around and sent a few shells over as bearers of "our sincere regards." The enemy acknowledged our attentions by sending us their compliments by like messengers, and though some of their shells howled and hummed uncomfortably near us, I believe no one was injured.
The day was somewhat cloudy, and the breeze continued stinging cold, so that, at times, a dozen or more of us would be seen chasing each other around in a circle trying to keep warm. Now and then some comrade would go to the edge of the field to take an observation and free his mind. "No line of men can ever cross that place, that's certain. Good-bye to this regiment and brigade if they send us over there. Every man of us will get our final discharge before we can get across that creek and swamp, and through these pines." Such were the thoughts and comments of the men during the trying hours of the early part of that memorable day. The officers had little to say, and looked as anxious and careworn as any of us. In case the charge was ordered, our chances, as I figured them, were exceedingly unpromising, as we were almost certain to be the extreme right of the line, and so "catch it" from the front and the flank.
Soon after noon the men began to steal away by two's and three's to go a short distance to the rear to make coffee. Dry sticks were quickly gathered and turned into a cheery blaze and warmth, and we all felt better after getting a good hot drink to wash down our crackers and pork. By the middle of the afternoon it was pretty generally concluded that there would be no charge, and our hearts were lightened accordingly. About this time, however, we moved back a short distance over the route we had come, and were then ordered forward in line of battle.
All about us was woods, but the trees were not close, and there was [sic] many low, bushy pines, so that we could get along right well, but could not see far ahead. We had advanced but a few rods when a rebel battery opened fire right in front of us, and scarcely more than five hundred yards away. Still our good fortune did not entirely desert us, for as usual, the enemy fire a little high, so they only made havoc among the trees and scared us pretty badly. On we went until we seemed to be more than half way to those thundering guns, when a halt was ordered and we laid down very close to the ground. The way the shot and shell howled and tore through the low pines for a few minutes was terrific, but then the firing ceased, and soon afterward we fell back a quarter of a mile or more and began to make some preparation for spending the night. [This occurred on 1 Dec.] Details for pickets were made, and the men were posted as though we fully intended to stay, but as soon as darkness closed around us the pickets were withdrawn, and all hands of us were up and away. We soon got on a pretty good highway and realized that we were retreating.
Weary and worn though we were, our spirits grew brighter and our steps quicker at the thought. I particularly remember the sturdy strides that kept our captain well on the lead through all the long hours of that long night. On and on we went, nor did we make any considerable halt until after the first streakings of dawn had dimmed the stars and rimmed the horizon in the east. Then we rested for an hour or more, and a few of us had a little uncomfortable nap.
Onward was again the command, and a short march brought us to the Rapidan River at Germania Ford. We strode across on the pontoon bridge and bore off in the direction of Kelly's Ford on the Rappahannock. The distance from Germania to Kelly's was eight or ten miles, and when we had gone nearly half the distance, we made a long halt at a convenient place to cook, and so we had our hot coffee again.
When we first started back we did not know but that the enemy had made some sort of a flank movement on us again that would compel us to fight our way back to the protection of Washington, but after this rest we were pretty certain that we were only going back to where supplies could easily reach us.
We were off again, and in the afternoon we tramped over the pontoons at Kelly's Ford and were on familiar ground near our railroad once more. Still our steps were not stayed until we arrived opposite Bealton Station, which was several miles further on, and here we went into camp.
We had the lead of the brigade on this march, and we "stepped out" so effectively that we left the other regiments several miles in the rear, they not coming into camp until the next day. I believe we could travel equal to Stonewall Jackson's celebrated "foot cavalry," although we carried so much more baggage than they did. Just after crossing the Rappahannock I nearly fainted, which was such an extraordinary thing for me that I will tell how it happened. We had halted for a few minutes, and in trying to pull an old rail out of a pile, my hand slipped and a large decayed splinter ran with great force into my thumb, where it broke off. I could not budge it, so I went to the surgeon to have him cut it out. He passed my hand from behind, between his knees, and with an instrument a good deal like a lance, began to gouge at this splinter and try to cut it out. The blade of the implement seemed to be very little sharper than its handle, so that after he had made three attempts to cut it from the wound outward without making any progress, I nearly "keeled over." Drawing my hand away I walked of and left him, and persevered with it until I got the old wood out myself.
So ended our Mine Run campaign, and it does not fully console me to know that Mine Run, with the hills and woods and swamps that environ it, is the only region that I ever left the "rebs" in peaceful possession of willingly, but when I think of it, of the weather we had there, as well as the prospects we had to contemplate, I want to exclaim every time, "The d--l take that place, anyhow."
One great consolation in regard to the campaign is the smallness of the loss in killed and wounded all through, and it seems miraculous almost, that our regiment, with three hundred or more men present, did not lose a man. As an evidence of what the weather was, I recollect it was reported that several of the Pennsylvania Reserves had been frozen to death on the picket line.
Our camp near Bealton Station was not in a suitable place for winter quarters, because wood was scarce and water not fairly abundant, and as December had come, bringing Christmas and New Year near, the boys soon began to be anxious to know how and where to be fixed, with a view to our comfort as well as having boxes of good things sent us from home.
We had been resting a little more than a week when a new matter of interest was brought to our attention by the adjutant reading at dress parade the orders recently issued by the War Department in reference to re-enlistments.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #43 p.1]
The orders issued by the War Department was [sic], that all men who had served two years or longer of a three years' enlistment, who would volunteer for three years more, unless sooner discharged, could begin the new term at once, and would receive a bounty of four hundred and two dollars from the Government, together with a furlough and transportation to visit home for thirty days.
Regiments that re-enlisted, three-fourths of their men could return home in a body, taking their arms and colors, and have a chance to recruit. Commissioned officers, however, could not re-enlist. Here was a temptation, especially for us in the ranks.
Dreary winter was upon us, and a desolate country was around us, while "In happy home we saw the light Of household fires, gleam warm and bright." when we thought of being in Philadelphia during and after the holidays, with plenty of money in our pockets. But we did not fail to remember Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, as well as the campaign that had just ended; and I beleive there was a good many like myself, who had concluded that money could not compensate men for enduring the terrors and risks of battle. We knew the South was yet very powerful, as well as far from being subdued, so that if we enlisted for three years more, the hardships of the past might be as almost nothing in comparison with what the future might bring us ere the war would end.
The officers immediately busied themselves to secure the enlistment of the regiment, for, by succeeding in that, they would have a chance to accompany the organization home on a veteran furlough. We were in no hurry either to accept the Government offer or to gratify the officers, with whom the men scarcely deigned to discuss the matter, though it was much canvassed among themselves.
In thinking it over, finally, I decided that it was foolishness for me to talk of quitting soldiering so long as I could do a soldier's duty, or the war lasted. I decided that it was better to see the conflict through in our good company that I knew and [p.6] got along with so well, rather than to go into another after awhile, even with higher rank, that might prove a weak or inefficient organization. So the next morning I enrolled myself, and forty-two of us, members of A Co., of the 91st Pennsylvania, re-enlisted then and there, which I am satisfied is an extraordinary record. I believe that in less than forty-eight hours afterward the re-enlistment of the regiment was assured. Several members were absent in hospital, but of all who were with the army, only three or four of those who had been soldiers long enough to accept the terms, did not go with us. These, with about an equal number of recruits who had seen less than two years of service, were transferred to another Pennsylvania regiment to serve while we were at home. A few days were then spent in making out pay-rolls.
As soon as our men knew that their clothing accounts were to be settled, a lively wrangle began, for which there was pretty good cause, for, when they drew knapsacks and clothing to replace what was lost through the colonel's orders at the time we left Washington, the things were charged against them, and other Government property, they had lost by no fault of theirs, had been put on the same list. The men objected to such injustice, and several finally swore that they would not re-enlist if they had to pay for these things. The captain declared that he was held responsible for the stuff, and if the men did not pay for it, he might have to do so, though he swore he should not do it. The men remained firm and had to be conciliated, so the clothing book was put into my hands with authority to make every man's account fair, according to my best judgment.
My own "dunnage" account was quite pleasant to contemplate, for it showed that Uncle Sam owed me more than thirty-eight dollars in commutation for clothing that I was entitled to but had not drawn. I had been made a present of an outfit of clothing just after leaving Libby Prison, and another lot of apparel that I got while absent, being wounded, after Gettysburg, had never been charged to me. Beside this, I had never been able to reconcile myself to Government shoes, shirts and socks, but managed to supply myself with these necessities from Philadelphia. The army fatigue cap was an abomination to me also, and when I drew a new cap I used to throw its bent peak away, and sew a straight peak to it, thus getting rid of much of its slouchy appearance.
While rolls and accounts were being fixed so that the paymaster could visit us, and while the boys were full of plans and anticipations in reference to the good times that were so near at hand, another spell of detestably cold weather came on. Many of us were in need of blankets, overcoats, or underclothes, because we had deferred asking for them until we got into winter quarters, where we could take better care of them, and now, when we were likely to go home, we did not want to be bothered with them. Our dilapidated little shelter tents were put up with little care of precaution, and being on an exposed plain where wood was scarce, we realized very forcibly the unpleasantness of the wintry visitation. One cold windy night was especially vile. The whirling, biting gale seemed to drive right through our tents, bedding and clothing, so that we could neither sleep or keep warm anywhere. It was a night of trials that almost equalled the terrors of a day of battle.
When we first put our names down, we hoped that we should get home in time to see Christmas in Philadelphia, but that festive day found us still in Virginia and our misery. The day following, however, we were mustered for the new term, and having been paid, we impatiently waited to be notified that our transportation to Washington awaited us.
January 2, 1864 [They actually left on the 4th], we piled ourselves and our goods on common platform cars, and in the midst of a whirling snow-storm began our northward journey. A couple of hours' riding brought us to Alexandria, where our stay was short, and we were soon speeding up the Potomac on a steamer for the national capital. Once in Washington we soon made our way to the Soldiers' Rest at the railroad depot, where we were served with hot coffee and then we put up for the night. Our familiar old haunts about the city had little attractiveness for us now, but each was anxious to get the latest news from Philadelphia or hear the last sensational report in reference to ourselves. A comrade came to inform me that the colonel [sc. Edgar Gregory] had just got a dispatch to let him know that city councils had resolved to present each of us with a Nankeen overcoat of the largest size, as soon as we arrived, so that we might present a more uniform appearance. Soon afterward I heard that it had been arranged that the Philadelphia policemen were to meet us at the depot, and that each of us was to be carried home on a window shutter, in order to show the city's appreciation of us and to prevent us from becoming fatigued. We certainly looked at though we needed some new "rigging," and somewhat resembled the sort of chaps that are sometimes borne upon a "shutter," but we could appreciate a joke for all that.
In the evening I was agreeably surprised by a visit from John Carroll, of the 6th New York Cavalry. He was a pleasant and plucky young man, whose acquaintance I made in the rebel guard-house at Winchester. [See Walter's description] We had got right well acquainted with each other before our Southern trip was over, and I was glad to see that he was still safe and wore the straps of a lieutenant on his shoulders. When I first met John he was the owner of a new and fine pair of gauntlet gloves, made of buckskin, and as robbing prisoners had not then become part of the general tactics of the Confederates, so those gloves were showed off whenever there was an opportunity. In our lines they were worth two dollars and a half, but a rebel officer's first offer for them was twenty dollars, which was promptly declined.
Whether it was on the 3d or 4th of January when we reached Philadelphia I cannot remember [They actually arrived on 8 January, although they had been expected to arrive earlier.], but after our arrival we made a short parade, and were dismissed in front of Independence Hall. The commissioned officers were assigned to recruiting service, and the rest of us scattered, fully bent on making ourselves as happy as possible for the next thirty days, at least.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #44 p.1]
After reaching Philadelphia I had no relatives to stop with, but found a good home with an old friend who was full of good nature. I soon had a bath and a clean uniform, as well as a few "doses" of "civilized" victuals.
Living well and having few cares, time sped rapidly along, and two-thirds of our furlough time was soon gone. Then I got a notion to desert my old comrades, provided that I could get a captaincy in another regiment, new or old. Having a strong recommendation from an influential source, I visited Harrisburg to see Governor Curtin about the matter. The governor happened to be indefinitely absent just at that time, and after waiting several days in vain for him, I gave up the attempt and came back to Philadelphia.
When our thirty days were up we reported to headquarters at Fifth and Chestnut streets, but there was no duty for us to perform, so the freedom of the city remained to us until the 16th of February. Then the regiment was ordered to Upland, which is the high ground just back of Chester. The large building now used as part of the Crozier Theological Seminary was there then, as well as several barracks that had been put up for hospital purposes. A high wooden fence enclosed all these, and this place was made the general rendezvous for re-enlisted men belonging to eastern Pennsylvania. Our colonel [sc. Edgar Gregory] commanded the post, and our adjutant [sc. Benjamin Tayman] became post-adjutant. We expected, of course, to be sent promptly to the front.
Day after day still found us there, and as there was little duty to perform, and only Government food to live on, life in the uncomfortable barracks soon became irksome. "Running the guard," to take a short trip to Chester or Philadelphia, soon became a sort of general custom. Guards were posted outside of the fence with strict orders to allow no one to pass, but this availed very little after dark. Several of the veterans would go together to a remote point along the fence and tear off a slat. If the guard opposite was a recruit, they would intimidate or cajole him into giving them a chance to slip out. If a veteran happened to be on duty there when the fence cracked, he probable marched to the farther end of his beat and gave his undivided attention to some distant object, while he remarked to himself, "It's no use to keep the boys in the [p.2] lousy pen, when they are so near home and have no duty to perform."
Our company had been more successful than any other in filling up, and of over twenty that had joined us, only three or four were objectionable on account of age or bearing. Nearly half of them were young and spry fellows, who had seen some service in other organizations, and the whole lot seemed likely to be a credit to themselves and the company under fair management. Several of the youngest were not yet eighteen years old, and drew my special interest on that account, because they so faintly realized what was before them.
Near the end of February there was [sic] so many absences that the colonel refused to grant any more passes to go out, and about this time I concluded that I would like to visit Philadelphia again. Since coming to Chester, the company had been entirely in my charge, and as it was reported that the officers of the regiment were as bad about taking "French leave" as those of the rank, I considered that I was being imposed on. So about 3 or 4 o'clock on the morning of the 5th of March, [the muster roll shows him AWOL starting 3 March, and the regiment actually left on 2 March] several of us ran the guard in the usual style, and started across the country to find a station on the West Chester and Philadelphia Railroad. A tramp of four miles or more brought us to the place we sought, and as the weather was quite cool and the building was not quite finished and was not tenanted, we forced our way in, started a fire and made ourselves happy while we waited for the first down train.
We reached the city in good time and scattered. On the morning of March 3 [sic; the muster roll shows him AWOL until 17 March], I returned to Upland, and to an unpleasant surprise. I found that the day I left the regiment had been mustered for pay, and the day following, had left for Virginia. Nearly one-third of the command was absent without leave, and our names had been sent to the Provost marshall of Philadelphia, with instructions to arrest us as deserters. [On 6 March 1864, Sinex reported that 204 enlisted men were present, 156 were absent without leave, 17 were absent sick, 1 had deserted, and 35 had been detached from the regiment. Thus, more than one-third of the enlisted men (but only 1 officer) were AWOL (letter).] The first officer I met was the adjutant [sc. Benjamin Tayman], who gave me a lively overhauling, and after blustering awhile, sent me to the colonel [sc. Edgar Gregory]. After the colonel had chinned awhile, I told him I was ready to go down and join the regiment at my own expense, if he was willing. Then his tune changed, and he told me I was to stay and take command of the absentees as they came in, and stay with them until transportation could be had to take us to the front. This did not suit me a bit, and there was quite a small fuss before I acquiesced. Two weeks afterward a large squad of us got off, and after an uneventful trip, rejoined the regiment just below Bealton Station, on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad.
Once more we were on the "sacred soil" where it had often before been pressed by our "vandal" feet, and being down near the Rappahannock River, were as far south as the rebels would admit that the Army of the Potomac could maintain its ground. When we got into camp we drew up in front of the tent of the lieutenant-colonel [sc. Joseph Sinex], who was in command, and who greeted us with a harangue that was rather more forcible than refined in its make up, and in which I was characterized as the chief of the bummers. We were dismissed to our companies to take up the routine of camp life. Our camp was on a sloping piece of ground that was literally bare. Great attention was paid to keeping all garbage or trash from lying about, and for awhile we were credited with having the cleanest camp in the army.
We were still attached to the same brigade and division as before 3d Brigade, 2d Division, 5th Corps company and battalion drills were frequent and military regulations and formalities carefully observed.
As the three regiments brigaded with us wore fancy uniforms of the zouave style, the brigade commander was desirous that we too should adopt a similar dress, but we would have none of it. We objected to being so easily identified in case we should straggle a little, or be caught on a small foraging expedition of our own. However, we were ordered to drill the zouave tactics and bayonet exercise. The adjutant [presumably not Benjamin Tayman, who was post adjutant at the rendezvous, and did not rejoin the regiment until June.] drilled the non-commissioned officers of the companies from the book, that they might instruct the men. These were trying times to some of our recruits, particularly several of the youngest of them. Put in the ranks to drill with expert soldiers before they had learned to step out promptly at the word "march," their heels would be trodden against and the [sic] would get "out of step," while not being used to handling their muskets firmly promptly and properly, added to their worriment. To avoid being so harassed, they sometimes absented themselves from drill and dress parade. When they returned for supper I would give them an extra drill for punishment. In matters that were in the regular line of duty I could not show any favoritism, and this made me seem very harsh and tyrannical to them, as the discipline and instruction of the company devolved upon me; the captain [sc. Francis Gregory] still being in Philadelphia, and the first lieutenant [sc. John G Brass] being detailed to command Co. H.
Newspapers came into camp daily, and we knew, from other sources besides, of the great preparations that were being made for the spring campaign. General Meade we knew pretty well, and had a good deal of confidence in, but the matter of General Grant assuming the chief directorship of the Army of the Potomac did not strike us very favorably. We knew that Lee and his army were greatly different from the rebels that had been doing the fighting in the southwest.
The last of April soon came, and one afternoon while battalion drill was going on we received orders to pack up and move. Off we went to the westward, and having crossed the Rappahannock once more, put up our little shelter tents near army headquarters in the vicinity of Brandy Station.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #45 p.1]
On the third of May, 1864, we moved again, and this time our route was southward and towards a dangerous country. The following day [sc. 4 May] we crossed the Rapidan and moved in the direction of Chancellorsville. As we thought of our former misfortunes in this region of forests and thickets, our anxieties and forebodings were far from being of a pleasurable sort. The rebels had boasted that no Yankee army could ever make its way south through that wilderness, and we knew they thought themselves able to make the boast good.
Though our army was vastly superior to theirs in numbers and equipment, we felt pretty certain that we could not advance another day without brining on a terrific battle. There was so much that favored the foe. They were ahead of us and could await our coming almost where it suited them. They could hide their cavalry near the road, and rest while they waited for a chance to make an effective sweep upon one of our columns; they could mask their artillery and hide their opportunity. What chance had our cavalry or artillery to help us? How could they manoeuvre or act effectively in those narrow forest-bordered roads? It seemed that we "dough-boys", the infantry, would have to bear nearly the whole brunt of the contest on our side. Thought we were loaded almost like pack-horses, we were expected to go forward in the road, the thicket or the swamp; and we could fight either funning or walking, or standing or kneeling, or lying. We would furnish the skirmishers or the line of battle that would advance to develop or dislodge the enemy if he seemed inclined to lurk in the woods. If the rebels assumed the aggressive, we would be depended upon to defeat their charges; without the swooping grape or the howling shot and aball [?] of our artillery to help us.
One great botheration of that country was that after moving about in various directions among the bushes, we could no longer tell which was our proper "front," and consequently could not tell on which side either friends or enemies were likely to appear.
On the morning of the 5th [?] of May, we were near the Chancellorville battle-ground, and coming to a place where a road extending [?] in the direction of Mine Run joined our road, [page 2] we turned off and followed it a short distance till we came to high ground, and then rested in the open woods on the right of the road. This place was said to be near "Parker's Store," but what Parker or anybody else could do with a store in that country is a mystery to me. I would think that a man's hat would hold more store goods than he would sell in a year in the locality. There was no noise or excitement for some hours, and so far as we knew, there were no troops ahead of us, nor arms near by, except our brigade.
Appearances this time, as on several former occasions, proved deceptive. A number of times, in former campaigns, we had thought ourselves almost alone and dangerously exposed, but if a fight began, many other commands were at hand whose presence seemed little short of mystery. Our columns had got to moving so quietly and quickly, and the umbrageous character of the country made it possible for large bodies of men to be near each other for a long while without detecting each other's presence. Under our present circumstances there was no clang of drums, or blare of bugles, or flaunting of flags.
I think it was between ten and eleven o'clock when musketry firing began more than a quarter of a mile to the south of us. It soon increased in volume and came a little nearer, but we did not concern ourselves visibly about it. A little while longer and the infantry fire down in the woods became terrific. There was a spasmodic or intermittent character about it that indicated that the enemy was making repeated charges on a part of our line they could not break. Thinking that we might receive a share of the rebel attentions soon, we began to busy ourselves to get up a small breastwork. We had neither axes or shovels, so that we had made very little progress when near the middle of the afternoon we "fell in" and began to advance in line of battle, parallel with the road that was just to the left of our regiment. There had been a lull for some time in the roar and snap of the musketry farther to the left, and it was our turn now to hunt up and stir up the foe, that we might know just what he was at. The ground had a gradual downward slope in front of us, and the woods were open so that we could easily get along. We were the extreme right of the line and if we should run against a strong line of the enemy, whose flank extended beyond ours, we would be in a specially dangerous fix. Our own lieutenant [sc. John Brass] was still commanding Company H, and a lieutenant of Company D [this could be either James Diehl or John Hamill--I suspect it is Hamill] was assigned to us, for it would not look right to have the first and largest company of the regiment going into action without a shoulder-strapped officer.
We had gone scarcely more than a furlong when we reached the location of a small valley, and drew the fire of a rebel skirmish line. We went a few steps farther and a line of infantry gave us a salute. Though the end of their line there did not extend quite as far as ours, they seemed very near; but we could not see them on account of the density of the trees and bushes. What seemed to be an explosive cartridge burst right in front of my face, blinding me for a moment and cutting my cheek a little. No one near me had been seriously hurt, and the regiment began to move to the left and rear. This movement, and a small swamp near by, caused several of us to become separated from the main line. These men I held together to act as skirmishers in case the enemy should attempt a flank movement of any kind. Seeing no hostile indications, we slowly fell back and rejoined the regiment where we had been lying before. I do not know what the brigade or regiment lost in the advance, but Company A had only one slightly wounded. [not listed in Bates]
The musketry fire to the south of us at times through the day was a continuous roar, and is said to have exceeded any that occurred elsewhere during the war. After our advance the sounds of strife gradually died away, and by sundown, "silence reigned o'er all the scene once more." We were hungry and tired; we had started early, with a weak breakfast, and had dined in a way that was weaker. We finally succeeded in making some good coffee and this, with fat pork and crackers, gave us a passable supper. Next, we began to consider the chances of getting a night's rest. I think it was near nine o'clock, and after many of us were curled up on the ground for a snoose [sic], when order came to "Fall in" as quietly as possible. Our regiment, only I believe, got ready and moved off towards where the heaviest fire had occurred during the day. After crossing the road and entering the woods again, our company was separated from the rest, and with a strange officer for a pilot, we moved on.
The forest was extremely dark and we moved with great caution. I soon began to wonder how the mischief our guide knew where he was taking us. Directly we hear chopping ahead, and then the sound of voices. On we went through the gloom, till we seemed within a stone's throw of the noise. Then we came to a little breastwork of earth with a shallow trench behind it, that was not more than thirty or forty yards long. Into this we spread ourselves and drew a long breath of relief. Next a detail was made of all our most experienced veterans, and these the lieutenant took out to act as videttes, a few paces farther towards the foe. Each of these was to select a tree and stand by it, with his rifle ready for instant use, and keep himself as quiet as a mouse. The rest of the company was in my charge in the trench, with instructions to keep every man alert and make no sound above a whisper. We soon comprehended our situation. We were close to the rebel line, and the choppers were working at a breastwork. A little to our left a religious meeting was being held, and we heard part of the chaplain's address. When this was ended, several voiced joined in singing a hymn to a familiar old tune. By half past 10 o'clock stillness almost perfect and oppressive held sway,. and helped the night to disguise the fearful aggregation of hellish destructiveness and woe that was reposing behind the picket-lines in the woods for miles around us, except that about four hundred yards away in the left of us the enemy had a piece of artillery to the front, and every fifteen or twenty minutes would let go a shot that was sent high enough to make its way back to our main line on its mission of annoyance or slaughter. Had they understood our position, they could have enfiladed and blown us out of it in a few minutes. I was reminded of the "Burial of Sir John Moore," and this was "The distant and random gun The foe was sullenly firing." I could not account for this foolery, for they knew the shots were not likely to do us much damage, while the reports of the gun startled and harassed their own men that had so much need of sleep.
By midnight the cannonade had ceased and I was in additional trouble. My men, thoroughly worn out and compelled to keep quiet, could no longer keep awake. Sitting along on the edge of the low trench, they would lean on their rifles and sleep in spite of me and themselves. Again and again did I go along and arouse and caution them but my efforts were in vain. Even the precious water from my canteen, poured down their backs, would not keep them on the alert while I passed from one end of the line to the other.
By half past 1 o'clock I was as desperate as they were, and going to the right of the line I stretched myself out upon the ground to forget my cares and leave Providence or fate free to their own desires. I slept, perhaps an hour, when there came a sudden awaking, and an officer stood over me. It was impossible to distinguish between friend and foe in the intense gloom. He whispered: "Rouse your men and get them in line silently and quickly." He moved out to bring in the videttes, while I obeyed his order without a question. The rest were soon in, and without giving them time to get their knapsacks that had been piled under a tree a little distance in the rear, we started back, and in a little while rejoined the regiment. We laid down and got two or three hours of slumber before full daylight came and ended another of the memorable nights of my soldier life. Several of us left the regiment and went a short distance to a ravine to make coffee. When we came back, some of the boys told us how the rebels, when they discovered that we were gone from their immediate front, had rushed over and through the woods to search of plunder, and how some of our artillery that had been massed and masked for the purpose had been making havoc among them.
Towards the middle of the morning we moved off to the left in the direction of Chancellorsville, and in a little while found ourselves on the extreme front again. All was quiet, however, and here we fell in with one of the immense heavy artillery regiments that were so prominent a phase of that terrific campaign.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #46 p.1]
Several regiments were raised in the North during the two previous years for artillery service, and to draw men in it, it was proclaimed that they would never be sent to the front, but would serve their term in taking care of the fortifications around Washington, Alexandria, Baltimore and elsewhere. These regiments became very strong in numbers, and had been having comparatively easy times until a recent order from General Grant had compelled them to come to the front to act as infantry. Here in the Wilderness, May 6th, 1864, was the first we saw any of them. They came down with twelve or fourteen or sixteen hundred men each. They had bulky knapsacks and great possessions. They had "dress hats" and "dress coats," and bright brasses and white gloves, shoe blacking, etc. They moved away from the breastwork just as we came up, and as company after company went by, we looked at them with astonishment and pity, for we well knew what would be the fate of their goods and themselves if the campaign lasted a few weeks. One of our fellows ventured the opinion that "that must be a whole brigade." Another remarked: "How are you, white gloves and shiny buttons." White a third exclaimed: "Lord, won't the rebs make things fly if they get a chance at them fellows."
We were used to seeing regiments of from eighty to four hundred men. Our uniform was cap, blouse and pants, more or less smoked with pine, and smeared with the "the sacred soil." Some of us who were more fastidious carried an extra shirt, [p.2] drawers and socks. I was wearing a black slouch hat and fine cloth jacket and pants, but no sash or stripes, except a small chevron on my right arm. Our luggage was reduced to the utmost. To carry a testament or pack of cards was out of the question. When a letter came to me that was precious enough to keep until I could answer it, I threw its envelope away to decrease my load. We had got things down ever so fine as that.
We spent most of the day in quietness at this point, and there seemed to be very little fighting going on in our neighborhood. Near sundown we were off again, towards Chancellorsville, on the old plank road. There were many troops ahead, and we moved slowly along till about 9 o'clock. Then a strange sound began to be heard in advance that resembled low thunder. Nearer and nearer, and louder and louder, came the rumble. The mystery quickly became painful, for we were hemmed in with dense woods, and heard neither shouts nor shots. It must be a stampede of artillery. On they rushed and thundered, and as they met us, we sprang from the road to the edge of the woods, and they shot by like some sweeping and irresistable [sic] engine of vengeance. The march was not delayed two minutes, but the mystery remained until the next day, when we learned that it was a stampede of a few pack mules, but where they started or where they stopped, or how much mischief they did, I never knew. One of our color-sergeants, a fine young fellow from Delaware [sc. Robert Chism], was run over by them and had both legs broken, from the effects of which he died. [Chism died about midnight on 7 May 1864.]
Shortly after this our route was changed now to the southward, or towards Mine Run, and through the long, long hours of all that night, we toiled onward. Sunrise came, but there came no halt for breakfast, neither came the sounds of renewed battle. Where could the enemy be? and where were we going? Those were the questions that puzzled us.
I think it was after the middle of the morning when the sharp crack of rifles, a half mile ahead, brought the strong hints of a worse trouble ahead than we already endured, near by. Soon we turned off into a large cleared space of uneven ground and formed line of battle. We were the extreme right of the line, and as we moved forward, the firing over to the left of us became very lively. In a few moments I saw the rebels making a determined charge beyond the left of our brigade, and it seems that our regiments on the left were somewhat confused by the character of the ground and the danger of their position. A small piece of woods was bothering us, when a slightly retrograde movement in the left detached several of us from the main line. Instead of struggling to rejoin our comrades, I assumed an independent command, and we moved off to scout or skirmish in some woods to the right, that was a favorable place for the enemy to concentrate, or plant batteries in. We had just started, when two pieces of light artillery opened fire from a short distance, sending their shots over in the direction of the lively fighting. I think there was not more than eight of us, and after we had moved forward, cautiously, for a short distance, we consulted whether we should attack those guns or try to find out first what support they had. We were close to the guns then, but would have to crawl much closer before we could see just how they were fixed, so we moved more to our right, and directly came in sight of a whole brigade of cavalry grouped together and taking it easy in a meadow. They were within good rifle range, and we proceeded to stir them up at once. A line of their skirmishers soon came for us on foot, and were just getting dangerously near when a skirmish line of the 1st New York Rifles came up and relieved us. They checked the rebels and we rejoined our regiment. A line of battle was established right along by the little piece of woods that had bothered us awhile before.
Here we remained several days and had a warm time of it, both in reference to the weather and the active and unpleasant attention of the enemy. There was open ground for a short space to the right and left of our regiment, and then more woods. Many other troops were present and a strong line was maintained. An irregular field, extended in our front and reached back from four to six hundred yards to more forest, that swarmed with rebels. There was a little swell extending along a hundred or more yards to the front, and there our picket line was established. Our men could screen themselves by lying flat, but the foe kept up such a worrying fire that they soon dug little pits, piling the dirt up in front, so that they could change position a little with more safety. When the fresh guardsmen were to go on duty each morning, they would get ready in a sheltered spot just in front, and then go on a run and throw themselves into the pile, while a small shower of bullets would come humming around them. The men they relieved would soon afterwards spring up and run to the rear, and then there would be more flying bullets.
During the long, sunny days, this exposed and dangerous service was very hard on our men. Several of our regiment were killed on this line, among them was one of our company's youngest recruits, who received a fearful wound in the stomach. [James McDermot was killed there, and John F Jester was wounded.]
A Confederate battery was set in the woods at the far corner of the field, and every day, for a little while, would open fire in our direction. They treated us to solid shot, shell and shrapnel. The limbs of the trees flew, and the racket was fearful, but they always fired a little too high to do us much damage.
The last morning we spent at Laurel Hill we charged across the field and in front of the battery. It was desperate work, but we went over and drove the foe back from the edge of the woods and held their line a while, and then fell back to our former position under a sharp fire. The Regulars had charged to the right of us, and other troops to the left of us, and the action was severe all along. What good ever could, or did come of that charge, I never knew. It proved that a strong rebel force was still in front, but the demonstration cost us a fearful price. Of our company, one of the sergeants and another of our young recruits were killed, and several wounded one mortally. [Joseph Andrews was killed at Spottsylvania Court House, on 12 May 1864. Frank Miller died of his wounds on 20 May. Also wounded then in co. A were John Beaver, Albert J Quick (died 22 June of his wounds), Marcus Ullman, and Jones Urwiler.]
Coming back from that charge, we were a good deal scattered and disordered, so I made an oblique movement to get to the cover of the woods. The enemy was gunning for us briskly, and I had an old fence to climb. Getting over a fence under fire, loaded as we were, with rifle, cartridge box, haversack, canteen and knapsack, was something of a job, and just as I reached the top, my foot slipped and I came down on the other side in such a comical heap that it set me to laughing. I soon got back to where the boys were rallying about our colors again, and learned that I had been reported killed or seriously wounded.
Late in the afternoon [sc. 13 May 1864] we harnessed and loaded up once more, and took our way off towards the southeast. Night came on but the march continued, and we became aware that a large and hurried movement of troops was taking place. We seemed to be marching on by-ways or across open country, and occasionally different columns of troops would get mixed or blocked. This aggravated the tired and hungry men, and made them inclined to straggle. Sometime after midnight we marched through a small muddy creek, and some gravel lodged in one of my shoes. I tramped along for a mile or two and then fell out to relieve my feet. By the time my shoe and stocking were cleaned, the company was a quarter of a mile ahead. I pondered a little, and concluded that I was going to look about for some place to get a little sleep. I strolled along a little farther and came to a pine forest where several little parties of tragglers [sic] were trying to do a little cooking or get some hot coffee. Hungry, weary and bedraggled, I spread myself on the ground near them, and slept until after daybreak. [sc. 14 May 1864] Then I cooked my breakfast, and, after eating, rested awhile longer. Our troops seemed to have all gone by in the night, and occasional sounds of fighting came from several miles ahead.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3, #47, p.1]
Fearing the rebs might come on us suddenly and leave us no chance to escape, I moved leisurely off towards the front, for it was no part of my programme to allow myself to be made a prisoner again, except under the most desperate circumstances. Some of the men seemed inclined to see the matter differently, and concluded that Southern prisons could not be much worse than the dangers and hardships we were undergoing.
I fell in with two or three more of the company during the morning, and we put in the time until near the middle of the afternoon before we found ourselves near the positions held by our regiment. Just as we were about to show ourselves, the command was reformed and moved off in a direction that seemed to be to the rear. Down we sat, for as only one other regiment besides our was moving, we concluded they were not going far and were likely to come back. They were going around somewhere, we thought, to protect the pioneers in making a road through the woods or in making a bridge, or some such service. Half an hour or so later we saw a line of troops charge up the hill to a house that was a mile or more off to the left, and one of our batteries sent a few shots in that direction. [This occurred on 14 May 1864.]
An hour later the regiment came back to its former position. Our lieutenant-colonel [sc. Joseph Sinex] had been severely wounded at Laurel Hill, so the major [sc. John Lentz] was now in command, and though he was commonly good-natured, he gave me a lively overhauling for being absent so long. The accident, darkness and confusion of the previous night was my excuse, and got me off.
We were lying on the open ground a short distance behind a line of breastworks held by other troops. I soon learned that we were near Spottsylvania Court House, and there had been some hard fighting in the vicinity early in the day.
Our fellows had been actively, but not so desperately employed. They, with others, had charged that same house and driven a considerable force of the enemy from the position. They were relieved by other troops, and the rebels came back and took the place from them. When they made the second charge the enemy were leaving, but they were in great danger because the shots fired from [p.2] our battery were sent too low to go over the hill. The regimental loss had been light, and Co. A lost none, though its loss since the campaign began amounted to two killed, fourteen wounded and three missing, being a loss of over thirty per cent. of the number that crossed the Rapidan with it.
About dusk we moved to the right and front a little, and occupied a very exposed position. To the right of us were woods, and a few yards behind us a hollow ravine that might form a good shelter to fight from. Orders came for us to put up a breastwork at once, and the officers bestirred themselves to get the men at it, but all were so utterly and desperately weary that little progress was made. Some one soon suggested that if the front line got too hot, the ravine would be very convenient. One of the officers said they were going to occupy that, and d-- if he wouldn't shoot any subaltern that attempted to fall back to it. He was quickly informed that when it came to that sort of a game there was a good many more about beside him that could take a hand, and he subsided, for, however courageous and pig-headed an officer might be, he could not help realizing that, in such a campaign as we were going through, he lived by the suffrance of his men. Fighting in the woods, and the picket-lines at night, gave men a chance to get rid of obnoxious officers with little risk to themselves.
All was quiet along the line, so we slept where we were, and the following morning moved to the left to where good breastworks were already up. This was about May 13 [actually 15 May], and several days of rest and good weather followed.
The regiments along our line would plant their colors on the works during the day, and they waved beautifully in the spring breeze. It was nearly half a mile across to where the woods hid the enemy's works, but we heard their band play as the gentle zephyrs brought us the strains of the "Marsellaise," "Annie Laurie," and "When This Cruel War Is Over." Occasionally a Union or rebel battery would fire a few shots, but the infantry, on both sides, cherished their rest.
The last day we spent in this neighborhood, all the company, except myself, went on picket. Orderly-sergeants not being expected to do picket duty, I was clean. Early in the afternoon word came that there would an issue of rations, and I went out to tell the boys, so that if there was a chance, some of them might come and get what the company was entitled to. I found them in an open, rocky piece of woods taking things easy, and I strolled all long to hear what "chin" might be going. That evening when the men came in, they told me I had hardly got away when a lot of sharpshooters crawled near and looked after them so sharply for a couple of hours, that they scarcely dared to stir. [perhaps 19 or 20 May?]
The day previous to this, I experienced considerable tribulation in getting a short letter written. Behind the breastwork was no shade, but out in front, a few yards, was a tall cedar with a close top, that sheltered a nice spot from the sun. Portfolio in hand, I seated myself there, and had got my paper spread out, when over came a rebel shell that burst near by and went humming about. Directly another shot came and buried itself in our breastwork, and then another went howling over a good distance to the rear. A comrade sang out: "Pard, you'd better come in out of that!" and I came. Quietness reigned for some time after, and I went out again, but before I got through, two other shots came visiting in discomforting proximity.
From Spottsylvania we made a night march of ten or twelve miles to a pretty spot, where there had been a boarding school called Edge Hill. War's vandal hand had left no traces here, and we heard no sounds of strife during the past two days we remained here. South and southeast our route continued, through a fair and fertile country, and, during the morning of May 23, we came to the North Anna River. [actually 21 May 1864] The stream appeared nearly a hundred yards wide, and was waist deep, rocky and rapid. Somebody said we were at Jericho Ford, but I could see no signs of a place for vehicles to cross. Our side of the river had not very high steep bank, but the other side had in fact, a formidable bare bluff extended all along. As we gazed up and down we wondered how it could be that no rebel artillery was in place to send its ballish compliments among us. Could it be that our wary and active foe would allow us to cross unmolested? Our whole division waded across and mounted the bluff, and our hearts beat a good deal easier. Line of battle was formed, and we advanced a quarter of a mile or more, coming to a halt near the edge of a nice open woods. Arms were stacked and the order, "Rest!" was given.
The day was warm and bright, and matters seemed so settled and peaceful that nearly all of us threw off our accoutrements and scattered. Reports soon came that there was a couple of farmhouses not far off to the left and front. Another report said, a flock about fifteen sheep were just beyond the woods. Several of Co. A, and a lot of others, took their rifles and started off to forage. One of our chaps soon came back with a pair of chickens, and offered to share with me if I could raise a kettle large enough to cook them in. They were a prize, though far from corpulent. I found a fellow that had a gallon kettle and willing to go in with us, so the fowls were quickly over a fire. Meanwhile the musket-firing off to the front had got right lively, and some one remarked that there must be a hundred of those sheep or some other stock out there. We were the extreme right of the line. Soon the firing got close to the left, and we saw the men rush for their pieces in the wildest haste. The owner of the chickens seized the kettle and he and the owner flew to the rear, while I and others dashed to the stacks in front for our rifles and equipments. In five minutes a hot fight at close quarters was raging all along the line, except in front of us. Fully one fourth of our regiment were absent from their places in the ranks, and only a third of the officers stuck to their places in line. Bullets sung about us very sharply, but we held our places and our fire till the foe should come near. Only a skirmish line showed up, and while waiting for a good shot, a bullet tore the bark off of a small tree that partly covered me, close to my head. The force of rebels that had attacked us so impetuously, outnumbered us, and had it not been that some of our artillery had been advantageously placed in time, would probably have given us a fearful rout. As it was they were repulsed gallantly, and the action was pretty much over in less than an hour. The regiment lost eleven in killed and wounded, but none belonged to our company, though our absentees did not turn up till the next day. Every other regiment in the division lost more than ours, I believe.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #48 p.1]
The episode of the chicken I had, but lost so unexpectedly and suddenly reminds me of another, characteristic of those times, that I will relate. Of course our recruits by this time, were expert and well-tried soldiers, but they could not read the signs about them, and exercise the subtle intuition that was so natural to us veterans. The movement of a column of cavalry, a few shots on the picket-[line] or riding to and fro of staff officers, were signs of the greatest portent to us sometimes, while at other times we viewed them with the utmost unconcern. Experience had taught us to understand our circumstances in relation to these things wonderfully well. Perhaps we would be taking it easy at what seemed a safe distance in the rear, and two or three of the recruits would be fussing about a small fire, trying to make some coffee or a small stew, or toast some hard-tack, when an old soldier, who had perceived some far off sign of coming trouble, would remark, "If you fellows want that stuff, you had better get it in you pretty quick, for we'll have to get out of this pretty soon." Or may he would say: "You roosters better drop that and get your things on; there's going to be h--l here directly;" and it was apt to turn out somewhat as he had indicated.
While I have been thinking of that chicken that I wanted so much and did not get, another circumstance, a different sort of an episode, has come to my mind. My action in this matter, thought it was contrary to the direct command of my superiors, was of a kind that secured to me the strongest regard of my immediate comrades. I believe it was two or three nights previous to crossing the North Anna, that a large portion of the 5th Corps, including ourselves, bivouacked in a sort of mass in a small valley or basin. It was dark when we got there, and though we seemed to be away from the front and sheltered, bullets came humming among us frequently and several were hit. It was confounded mysterious and bothered us not a little. However, by 10 o'clock this ended, and nearly everybody was asleep. About midnight I was awakened by a messenger from our adjutant [sc. Benjamin Tayman], and ordered to send a corporal and two men toward the ammunition train and bring cartridges enough to make up sixty rounds to each man in the regi- [p.2]ment. He said the wagon was close by, and indicated the direction. I spread my opinion at once, by saying that we had from thirty-five to forty rounds a piece now, and the men were too much worn to be burdened with more; beside the fact that we had never needed as much as was in our boxes in any one fight. The night was pretty dark, and thinking I could right the matter I took my detail and started myself, instead of sending a corporal. When we had gone a hundred yards I halted and instructed them that we would scatter and search for the wagon awhile, but, at the same time, would do our best not to find it. After moving about for twenty minutes or more I whistled for them, and we went back to the regiment to report our failure to find the cartridges, but finding all hands asleep, we turned in too. In the morning, there was a little fuss made by the adjutant and colonel, but we got clear of carrying the extra stuff, much to our satisfaction.
Leaving the North Anna we made a sort of detour southward, and came around to the Pamunkey River, in the vicinity of Hanovertown, I believe. [28 May 1864] This was a woody country, and I did not see any indications of a town, but that was not strange, as Virginia seemed to be full of placed that had a great deal of name but very little else that was visible to identify them by.
From peaceful Pamunkey we went across to a place near Beaver Dam Station, on the Richmond and Fredericksburg Railroad. Here we were in line of battle, and began to put up breastworks near a picket-line. The rebel and Union pickets were making it hot for each other, and bullets flew around among us as we worked in the woods, in a very discomforting style. We soon left here, and for several days subsequently I cannot recall our doings in anything like systematic order.
One day we marched cooly along in some low woods in front of a rebel battery that was firing into it at very close range. One of the shots scattered the brains of a comrade of Co. E, and soon afterward we had to cross a road where the rebel sharpshooters made it very unhealthy. [perhaps Alexander Baird, who was killed on 1 June 1864] We rushed across, a few at a time, but several of the regiment were struck.
One hot day we were in a breastwork in the woods near the Mechanicsville Road, and all was quiet except a little picket firing. Shortly after noon came a terrific storm of rain and thunder, that lasted an hour or so. When this was about over our regiment, alone, got into line, and we moved off a little distance to the rear and to the edge of the road, where there was a very large field. All firing had ceased during the rain, but as we moved off it began again, and seemed to increase rapidly. We soon saw that something extraordinary had happened. Men of different regiments and brigades came rushing to the rear in a way that betokened a panic, and directly it seemed that every regiment of our 1st and 2d Divisions must be in confusion and danger of rout except ours. A Union battery came up at a gallop, and took position near us. We remained quietly in line under a suspense that became terrible, when a few minutes later a piece of rebel artillery was run up along the road near our flank and began to blaze away, sending shells right along our line. Overhanging limbs near them kept the enemy from getting a direct range on us, which was our good fortune, as our position was such that a well-directed shot might have killed fifty of us, as we did not even lie down. Two shells passed a little above us, and then one came that seemed to fairly fan our faces. One bursted [sic] near the left of the regiment and wounded several, and another went fearfully near a group of mounted officers, composed of General Griffin and his staff.
Remaining passive and in line under such circumstances was an ordeal that tested the mettle of the boys pretty thoroughly, but they held their placed like heroes. However, quietness came again in a little while, and we found out more of what had happened. During the storm the rebels had arranged an attack on the line held by our division, and when they came, their rush was so unexpected and impetuous as to nearly surprise our troops, who were principally engaged in trying to dry their blankets and tents. They captured some of our pickets and some of our breastworks, but the veterans of the 5th Corps were a hard lot to rout. They rallied so quickly and made it so hot for the foe that they fell back without us having suffered very heavy loss. Two or three days later our brigade manoeuvred about all day on a dilapidated farm, and men who climbed tall trees said they could see the spires of Richmond.
When night came we made a sort of forced march in the other direction, though we had not seen a sign of the enemy. About this time our captain [sc. Francis Gregory] took command again. He had been with the army for two weeks or more, but had not joined us, pleading sickness or some other excuse that was very frail as the reason. It was commonly said that he kept away to avoid going under fire. About this time, too, came peremptory orders that every man must carry sixty rounds of ammunition. I protested, saying the men could not keep up with more load; and the order was so modified that we were allowed to throw them away rather than fall out. Of course, all above forty rounds was soon disposed of.
Days sped by and we kept moving along till we got to the neighborhood of Cold Harbor. There, that morning, upon which nearly all of the Army of the Potomac was engaged in the bloody and futile charge on the adjacent rebel fortifications, that were so formidable, we were lying around in a loose sort of a fashion, a safe distance to the rear. Part of our division was engaged, and as far as I know, our regiment was the most unconcerned of any. Myself and several others went and had a swim in a mill-dam, having no idea that our army had received a worse than Fredericksburg repulse, through worse than Fredericksburg generalship. This was about the 6th of June, and about this time our regiment was transferred from the 2d to the 1st Division, of the 5th Corps, becoming part of the 1st Brigade. [They changed brigades on 9 June 1864.]
As time kept its course, we meandered about the Peninsula with the rest of the army, and saw some of the country made famous by McClellan's great campaign. We crossed the Chickahominy [13 June 1864] and York River Railroad, and were near Bottom's Bridge and other places whose names belong to the history of the early part of the war. By the middle of June, without more fighting, we were down near Charles City Court House and the James River. [They reached the James River on 14 June 1864] June 16th steam transports carried us over to the south bank, and we realized pretty fully that the mighty work that was to be accomplished towards the destruction of the Confederacy by Butler's army, while we were giving Lee's command so much entertainment, had fizzled down to about nothing. How gloomy and dispirited the army felt at this time I had no means of knowing, but it did seem as though some spirit of misfortune that was dire, pitiless and relentless, held us in close alliance in all our campaigns in eastern Virginia.
In the late operations between the Rapidan and the James we, as a company and a regiment, had been favored, but we were sure, nevertheless, that our experiences had been terrible. The strain of battle, hunger, heat, thirst, dangerous and wearisome vigils and marches, by night and by day, had somewhat cowed the spirits of Co. A, though the old buoyant and devil-may-care air still clung to us still. Few of us figured on the sick list, and I was as sturdy as the best of them. Holding a position that relieved me of picket and guard duty, came very nice at times, and helped to reconcile me to the non-possession of the commission that had been due me for the past sixteen months. I still had no stripes on to show my rank, and had the black slouch hat and blue jacket that I began the campaign with. I carried a knapsack, but you may be sure it was a light one. With us the matter of lightening our load and reducing our personal luggage had been brought down to dots. Few carried knapsack, blanket, overcoat or plate. Several carried no extra clothing whatever. At times we were hard up for a chance to wash clothes, but I am sure we were never counted as lacking in the honor of cleanliness.
One of our recruits came in from a foraging trip one day, bringing the lower half of a three quart coffee pot. It had a wire bale to lift it by, and had been used by some rebel soldier, I expect. It struck me that coffee or soup would boil quicker in it than in the deeper, narrower cups we generally used, so I begged it or traded for it, and for several months cooked in it and carried it slung to my haversack, where it often drew droll comments from the boys. How I would prize that old section of coffee pot if some chance should put it in my possession again. I believe I could recognize it among all the cups and kettles that both armies used in Virginia. It was a scallawag sort of utensil, that was so lacking in style, but how many meals of stewed meat, or crackers, or soup or coffee, did I have from it, that went down with that relish that a good appetite gives. Few of us had need to be ashamed of our cooking when our limited facilities were considered. I carried no plate, but had knife, fork and spoon, of a very light patter, that locked together when not in use.
Co. A, taken altogether, were not only expert soldiers in company, battalion or zouave drill, the routine of camps and hostile campaigns, but in the minutia of what can be done to palliate the harshness of military life under the most trying conditions, and help them take such care of themselves that they should remain as effective combatants in the ranks. Nor do I want any body to infer that our obscure regiment was not up to the standard of efficiency that characterized other city regiments. I have good reason to blieve [sic] it was decidedly above that standard, and that soldiers from the cities were the best troops in the service.
We had a short rest on the south bank of the James, and then in the night, moved back across the country till we neared Petersburg, not far from what soon became well known as Cemetery Hill. Our position here was near the 9th Corps. There did not seem to be much going on in the early morning, but we soon learned there had been hot work there on the previous day. I think it was near the middle of the forenoon when our brigade advanced, being formed in line of battle, soon passing a line of our troops that were occupying the first line of rebel defenses. The country was undulating and pretty much cleared. A field from which the grain had been harvested was in front of us, and we moved briskly across it, quickly drawing a salute from a Confederate picket-line, that then fell back. On we went, and directlly [sic] our regiment came to a short railroad cut, some twelve or fourteen feet deep. This stumped us for a moment, but we sprang into it and with a good deal of agility mounted to the other side. [21] Here we came to a halt because the rest of the brigade had ceased to advance. Just in front of us was a small valley and creek, and then a steep rise in the ground for a couple of hundred yards or more. All along the creek was a strong line of breastwork, strongly occupied. In front of the brigade these works were in a line that represented nearly a quarter of a circle, so that in advancing we would encounter an enfilading fire on each flank, as well as a deadly fire in front. The force we had there was fearfully inadequate to charge such a position. There we remained in line, mostly lying flat, for a half hour or longer. Our company was the right of the line and a good deal exposed, so that rebel sharpshooters made it very uncomfortable for us. A comrade of Co. F was killed beside me, [22] and a member of an Ohio regiment, whose presence we could not account for, but who was very close to my place, died instantly, many of us hearing the thud of the bullet as it entered his scull [sic]. We could do no effective firing in return, and after a half dozen more had been struck, we got out of this trying position, moving to a sheltered position a little to the left. Some other troops came over, and after some hours delay a new line was formed, after which "forward!" was the order once more. We knew desperate work was ahead of us, but on we went. As soon as we got to the creek or began to ascend the rise, we encountered a very sharp infantry and artillery fire. Our line was still so short that both flanks were terribly exposed. The left of the line soon wavered, halted, and I think, fell back a little. We, on the right, pressed on, several companies of us being favored somewhat by a depression in the ground that we had to move over. We quickly saw that our charge was broken, and down we lay as flat as we could get. We were not much more than a hundred yards from the rebel works. I believe the enemy was badly worn out and felt the need of husbanding their ammunition, or they would have made us get out of that. We were in constant danger, but we stuck like heroes. One of our young recruits, a son of a regimental chaplain, lost his arm, and another received a deadly bullet in the head. Many were struck as the hours wore on, and glad were we when the hot sun went down and the stars began to peep.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #. 49 p.1]
The battle of the 18th of June had ended. As soon as darkness came we went back, a few at a time, and bringing up rails and whatever else could be found, to start a breastwork, crawled forward and put them in place; thus establishing so close to the enemy the line of fortification that menaced them so long. Here, at this very spot, was where the tunneling and mining was done, that resulted in the demolition of a rebel fort nearly opposite later in the summer.
In little squads, too, we went down in to the hollow to make coffee and have a sort of supper; many of us having eaten scarcely anything since the early morning. By eleven o'clock quiet reigned all along the line, and our sentinels having crawled forward to their placed a few paces in advance, we settled ourselves to try for a little sleep. Each of us lay with all our harness on, and our rifles right at our hands. Ours was a very ticklish position, being so near the enemy's works and on ground he knew so well, a strong rally might be made on us in the darkness, and we be defeated in spite of ourselves.
We were still the extreme right of the line, and resting with our flank in the "air," as the saying is. I anchored myself a little to the rear of the company, and our first lieutenant came and lay close beside me. Soon after midnight there came a sudden commotion and excitement, and word flew along that the "rebs" were crossing their works to charge us. The darkness prevented us from seeing more than twenty paces or so, but each man promptly grabbed his rifle and scrambled to his place behind our little barricades, except me. At the first instant of the alarm the lieutenant had aroused, seized my piece and got into line. So when I started up and found him and my musket gone, and that a fierce fight in the dark was the immediate prospect, I took to my heels and ran to the rear. Away I went for a hundred yards and then waited for the action to begin. Only a few scattering shots were heard, and directly I was back with the boys. All hands had been too intent on watching the front to notice my departure or return.
In the early morning we were relieved by other troops, and went to the rear and left to rest in the shelter [of a] railway cut. The 18th of June had been a trying and bloody day with us. Our regimental loss, in killed and wounded, was over eighty, or very nearly one-third of all that were present. Our company lost its share, and twice during the day did I hear the bullets thud as it entered a comrade's skull. All day we rested in hot discomfort from the weather, while the picket and sharpshooters' fire added a worse discomfort to the lives of those who had taken our places on the front.
June the 20th found us still lying in the cut, and the same sort of firing was going on. Bullets often came singing or humming over us, but could not reach us if we stayed near our places. Towards noon the sun got very hot and there was no breeze, so myself and a comrade named Wood [probably Edward Wood], mounted the bank to lie in the shade of some bushes. We had taken our ease for an hour or more, when a bullet from the front drove with terrific force against the blade of my left shoulder. Wood heard it, and asked me, as I turned over, if I was struck. I told him I thought the shot had gone into my lungs, and asked him to probe the hole with his finger to find its depth. The holes made in my jacket and shirt were quite large, but he found none leading into my body. When I thought the bullet had lodged in my lungs, I at once considered the chance of getting over it, and taking into account the hot weather and my worn down condition, concluded the probabilities were decidedly against me. Up we got and went down to the company, where I stripped. It was found that the shot had glanced downward from the shoulder blade, across the spine, giving that a scrape, and then found its way out of my clothes. The missile was of lead nearly two inches long, with very blunt point. It struck me lengthwise and with the power of a stout fellow smiting me with a fence rail.
For several days my lungs were sore from the shock. Our surgeon was at the brigade hospital, a half mile off, so I was advised to go over there to have the wound dressed. The shortest route led over some high, open ground that the rebel sharpshooters could reach. I ventured it and got over safely in spite of several undesired attentions. The The [sic] doctor fixed me up, and being admonished to be more careful in the future, I went back to the command.
Along in the afternoon we moved farther to the left and rear, and finding myself considerably crippled, I rested my rifle against a bush and abandoned it. I did not expect to do any fighting until I got better, and then I would probably be able to pick up another "shooter" somewhere. Then the brigade moved out towards the front again and "felt" the enemy a little, and seemed to make him quite lively for a while. The regiment held an advanced and somewhat isolated position, and I believe when night came, half of it went on picket, while the other half as a reserve bivouacked behind a little barricade in a patch of woods. In the meantime I was taking care of myself, at a pretty safe distance to the rear. I say "a pretty safe distance," because I recollect so well how "tarnal uncertain" how much of the country we soldiered through was in regard to furnishing anything like a genuine refuge. At all seasons of the year, or at any hour of the day or night we were liable to the harrassments of the foe. We might be punctured, or mangled, or "gobbled," without a minute's warning, and it would be nothing strange.
In the morning [probably 21 June] our regiment and a lot of other troops manoeuvred about and stirred up the rebels again. I went forward to learn more about the racket, and getting into a large field, was made the recipient of some attentions from the Johnies, that were more direct than pleasing. I feel back in good order to a small piece of pine woods, but had scarcely arrived there when one of the enemy's batteries made things howl and rip in that particular locality. I held the place, however, and the cannonade soon ceased. Late in the afternoon the regiment came back and camped close by. In the operation of this and the previous day, it had lost several by wounds, but none were killed, I believe. In this camp we remained from the 23d of June till the 20th of July. We were on open ground, and the weather being sultry and dry, crotched posts were put up along each street of the camp, and a lattice-work of crossed poles being formed overhead, covered thickly with boughs, we were shaded for a time in a way that was very agreeable. Our location was about two miles south-west of Petersburg, and three-quarters of a mile south-east of the Jerusalem plank road, at the point that afterward became so celebrated as the location of Fort Hell.
Our second sergeant and I tented together, and having elevated our shelter tent a little, we made a bunk of pine poles and branches, that we often rested on while we read or discussed the affairs of the nation. Meanwhile the troops on the front were extending and perfecting that strong line of earthworks close to the enemy's that was to be one of the prominent features of that great siege. Details of our regiment and other commands near by were invited to exercise with the pick and shovel, and a strong fort was soon visible in the rear of our camp.
The abrasion on my shoulder and spine where the bullet struck me healed rapidly, but as it got well, I began to suffer from a peculiar nervous disorder, that neither disabled me nor allowed me to feel well enough to do a soldier's duty. This was a burning and twitching sensation in the feet and legs, accompanied with lassitude, though my appetite continued good.
Two or three of the redoubts along the rebel line could reach us with their guns, and one in a while would send a little iron over to plague us, but the effect was small. Two-thirds of July had soon sped away, and the regiment went on the front line again. It was over a little distance towards the Jerusalem road, and for several days kept shifting about.
Nothing extraordinary seemed to impend, so I went back and put up again in the camp under the arbor. Division headquarters was near, and a detail from our company was on duty there, while others were often passing, so that I was not lonely. A mining operation began to be talked about, that was being conducted by the 48th Pennsylvania. This [work was only a little more] than a quarter of a mile to the right of us, and behind the very breastwork that our company had established so near the rebels on the 18th of June. The object of the mine was to blow up a strong redoubt and battery the Confederates had opposite. We knew this involved considerable time, work and secrecy, but a new hope came to us that the sirocco of our misfortunes might have spent itself at last, and the strong attack to made [sic] in connection with the explosion might be so successful that Petersburg and Richmond might fall, and the war speedily come to a close.
The hour set for the denouement was known to us, so at daybreak, on the morning of July 30th, I started to be with the boys, and see and do what I might in the emergency. I found that Co. A and Co. F., I think, had been sort of crowded out of the breastworks, and were lying back a little distance, and something nearer the fated fort than the rest of the regiment. They were huddled together in what they called a bomb-proof. This was a hole dug out something like a cellar, and roofed with logs and earth. The cause of this was that the rebels, several days before, had set a battery of two mortars in a hole in the field back of their works opposite, and had been sending shells over occasionally, nearly the size of a man's head. When one of them would sink into the ground and explode, a cartload of dirt would go flying about, and they were most discomforting devils to hear, high over head, going flit, flit, flit, as they turned over and spit fire. When a piece of artillery banged at us, we knew about where to expect its missle [sic], but when one of those things were hurled on its curving way, there was an aggravating uncertainty about whom it was most likely to drop on. Our bomb-proof was much too frail for what was expected of it, but as no very serious mischief had been done us yet, the fellows had lost a good deal of their dread of the things. The 91st Regiment's position on the front line was close to the extreme right of the 5th Corps. Next to our brigade came the division of colored troops, attached to the 9th Corps.
Only a few minutes remained when I got to the company before the fort was to go up. The arrangements were being discussed, and I think no shrewd soldier among us approved of the colored troops making the initial charge or attack. It was not to be supposed that they could keep Lee's army divided or whip it, and capture Petersburg. We were willing the darkies should have their full share of the dangers and hardships of the war, but we wanted neither to fight ahead of them or support them. They had not much experience; our faith in them was weak, and we wanted their share of the service kept as distinct from ours as circumstances would allow.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #50 p.1]
The mine was now to be exploded. The artilleryman stood to their guns in the redoubts along our line, but we of the infantry had not been ordered to fall in when the minute arrived that had been set for the firing of the train. There was some depression in the ground where we lay, so that we could not see well off in the vicinity of the entrance to the mine, although we had a good view of the parapet of the doomed forts from the top of our bomb-proof, where several of us lay to watch for results. We kept our eyes strained, but thirty or forty long minutes got away and a quietness almost oppressive still reigned. We marvelled at the delay and were fearing the attempt had ended in an egregious failure, when there came a heavy thud, and immense masses of the rebel earthwork were hurled upward and tumbled over. Smaller fragments of various kind mounted higher in the air, and a cloud of dust nearly obscured the place as our artillery in the vicinity drove their shot into the enemy's works all along. A tornado of destruction struck the rebels with the suddenness of a flash. Scarcely a man of them had been astir; so the surprise was complete and demoralizing. Some of their pickets rushed into our lines, and their breastwork near the mine was abandoned. Again our eyes were strained, expecting to see our colored comrades go surging across the wreck of the redoubt. A long ten minutes passed away, our artillery slackened its fire, but no blue-clad infantry appeared in the gap. We looked at each other in wonder and dismay, for we felt that some infernal insubordination or incompetency was blasting a more than golden opportunity.
Not less than twenty minutes, though I feel sure a half hour or more had gone before the sound of musketry over there told us the charge had been made. Plenty of time had been given the foe to prepare a deadly reception for the attacking force. Again our artillery thundered at their line of works, and the fight went on under our very noses, as it were, and we, lying about taking it easy. We could not see fast how the contest was going, but in less than an hour the racket had ceased, and we knew that one more disaster to our cause had reached its consummation. We knew [p.2] too, that as usual, the subalterns who endured the suffering, were not to blame. Reports of the whole affair were soon among us. We heard that the commands were sent over without definite instruction, and got mixed and disorganized in and about the "crater." It was said the enemy attacked them from three sides, and our artillery fired into them. Harassed and confused, they made but a slight resistance. Many were shot down where they stood or in trying to get back to our lines. Some were captured, and at once shot by their malignant foes. It was a sickening and villainous affair in nearly all its aspects; sickening in the butchery that took place; villainous in the neglect and stupidity of the high officers of our army, who could have easily made it a brilliant success.
Many dead and wounded lay between the lines, but covered by rebel guns; no one dare approach them as they fairly scorched beneath the fierce summer sun. Night came at last, and though the enemy was intensely vigilant, several of the wounded managed to roll or drag themselves to succor or safety. Another day came and still the wounded and dead sweltered in the sun. This made the bodies so foul that the odor became sickening to all in the vicinity. On the morning of the third day the rebels agreed to their burial, so, seeing a flag of truce flying up at the ruins, our captain asked me if I would walk over with him. I went. A detail from the 9th Corps had dug long, shallow trenches, and the horrible work of dragging the bodies--mangled, bloated, foul and wormy together was going on. Surely this was war in its most awful aspect, and a sight never to be forgotten. A few of the enemy stood upon their works as sort of unconcerned spectators of the progress of the interment. I believe it was a day or two after this, when the rest of the regiment having been withdrawn from the front line, we made another camp, in which we spent several weeks. [probably 3 or 4 August.] This was the most remarkable resting-place of our soldier days. A quarter of a mile to the left, on the high ground forty yards in rear of one of the main redoubts, far from shade and water, we put up our little homes. We were so exposed as to make an excellent target for the four rebel batteries from the Jerusalem Plank Road to the "crater." Rebel riflemen could easily reach us from their works; some heavy guns had us in easy range from Cemetery Hill, and the infernal mortar battery could plump shell among us besides. How was that for giving us a chance for an enjoyable existence? In the midst of this multitude of dangers there was safety; not a man was killed that I know of. When the camp was new the officers wanted the men to make a large bomb-proof, but the weather was hot and the work lagged, so that it never was quite finished, and rarely had any occupants.
However obscure as an organization we may have been in the Union army, we were certainly far from obscure to the enemy at this time. How this could be may seem strange, but their batteries on the front never bothered us; neither did any sharpshooters. The big guns on the hill fired a few shots in our direction to intimidate fort builders that were at work in our rear. The mortars were trained against the darkies, but when they opened, our artillery made the dirt fly around that hole in the field, so that very few shots were fired. In fact we were treated with an amount of consideration calculated to make us feel quite proud and contented. Thought our little camp was a continuous challenge to the enemy and we were unmolested, matters were very different with the colored troops a few hundred yards to our right. The rebels were continually on the alert to annoy and injure them, so much so, that they had to live below ground almost continually.
One day the battery near us opened on some rebel entrenchers up near Fort Hell, when, by standing at the breech of the piece and watching intently along the range, we could see the flying shot when it got several hundred yards away. Most of the shots fell short, and those that made big rips in the ground near the diggers seemed to disconcert them very little. Details of our men spent several days out in that direction, extending and strengthening our works. I fooled about with them one day, and came very near being struck by a section of a shell that came humming along. Reminders of this kind were very common about that neighborhood then, and continued to be for the next six months.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #51 p.1]
From near Fort Hell, along towards the Union right, or the James River, our entrenchments and earthworks were so close to the enemy's that we could easily call over to them. This sort of diversion was not allowed, but over in front of us was a little ravine where the pickets met on the sly to do a little trading in coffee, tobacco, newspapers and other comforts. It is said, too, that the "blue and the gray," on more than one occasion at this place, entertained each other with a "little game of euchre."
As the autumn approached we became well aware of the impoverished and forlorn condition of our foes, and opposite our front occurred the first of a series of night forays, that continued through the fall and winter in that vicinity. Our pickets, when they went on the line, usually took haversacks with a lot of rations, canteens, blankets, overcoats or pieces of tent, to increase their comforts. Late in the night a lot of rebels would get together and make a sort of a sally on our fellows, and, if they succeeded in making them fall back, would advance far enough to get any property that might have been left and then scoot back. Of course there was considerable danger in trying to play this caper on veteran troops, but it succeeded sometimes, and their necessities were great.
Menaced by many dangers in and around our arid little camp, we kept the sun-browned tenor of our existence as even as we might, and had few on the sicklist. About the 20th of August we gathered our things together and took them again to the old camp where we had put up the arbors. There was [sic] some indications of a bigger move being on hand, so we fixed up very little. On the morning of the 22d the regiment, with the rest of our division and other troops, moved off to the left. [The attack on Weldon Railroad actually began on 18 August.] I told them I thought they were going around to strike the Weldon Railroad, and such was the case. A detour of several miles brought them to the road, which was quickly torn up and its line occupied and fortified with very little fighting. I did not go with them as I still continued to feel badly. That afternoon or the following day other troops moved out, principally of the 9th Corps, I believe, to form a junction with our division, and make our main line continuous. They had to do some sharp fighting, [p.2] but repulsed the rebels at every point.
Two days after the movement began, I concluded I wanted to join the boys again, so I started leisurely out along the rear of the new line. I came to a spot where a field hospital had been the day before, and in stepping over a little gully noticed right under me a pile of amputated arms and legs. They were a saddening and a sickening sight. On I went, and when I was but a little distance back of where the regiment lay, a fight of the most lively kind suddenly began. It seems Lee had determined on a big effort to recapture the railroad, and this impetuous attack by a large force was the result. They struck part of our brigade and the brigade to the right of ours, and were soon repulsed. Their loss in killed and wounded were [sic] severe. They also lost several hundred as prisoners and several flags, while our loss was slight. When cannon shot began to rip around me I selected a big pine tree to sit behind until the racket should be over. The sudden and unexpected opening of this entertainment caught a lot of teams and teamsters, officers' servants, musicians and other non-combatants, right up to the front, and the skedaddle they made was a sight to behold. Thirty or forty minutes sufficed for the storm of flight to spend itself, and then I went forward and found Co. A in good condition, having suffered no loss.
Our position, which we occupied for several weeks, was a little to the left of the large building that soon became well known as the "Yellow House." Our little shelter tents were soon up in proper order, and the woods cleared away and a small breastwork put up to protect our rear. The picket-line in front was a quarter of a mile out, beyond a dense thicket, and those of us who remained in camp could rest in much more security than at any time since we first attacked Petersburg.
While we were at this place the last spasm in reference to "Our Old Commander, Little Mac," went through the army. This was a scheme to present him with a very handsome testimonial, but who its projectors were I did not learn. I think twenty thousand dollars or more was to be raised, by allowing each field officer and line officer and each subaltern to subscribe a strictly limited amount. I think it did not strike our regiment for a cent, and so far as I was able to find out, it soon ended in a miserable fizzle throughout.
Washington and Philadelphia papers reached us regularly, and aside from the war news, matters in connection with politics and the Sanitary Commission, were most frequently commented on. Of course, for a couple of years past, we had been getting stationery, thread and other small conveniences, as well as Testaments and tracts occasionally from the Christian Commission. Our men were inclined to be too proud to go for these things, or show anything like fraternity with the sanctimonious. Toward the Sanitary Commission we felt different. We had seen its good work about the hospitals, and when we read of the immense quantities of good eatables that it had sent, or would send down for the soldiers on the front, our mouths watered, and our government rations became less palatable. I think it was only nine or ten miles from our position to City Point, where these supplies were landed, but that was a long way for extras to come. These things seemed to be distributed on the principle of serving those first who were handiest, and by the time the hospitals and convalescents, doctors and their aids, general officers and their staffs, quartermasters and their assistants, and a horde of hangers-on and plunderers about the Point were supplied, there remained a slim showing for the worthy fighters that were on the distant front and flanks. It seemed that sanitary grub reached us something like prize-money reaches the subalterns in the navy, as described by the sailor, who said: "The cash was shook about a ladder, the officers [sic] share being all that did not happen to stick." We did get something though. One time each of us got two or three little mackerel, and they were good. Another time we received a peach, and though the fruit was not extra good, it was an extraordinary article of army supply. We got some potatoes and onions once or twice, and we prized the onions above all the rest, as they were such a change.
Everyone of us had to feel some interest in the political contest going on in the North, with Lincoln and McClellan as leaders. "Little Mac" had several outspoken friends in the regiment, and of course, with them, the war was a failure and the South unconquerable. There was none of them in Co. A. Even our little corporal [sc. Simeon Zane], that had been nicknamed for him, no longer raised his voice in his favor. In fact, our fellows were very reserved, and I scarcely knew how they would vote, or whether they would vote if they had a chance. I told them that if the Democrats thought our armies were whipped, that my opinion was quite different, and that I believed that Co. A, of the 91st, would be willing to stir the rebels up several times more, before they would consent to give up to them Fort Monroe, or the country about Washington, with other posts and districts that we had fought them out of.
A peculiar incident connected with this matter and our company, happened about this time. When Co. C was first forming a man joined it that was called Bob Gray. He was then about fifty-six years old, though he had to represent himself as much younger to be accepted. He was tall, active, touch, grizzly and slouchy. Gambling and liquor drinking was [sic] not his sins, but he was a great eater and swore right along with a "rip tearing volubility." He was a kicker against discipline, for though he wanted to do his share of duty, he wanted to insist on doing it at such times and in such proportions as he thought fair. Except in age, our pious colonel [sc. Edgar Gregory] was an extremely different sort of a man, yet as soon as the companies came together in camp, Bob Gray became his protege, and "old Bob" soon realized that in him he had a friend that would ease his way out of most any scrape. Co. C worried along with him for more than two years, and then came the period of re-enlistment. He had been in fights and none challenged his bravery. He had been captured, having been one of the guards left with the wagon that I was sent to rescue from Snickers' Gap, and had gone through much the same captive experiences as I had. He had been among soldiers a good deal, but had not become much of a soldier himself. His military vicissitudes, various and trying as they had been, did not satisfy his patriotism, but he was determined to enlist again, whether he was wanted or not. Not only that, but he was coming into Co. A, and with the backing of the colonel, he did in spite of us. We got along with him pretty smoothly, my greatest trouble being to get him in presentable order for the frequent sharp inspections that took place, when we lay in camp. Bob had come safely through, and was with us in our camp on the Weldon Railroad. Our colonel's brigade of new troops had its headquarters near, and occasionally Bob would stroll off in that direction. If the colonel happened to notice him near his tent, he was apt to call him in to have a talk. One day I noticed him coming back, and asked him if he had been to see his friend. Coming close to me, he broke out with: "Say! the old bugger wants me to vote for Lincoln."
I said, "Well, Bob, don't that suit?"
He hesitated for a moment, and then exclaimed, "D--n if I ever voted for a man yet for a big office but what he was defeated, and I'm going to vote for McClellan, and I'll know he's beaten then, from the first."
"Have it your own way," I said, and thought no more about it at the time.
Sure enough, when election day came, Bob carried out his plan, and his was the only Democratic ballot cast by the company. Twenty-six of the others, I believe, voted for Lincoln, while a dozen or more (principally of our recruits) remained neutral. More than a third of the company were absent, sick, or wounded, or on duty at army or division headquarters, but the "home vote" proved the boys were neither for surrender or compromise, and as I look back to those times that were so fraught with great trials and dangers, I cannot help thinking that the action of my comrades in that election makes a particularly bright spot in their long and good record.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.3 #52 p.1]
Prior to the election day, I think it was the 30th of September when the regiment packed up once more, and with the brigade and other troops, started off to bear their share in a movement around and beyond the extreme left. I had been taking medicine all along, but was feeling no better, so I did not go with them. Several of the quartermaster's gang, a few teamsters and others were about, so that I was not alone. I believe it was at this time that a force of rebel cavalry raided around us, and got among a large drove of our beef cattle that were near the James River, a short distance below City Point. [23] It seems that we had no available troopers to make it lively for them just then, and as they were leisurely returning, part of them came forward to near our part of the line. There was [sic] woods all along a short distance to the rear, and some teams that had been out for fuel came in on a run and reported the enemy close by. Every man about who could arm himself hurried to the breastworks, and though we were about twenty paces apart, I am sure we would have given them quite a "racket" before we would have allowed them to break through. They did not show up, however, but I have remembered these circumstances as going to prove the superb effectiveness of our army, for all seemed to act like good soldiers at once without a command.
The following day as I lay in my tent the staff surgeon of Colonel Gregory's Brigade rode up and told me that he had been sent back to send me to the hospital. The colonel, while riding by the regiment missed me, and on inquiry, was told that I had stayed back sick. The regimental doctor said he was not aware that much ailed me, when our first lieutenant, who was on Gregory's staff, spoke out said [sic] said that he did not care what the doctors said, if I said I was sick, that was enough; so the surgeon had his long ride back to camp. I reluctantly bundled up my dunnage [?] and took a ride over that curious up and down hill railroad that had been built to bring supplies up to the left of the Union lines from City Point.
At the Point I reported at the hospital, and was surprised on the following morning to see our captain [sc. Francis Gregory] come walking into the ward. He was ailing too, and had succeeded in [p.2] getting away from the dangerous front. About the same time the surgeons received directions to clear out the hospital as far as possible, so they would have the needed room in case the movement then going on resulted in some hard fighting. In the afternoon myself and a hundred or so of the others, were put on a nice steamer and started for Washington. We had a pleasant trip down the James River and up the Potomac, but my forebodings were not so agreeable, for I knew I was going among strangers, and that I had not the appearance of one that needed a physician.
I could scarcely hope to receive careful treatment, or to escape suspicion, ridicule, or insult, for all manner of subterfuge was practiced at times, by both officers and men, to get away from the tribulations and dangers incident to facing the enemy. The shrewdest of the surgeons and hospital attendants were frequently at their wits end to tell whether a man was playing off to escape being sent to the front, or was really a fit subject for their attention.
Early the following afternoon our boat was made fast to the wharf at the foot of Seventh street; some ambulances were there to receive the worst cases, and they were soon in and away. No one seemed concerned about me, and I was left to walk up through the city, and make my way out to Harewood Hospital, where I learned the others had been sent. Harewood, I think, was nearly a mile north of the suburbs, in a pleasant location, with country surrounding. I judge it was not more than half full at that time. I was assigned to a nice bed in one of the wards occupied chiefly by convalescents, and went to the general dining-room for me meals. The only thing the doctor prescribed for me was milk punch, and that I was in no wise fond of. Three or four days after my arrival in walked our late captain [sc. Francis Gregory]. He told me that his three years of service, as well as the first lieutenant's, [sc. John Brass] was ended, and they had been mustered out and were on their way home. He told me a first lieutenant's commission was in the hands of the colonel for me, and urged me to get back to the regiment as soon as I could. Thus was our company, the leading, the strongest and the best in the battalion left without a commissioned officer of its own.
My symptoms had not improved, and I felt little concern about the matter. A few days later, or about October 21st, 1864, my mother came down from Baltimore, where she was in the government service, with a transfer order, and I returned with her to the National General Hospital in that city. Here I was tolerated rather than treated as a patient, and was given a furlough to visit Philadelphia just previous to the presidential election. My home at that time was on Eleventh street below Callowhill, and my first ballot was cast for President Lincoln on Ridge avenue above Tenth street. I returned to Baltimore in the beginning of December, and a few days afterwards, was notified to go to the front. Though I was no better I did not object to go, but I did object to being sent with a guard, so I went to the chief surgeon and asked his written permission to go back to the regiment at my own expense. He said he could not give me such a document, and added that the usual way of getting back to the front was the only correct way. Such talk I knew to be falsehood and buncombe, and I left him with an intensified contempt for all officers that knew nothing beyond the rut of ordinary routine and the promptings of an extreme regard for personal safety.
Not before the following day could I make up my mind to go over to the barracks on Federal Hill to join the squad and await transportation. Several days sped away, and then the afternoon came wherein a guard took us down to the steamboat that was to take us to Fort Monroe. The boat was a pretty good one and in no wise crowded, but the night gathered around dark and stormy. Chesapeake Bay became very rough and several of us were sea-sick, and once in awhile the huge waves that dashed against us sent their crests flying over the decks and made the steamer creak and tremble from stem to stern. For us it was certainly a wretched night. Pleasant weather came again ere we reached the fort, where, after landing, we were sent back to the old Parole Camp, to stay until it was convenient to send us to City Point. We were here two or three days and had a free range of the place, but I was not feeling well and interested enough to enter the great fortress that occupied so prominent a place in the chronicles of the Rebellion.
A good steamer took us up the James River, and at City Point I was again where I could hear the boom of our heavy guns as they thundered against the enemy. I soon learned that our regiment was with a large portion of the 5th Corps that had gone on a raid down the Weldon Railroad, a long way to make a several days' trip of it. [24] It seemed that I could do no better than to go to the quarters provided for enlisted men who might have the misfortune to be detained here. These quarters were in a miserable, gloomy skeleton sort of a frame building. There were bunks in it, but no bedding, and I had no blanket. The weather had become very chilly and wet, and the grounds about the place were covered with a batter of yellow mud. I believe I bought nearly all I had to eat, and the general combination of circumstances at this time more thoroughly disgusted me with military service than ever before.
Grant's generalship, and the general familiarity with death, seemed to have placed human life at a considerable discount, while the rights of the best veteran soldier, when he was away from his company or regiment, were only on a par with those of the uniformed bummer. In fact, the bummer, with his assurance and self-assertion, frequently obtained far the most consideration.
A couple of days later I heard that our raiders had returned, so I mounted a freight car, and after a cold ride of eight or ten miles, soon found my old comrades. The military railroad at that time extended right up to that part of the line held by the 5th Corps.
The raid had been a cold, rough experience, with scarcely any fighting, and Company A suffered no loss. Most of the army was in winter quarters of some sort, but I found our fellows in a patch of stumps, with only their shelter tents for houses, and a spit of snow whitened the ground. There was a good deal of vehement language and expert "cussin" going on among the boys, because twice already they had been told to fix themselves for winter, and soon afterward had been compelled to abandon their shanties. My reception was satisfactory, however, and I was promptly taken in and made welcome to the luxuries of the camp. The following day I gave the officer commanding the regiment an account of my case, and also rehearsed it to the surgeon, telling him that I despaired of getting well in the army, and was anxious for my discharge. He gave me little hope, for at that time it was exceedingly difficult for any man that could move about to get clear of the army in a regular way, anywhere south of Washington. Next I saw our colonel [sc. Edgar Gregory], who was still commanding a brigade. After he had heard my story, he promised to aid me in getting discharged, but at the same time gave me my commission, and advised me to get mustered. This I was not disposed to do. A couple of days later we met again, and he promised to send for a captain's commission for me as soon as I was mustered as lieutenant, also saying that I could have a staff position if I desired. None of these things moved me and the matter was still in abeyance when we next met, when he gave me positive orders to delay no longer. Not until the 30th of December were his commands obeyed, and by that time I had grown pretty desperate. The [sc. 31 Dec] following morning I was detailed to go on picket, and sent the adjutant a note to say that I considered the condition of my health made it my duty to refuse to go, and that I positively would not. I was notified to consider myself in arrest, and in arrest I stayed until after Lee's surrender, when I was discharged.
In the meantime Christmas had been with us and departed, leaving no festive memories behind. We were still upon the same ground, trying to make ourselves comfortable under our adverse circumstances. Wood and water were both scarce, but matters were quiet on the front and we were safe from the mishaps of battle. There had been a distribution of little mackerel, though I cannot recall whether the Government or the Sanitary Commission issued them to us, and we were occasionally getting soft bread, so when Christmas morning came we had coffee, bread and salt fish for breakfast. At dinner time there was no spread, and at supper we filed up with that celebrated army staple, bean soup. New Year's day passed without bringing us anything more of incidents or cheer, except a gratifying improvement in the weather. Our forlorn condition during this holiday season made me think and talk more of former times when Providence was treating us more kindly. "Home" was the usual subject of the "chinning" one heard, especially among those we called our recruits. Several of the fellows told me of their late Thanksgiving Day experiences. Of the immense amount of eatables sent to the Army of the Potomac on that occasion by the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, some actually reached our company. Part of the lot consisted of several mince pies. When I asked about the quality of them, one wag declared that his piece was principally made up of the sweepings of a cobbler shop.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.4 #1 p.1]
Eighteen hundred and sixty-four became a period of the past, while those of us who read the newspapers and studied the situation in the light of the military record, knew to a certainty how low the tide of rebellion was ebbing. January of the new year passed away without bringing any important event to affect the command or myself, except that having seen [??] an advertisement of homeopathic remedies, I sent a statement of my case to New York, with money for some medicine, which soon reached me by mail. This was near the middle of the month, and nearly six months after receiving the wound in my shoulder and spine.
The sixth of February came, and with it came orders for our men to pack up again for a move. They started off to the left and rear, but the quartermaster, with several others, including myself, stayed behind where we were. Two or three days later news came of the lively cracker the boys had been through. They were around near Hatcher's Run again, and the scrimmage had been of a sort that was peculiar to this wild, woody, swampy, and otherwise abominable country. The 5th Corps seemed to have this question pretty much to itself, and the object was to regularly extend the Union lines of [?] environment. They found some rebels and some earthworks in their way, so they attacked them. Our brigade got into a dangerous position, where they could see no chance to do good, so they ran away pell-mell. The men were mad, anyhow, because for the fourth time during the winter they had been taken from their quarters on expeditions that seemed to promise no very important results. Part of the 2d Division were put in line to stop the [illegible], but they would not be halted till they were [the left part of the rest of this column is a blotch] [illegible] out of the reach of the rebel [illegible] past them. [illegible] officer killed [illegible] in the face, [illegible] Company [?] A [illegible] , same [illegible] close [illegible] As [illegible] our shame [illegible] had [illegible] on, and there [illegible] [illegible] scattered [illegible] [illegible] pair of [illegible] [illegible] that [illegible] [illegible] a better [illlegible] [p.2] were left. Another fellow picked up a tin cup and fastened it to his haversack, but before the [sic] got to the rear a rifle ball went through its bottom and ruined it.
A new extension of our earthworks and picket line was made, and as our regiment did not come back, I soon after started to hunt them, and had quite a time before I got through. By this time I was feeling very much better, but continued to take the homoeopathic medicine. The regiment was not on the front line, but the tents were up in a piece of nice, open pine woods, and as the weather was moderate, we soon made ourselves a little comfortable. Here we rested in quietness, and soon the military railroad came that way, as well as the sutler and the newspaper. Here we rested till the 29th of March, when "forward," was the command again, and we started on what proved to be our last campaign. I was now well and in good spirits, but I cannot readily recall our movements as they occurred from day to day, up to the time of the great surrender. We moved off to the left as usual, and I marched with the company until we had gone several miles, and were near a place known as Dabney's Mill. We were trampling leisurely along, being, as we supposed, the head of a column, when suddenly, not more than five hundred yards ahead of us, a furious musketry fire began. Bullets came whistling back among us, and soon orders came for our brigade to go forward on the "double quick." We soon learned that another brigade of our division had started the rumpus; and I being a non-combatant prudently fell to the rear. The captain of Co. C [sc. Joseph Gilbert], who was also under arrest, and myself, with some musicians, took possession of a deserted log cabin, and proceeded to make ourselves as cosy as we could.
The opening fight was short but quite severe on the leading brigade, the loss being a hundred or more in killed or wounded. We know that stirring and discomforting events were likely to follow with the advance, so we thought best to remain at our cabin. We got no reliable news, however, of what was going on, nor saw any of our command, nor heard any fighting, so after about three days I got very restless, and concluded I must hunt up the company. I started off alone, but soon fell in with others that were pushing for the front, and learned that Petersburg was taken and Richmond occupied by our troops. But while we were certain that these joyful events were the collapse of the Confederacy, we knew it was likely that Lee's army still existed, and might cost us great trouble and bloodshed before it could be disposed of. I think it was the afternoon of the second day when I got to the regiment, and found the boys trying to get a little rest; they had been on the go day and night, pretty much of the time since I left them. They had been under fire at Gravelly Run and Five Forks, as well as around by Dinwiddie Court House in support of General Sherman's cavalry. Rain, mud, hunger, cold and weariness had abounded with them, but otherwise they had been exceedingly fortunate. None had been killed.
The captain of Co. E [sc. Theodore Hope, who was injured on 31 March] had received a bad wound in the chest, and a dozen others received lighter wounds: two of the lightest, catching Co. A. I felt a good deal of real anxiety about the boys. Knowing that the war was very near its end, I feared that some incompetent officer or some avoidable circumstance might uselessly cause the death of some of them, and that was a result that I was very solicitous to avoid. Some of them having been nearly forty times under fire and through the hardships of nearly the whole war, I felt that it would be a double calamity if one of them should be killed now. Or more than this, I claimed that any man who had gone through the Wilderness campaign and the siege of Petersburg, ought to have his term of life extended indefinitely. I was much inclined to stay right by them, and if an emergency came of the kind I dreaded, to assume direction on my own responsibility. They had seen so much though, that it was hard to disconcert them, and from the reports that were about, it was certain that the rebel army was very much harassed and disorganized. However wretched their condition, we could not forget what indomitable fighters they were nor how dreadfully sharp even a few of them might sting if they could choose a position that favored them.
The following day, after an issue of rations, we marched again and kept marching with little chance to rest until after the surrender.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.4 #2 p.1]
The day previous to reaching Appomattox Court House [presumably 8 April 1865] was a hard and long one. We moved soon after daylight, and our regiment led the column on a pretty good road, through an undulating and settled country. Our company, having about forty men present, was put out as flankers to cover the brigade on the side towards the enemy. Several hundred yards from the road, strung along like a [two illegible words] line, with rifles at a trail, they worked their way along over creeks and hills and through woods, swamps and fields, commanded by one of the sergeants. Near night a drizzling rain began that had a very discomforting chill about it, and lasted several hours.
It was nearly 9 o'clock when we entered some close woods by the wayside to spend the night. This halt brought with it a trying realization of the difference between traveling in a civilized way, and soldiering in such a campaign. Travelers generally put up at night where a good supper and comfortable bed are assured. We were about to put down with a very slim prospect of getting the cosy naps we needed to refresh us once more, and make us forget the hollow condition of our stomachs. Grub was very scarce in the column, and our company was counted lucky in being on the blank, where they had a chance to do a little foraging. Those that had a little coffee or other stuff to cook, found great difficulty in getting fires started in the moist and gloomy darkness that was about us, so that many a weary fellow rolled himself in his piece of tent or blanket and sought sleep with a distressing condition of vacancy existing below his waist. In talking over the events of the day, one of our fellows related an incident that I often think of still when I hear of very fast traveling. He asked me first if I had heard a musket shot about the middle of the afternoon. When I asked him about it, he said "You just ought to have been out there. We saw a darkey about a quarter of a mile off on a little hill and we beckoned to him to come over, hoping to find out where we could capture some grub, but he just stood still and looked at us when one of us up musket and let go in that direction, and you ought to have seen that nigger git. He heels fairly [?] [p.2; the top corner of this column is cut off] {missing} n." The thought of {missing} rk" and his super- {missing} amuse me as long as {missing} d and took possession {missing} dilapidated log building {missing} back in a field. There {missing} of on it, but its sides served {missing} off the breeze. One of my comrades had a little corn-meal that we succeeded in making mush of before we turned in.
Despite the unsoothing character of our circumstances, we managed to oversleep ourselves, for when we shook out in the morning we found the brigade had been gone nearly an hour. A little coffee was soon made and swallowed, with a couple of crackers, and then my companions hurried off after the column. I started off more leisurely, and the number of "irregulars" that were traveling my way indicated that a good many troops were not far ahead. After tramping along with several others for a couple of hours, we met a glad faced cavalryman, who said he had just left the front, and that Lee had surrendered. None of us could believe it, but we began to step out faster. Soon we heard it again and quickened our pace. I think it was nearly 11 o'clock when I got to Appomattox Court House, and found the regiment in line of battle just to the right of the town. The day was bright and warm, and many of the men were lying on the ground to get rest or sleep. There had been no fighting, though a rebel battery had fired several shots over our fellows before our cavalry could close in and capture it. These were the last shots fired by the Confederate Army of Virginia. Lee was surrendering close by, but the men did not seem to realize it, but seemed more concerned to know how soon the quartermaster would be up with rations. A quarter of a mile ahead, in some woods, were the disorganized and famished rebels. We could see a little movement among them now and then, but nothing more.
We remained quietly resting in line till nearly night, when we moved a little to the rear and camped. Some "hard-tack" and coffee reached us, I think, and we had a quiet night and a good sleep. I had neglected to go into the town to get a sight at General Lee, neither did I go over among the rebs the next morning, with several of our regiment who payed them a visit.
The day after the surrender in the afternoon, our brigade was formed in line in the town, and the Confederates marched up in detachments and stacked their arms in front of us. The stacks were made at our very feet, thus bringing them and us nearly close enough to feel each others [sic] breath. Men who had fought each other desperately on many a bloody field were thus brought to look each other squarely in the eyes. It was a deeply interesting, but not an exciting scene. Our men were quiet and behaved like heroes. The Confederates came up quickly and with some show of nervousness, and as briskly departed. As each section moved off, our line stepped forward and moved the captured arms to the rear, and this process went on until several thousand muskets and rifles, and a few significant flags had been left in our possession. I believe there was no regular Confederate flag surrendered. I did not see any of the most distinguished rebel officers, or did not know them if I did. So far as I observed, the officers bore themselves with much credit. General and ex-Governor Wise, of Virginia, of "old John Brown" fame, was one of the few pointed out to me.
When the last line of the enemy had got back to the shelter of the woods, and while our brigade was moving back to camp, several of us gathered around a reb that had been resting against a tree for some time, a little distance in front. We found him to be an intelligent Petersburger and not averse to being interviewed. He was a good deal depressed at the turn of affairs, and thought that Lee's army ought to have fought till none were left, rather than surrender. This theory slightly riled one of our boys who suggested to him that he could easily become one of those who were not left, by getting up and starting a fight on his own account.
There was few troops there at the town, and no noise or confusion worth noting. Lots of our men went over among their old foes, but there was no clashing, and I think if the veterans in grey could have selected the troops to receive their arms, none would have been more likely to have been chosen than us of the 1st Division, of the 5th Corps. The following day I went over to where they had been, but that great army was no more. Singly, or in squads, or small companies they had started off to tram back to their distant and impoverished homes. To them the war had ended suddenly and completely. They seemed to have melted away as quietly and mysteriously as the dew in the rays of the summer sun. Here and there was the wreck of medical stores, or remnants of worn out equipments; the last martial signs of the late warriors.
I was walking pensively about among the wet leaves and mud when I caught sight of a book. It proved to be a copy of Thackeray's "Pendennis," with an excellent lithograph of the author in front. This picture I kept as a relic, and it is now at my hand. Soon afterwards I picked up another book, that proved to be a genuine Southern novel. Its title was "Micaria, or Altars of Sacrifice." the [sic] author, I believe, was Miss Evans. I glanced through it, its dedication attracted my attention, and it too, is now one of my cherished relics. I think it may well rank as one of the curiosities of modern literature, and reads thus:
- To the
- Army of the
- Southern Confederacy,
- who have
- delivered the South from despotism,
- and who have won for generations
- yet unborn the precious guerdon of
- Constitutional Republican
- Liberty:
- To this vast Legion of Honor,
- whether limping on crutches through
- the land they have saved and immortal-
- ized; or surviving uninjured to share
- the blessings their unexampled heroism
- bought; or sleeping dreamlessly in
- nameless, martyr graves, on hallowed
- battlefields, whose historic memory
- shall perish only with the remnants
- of our language, these pages are
- Gratefully and Reverently Dedicated,
- by one who, although debarred from
- the dangers and deathless glory of
- the "tented field," would fain offer
- a woman's inadquate [sic] tribute to the noble
- patriotism and sublime selfabnegation
- of her dear and devoted countrymen.
We had about three days more of rest, and then began our homeward march, with our faces turned toward Petersburg. We stepped out gladly, realizing that there was no longer need of loaded rifles or skirmish lines, and besides, were anxious to get back to where we could draw clothes and have a change and a washday. We followed the main road for some distance, and then took the line of the Petersburg and Lynchburg Railroad. We seemed to be hurrying along much faster than there was any ocsasion [sic] for, and in due time reached Burksville, the point where the Richmond and Danville R. R. crossed the one we were on. Three of us who knew the geography of the place were surprised when we turned off towards North Carolina, instead of keeping on towards Petersburg. We had heard of Sherman's great success, and knew pretty well where he was, but when I told the boys that we were on our way to join him, their countenance fell, and some were disposed to be rebellious. However, after we had gone south a couple of miles we halted in a field, and the following day we headed towards home once more.
Then came the first reports of the assassination of President Lincoln. A couple of days afterward when the news was confirmed and details came several of the men expressed their feelings and hopes that the direst vengeance might be meted out to his slayer. Much more was felt than was said, as the hardships of war had developed in many of the veterans a spirit of stoicism that tended to restrain any exuberance of expression under trying circumstances.
We continued our march till we got back to near our old siege lines south of Petersburg, and there we camped, and there a few days later my discharge came. Reluctantly I bid my old comrades adieu, and went to City Point, and from there by steamer to Washington. After undergoing a lot of "red tape" annoyance of the ridiculous and aggravating kind, in trying to settle my accounts with the government, I left there for home, arriving in Philadelphia on the 1st of May, and more than four years after the date of my erst volunteering. The regiment came home in July, and paid off [sic] and discharged ere I knew of its arrival.
[Grand Army Scout and Soldiers' Mail v.4 #3 p.1]
Aside from the fearful aggregate of killed and maimed and debt incurred, there was too many heroes and too great a division of honors, as well as too many opportunities for the inefficient and dishonest. Pretty nearly what we thought of McClellan as an army commander is shown in preceding papers. Too little decision and push had made him fail to improve the greatest opportunity ever offered an American. During Burnside's supremacy I was away in the Confederacy and Parole Camp, but it appears to have been a period of misgivings and mystery to those on the front. The delay and fearful failure of the Fredericksburg campaign was heart-sickening, while misfortune seemed to claim them for their own, by combining the elements against them, that wrought their discomfiture on "The Mud March". How many pathetic stories [page 2] have been told of those days of struggling in the mire. Think of one of our men wet, hungry, cold, weary and bedraggled, getting down in the darkness on the thin piece of tent he had spread on the ocean of batter, and then plaintively voicing the following prayer:—
Now I lay me down sleep,
In mud that's many fathoms deep;
If I'm not here when you awake,
Just hunt me with an oyster rake.
Then, too, the troops began to realize that not only the rebels and the elements might be against them, but that red tape and incapacity at Washington might be nearly as bad as either. Hooker took command and in a little while affairs brightened. His activity and grit were well known and several reforms in army matters and management were soon made effective. We thought the rebels would have "a hard road to travel" when spring came. Besides, too, he was so ordinary and free in his manners that the boys wanted to think well of him. The Chancellorsville campaign came; flaring out with a meteoric glory at its beginning, it fizzled right down to a wretched and befogged end.
Hope had renewed its courage once more before we started into Pennsylvania under Meade. The days when a commander could inspire glowing hopes or enthuse the Army of the Potomac with thrilling anticipations were past. We no longer expected brilliant generalship to do much for us. We knew there were formidable forces working against us in the North as well as the South, and that Providence seemed to endorse their designs. However General Meade was regarded with much favor. He seemed like an efficient officer, and those who knew him best said he was careful and trust worthy. The terrific contest at Gettysburg did not prove him either way, but when the rebel retreat began he seemed not to have scoped his golden change. The management of the army in the autumn, when we fell back from the Rapidan to Fairfax, with Lee on our flank, we thought excellent, and Mine Run campaign, an able effort that failed from no fault of his. What a priceless blessing it would have been to the army and the country if Meade's generalship as well as his commandership could have been ours to the end. The blind, bloody, futile directorship of Grant was sickening to contemplate. Where did strategy or finesse or mercy or genius of any sort have any part in it. It is symbolized in my mind by the thud bullets [sic] entering men's skulls, and by a line of brave, precious comrades ghastly and gory extending from the Rapidan to the James, and from Petersburg to Appomattox. If the regime of Grant with the Army of the Potomac was that of a general, I, for one, hope that the armies of my country may be without generals hereafter. Even when the impoverished and divided Confederacy was about to sink in a final collapse we were thrust forward to aggrevate it and receive its last stings in our vitals. The general opinion among us was that the Union army had no commander so generally capable as R. E. Lee, and that his army was the greatest fighting army the earth ever knew. But then we were apt to overlook how much the rebs had at stake, and how exceedingly necessary it was to them to win. Stonewall Jackson's great success we attributed to activity and we confidently looked forward to getting him in a tight place and taking the lustre from his stars, but death robbed us of the chance.
My army experience proved to me that the best class of men to make soldiers of is young fellows of small or medium size. They are more easily instructed, quicker witted, have more endurance, are neater and livelier, and the best for pretty much everything except meekness. They are apt to rate an officer at his fair value, and not to shrink from maintaining their rights.
Three years have scored their record on the calendar of time since I began to string together these recollections of mine as I had occasional opportunity. The soldiers of the Union were, and are the best paid and most regarded of any army that ever existed, but yet as I see them going to and fro in the ordinary walks of life, it seems to me their associates rarely reckon what kind of men they are. These men were potent factors in making more history in four years than was made during the whole previous existence of our country, and theirs was no common-place experience. Think of the history of the contests of the ages, and what heroes in the past struggles were more worthy of the greatest need of gratitude and esteem. In a cause that was absolutely just, their devotion was "to the last full measure." The pathway of that devotion led them through fire and water and earth, under circumstances that at times baffled description, and which, as they look back to them now, seem almost unreal and impossible.
Aside from the awful dangers and terrors of battles, wherein their ears caught the sound of every intense expression of agony and woe that comes from humanity, joined with the fiendish, air-cutting music of every missile of gunnery, from the size of a buckshot to that of a bucket; there were marches of extraordinary difficulty and duration; there were exposures to hunger, thirst, nakedness, heat, cold and storms and diseases, together with the frequent misfortune of serving with incompetent officers and inefficient doctors. When victory was at least achieved, when bullets were no longer current and the government was done with them, they went back to the ordinary avocations of civil life with a meekness and sang-froid that commended their wisdom and made them still more heroic.
When I look up on an assemblage of my veteran comrades and feel the impress of their thoughts, I am prone to ask: "What henchman that followed the standards of Cyrus or Xerxes; what sturdy battler in the victorious legions of Caesar, or the conquering phalanx of Alexander; who among the myriads of the Crusaders, or in the cohorts of William the Silent, or Frederick the Great; or what henchman, even, whose arms upheld Napoleon from Toulon to the end of Waterloo, knew war, and knew peace as do these men?
Endnotes
- ↑ In his speech at the Gettysburg dedication ceremony, on 12 September 1889, Chaplain Joseph Welch described the four months the regiment was in Alexandria (26 April 1861 to 23 August 1861) in this way: 'Severe and unenviable service now kept the regiment fully occupied for four months.'
- ↑ Rose O'Neal Greenhow, who was a Confederate spy; in her memoir she complains about Frank Gilbert, captain of company A
- ↑ see the description of them and Mrs. Morris in 'The Old Capitol Building and Its Inmates' (New York Times, 19 April 1862, p.2).
- ↑ The guard was Ambrose Baker; the prisoner was Jesse B Wharton; see Wharton's profile for more about this incident.
- ↑ Representative Charles B Calvert asked for an investigation, but the War Department apparently never replied.
- ↑ G J Bernstein, company A, died on 13 April 1862. But he was buried in Philadelphia, despite Walter.
- ↑ Christ Church; see http://www.historicchristchurch.org, which says that US Army chaplains conducted services there, with an army congregation displacing the original parishioners, who largely were Confederate sympathizers.
- ↑ On 24 May 1861, James Jackson, the innkeeper of the Marshall House, shot Col. Elmer Ephraim Ellsworth, of the 11th NY Infantry, as he was removing a Confederate flag from a hotel.
- ↑ See general order 18, paragraph 3, 91st PA, 8 May 1862, about the adjutant's training non-coms.
- ↑ This was on 28 August 1862.
- ↑ This was probably George Eyre, the regimental quartermaster, who died of disease in Philadelphia on 31 December 1862.
- ↑ Probably either George Black (first lieutenant) or John Dyke (second lieutenant).
- ↑ Walter later calls the private 'Joe'. Company C then had two privates named 'Joseph': Joseph L Hayward, and Joseph E Smith. There was also a corporal named Joseph Everhart. Presumably one of these accompanied Walter.
- ↑ Amos Godfrey was killed, and James Gordan, James Lewis, and Henry Mason were wounded.
- ↑ Bates lists three casualties in company A on 3 May 1863: Samuel W Wilson (killed), Rudolph Maidre (killed), William Stettler (wounded).
- ↑ Correction in next issue: 'Note. In last week's paper, by a typographical error, the writer was made to say that Round Top, at Gettysburg, was a quarter of a mile high, instead of a quarter of a mile long; ... ED.'
- ↑ correction in next issue: 'Note. In last week's paper, by a typographical error, the writer was made to say ... that it would have been folly in Longstreet to have driven our troops from that position, instead of folly to have attempted to do it. ED.'
- ↑ This comment provoked some controversy. See the letters from the next several issues.
- ↑ The Fifth Corps hospital was initially just east of Little Round Top, on the Taneytown road, in a house and barns owned by J Weikart. After Confederate shells hit it, it was moved southeast, about one mile, to Lewis Bushman's. (Lt A P Case [of the 146th NY], 'The taking and holding of Little Round Top'. In New York Monuments Commission for the Battlefields of Gettysburg and Chattanooga. Final report of the battlefield of Gettysburg. Albany: JB Lyon Co., printer, 1900. V.3, pp.969-972, at p.972)
- ↑ Actually, they moved to Robertson's Tavern early on 28 Nov.
- ↑ A contemporary anonymous account also mentions this cut, but claims it was 40-50 feet deep; perhaps the depth varied greatly.
- ↑ Four soldiers in company F were killed on 18 June 1864: David Hall, Patrick Cahill, Henry Gray, and Samuel Lamb
- ↑ This raid occurred on 16 August 1864, and captured nearly 2500 cattle.
- ↑ The Weldon Railroad raid began on 7 December 1864, and ended on 12 December.
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