two bodies increased their pace, until both seemed to be moving at full
speed. They met with a jar, and for some moments it was impossible to
distinguish friend from foe. There could only be distinctly seen the
flashing of sabres in the sunlight as blows were struck and parried, and
the puffs of smoke from revolvers and carbines. For ten minutes or more
the stirring fight went on without any apparent advantage to either
side. But now another regiment of our cavalry, which had been out of
sight up the river at the beginning of the fight, came down upon the
Confederates at a hard gallop. It was but a minute before the latter
were retreating back to the timber, perhaps hurried a little by a few
shells from one of our shore batteries. A little later, I learned that
our cavalry had taken about sixty prisoners.
On the night of August 22 the enemy were expected to make an attempt to
cross the Rappahannock at Beverly Ford, where I was stationed on picket
duty. During the night, however, the river rose almost ten feet as the
result of heavy rains in the mountains. By morning, it was so raging a
torrent that crossing was impossible. As soon as it was light, the
enemy opened fire on us with fourteen pieces of artillery. I had already
withdrawn my men from the river bank and stationed them where they could
pour a heavy fire upon the Confederates, should they attempt to lay a
bridge. I was therefore in a good position to watch at leisure the
artillery duel which ensued. For two hours the shot flew back and forth
across the stream, without, however, great damage to our side. At the
end of that time the Confederates apparently had had enough and withdrew
from their position.
The succeeding days were passed in hard marching, with hot weather, no
tents or blankets, short rations, and a poor country to forage in. The
enemy occasionally made demonstration as though to cross at the fords of
the Rappahannock, but all the while moving up toward the mountains. On
the evening of August 27, while we were in camp near Warrenton Junction,
rumors began to circulate that they had appeared in large force at
Manassas Junction, and were threatening to cut off our retreat to
Washington. The next morning we were called out at three o'clock, and
soon after were on the road to the Junction. The corps of Generals
Heintzelman and Fitz-John Porter, which had been marching toward
Warrenton, had also been turned back and were directly in our advance.
We marched rapidly to Kettle River, a small stream about five miles from
the Junction, where we were detailed to guard a train of ninety cars
loaded with ammunition and provisions for our army. Here we learned that
the enemy had on the previous day captured and destroyed at the Junction
over a hundred and fifty cars loaded with supplies, but had in the
morning encountered Hooker's advance division near Kettle Run, and had
been driven with considerable loss beyond the Junction. We found on our
arrival at Kettle Run, tangible evidence of the morning's fight, for a
good many of the dead were still lying around.
Cannonading commenced early on the morning after our arrival, in the
direction of Manassas, and continued all day. It was evident that a
severe battle was in progress. Reports of our successes were continually
coming in; we appeared to be driving the enemy at all points. It was
said that the Confederates were surrounded on three sides, and hopes
were strong that they would be captured before the main body of their
army came up. The next morning, the battle was still in progress
although it seemed to be farther away than it had been before. The most
encouraging reports continued to reach us, and at night General Pope was
credited with having said that our troops had won a complete victory.
While the battle was in progress, we had been occupied in rebuilding the
bridge across Kettle Run, which the enemy had destroyed on the first day
of their raid. We had it completed, and our train of cars moved across
to Bristoe Station by the morning of the second day of the battle. We
bivouacked that night north of Broad Run, happy in the thought that our
troops had indeed vanquished the foe.
The next morning we were ordered to return to Bristoe. As we approached
the station, dense clouds of smoke were rolling upwards from the place
where we had left our cars. This gave us notice that the reports of
victory had been false. The fact was, that the left wing of Pope's army
had been driven back the night before, and it had been necessary to burn
the cars in order to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy.
It had been possible to save only the supplies with which they were
loaded. Our Corps, moreover, having received no notice of the reverse,
was now in grave danger of being cut off from the remainder of the army.
We managed, however, by rapid marching over a circuitous route to reach
the north side of Bull Run in safety.
The next day we marched to a short distance beyond Centerville. Here we
were halted, and stood in the road on our arms during a driving rain,
while the battle of Chantilly was being fought only a short distance to
the north. We remained standing in the road--or at least were supposed
to be standing--all that night, the rain pouring down in torrents most
of the time. After darkness had set in, however, the men quietly began
to disappear into the neighboring woods, and soon I alone of all my
Company was actually standing in the road. I was not greatly troubled
over the breach of orders, for I knew that at the first intimation of
danger every man would be in his place. I too found for myself as dry a
place as possible, and wrapping my rubber coat about me, tried to
secure a snatch of much-needed sleep. But I soon awoke so thoroughly
wet and cold that further slumber was out of the question. I thereupon
sought a fire that some soldiers had built, and endeavored to extract a
bit of comfort from its friendly heat. Just as I was beginning to feel
its warmth, a number of staff officers came along and ordered the blaze
extinguished, for, said they, it was against the orders of General
Banks. I stepped back into the darkness so as not to be recognized,
concluding that if General Banks wanted that fire put out, he would get
no help from me. The men standing near, however, kicked the burning
brands apart as though to put it out, and the officers passed on. But
they were not fifty feet away before the fire had been rekindled and was
again dispensing cheer. This scene was repeated at frequent intervals
until daylight, the fire continuing to burn in spite of all orders.
That morning we took the road about nine, and marched until midnight. On
the morning after, we found that we were within the fortifications of
Alexandria. Two days later we crossed the Potomac at Georgetown, and
went into camp at Tennalleytown, D. C. Our wagons and camp equipage had
preceded us. A mail also was awaiting us, the first that we had received
since leaving Culpeper Court House.
We now had leisure to reflect upon our situation. It was indeed
humiliating. Here we were, after six months of campaigning, back again
at the point where we had started. The Grand Army of the Potomac forced
to seek the shelter of the fortifications of Washington! The actual
fighting had usually been in our favor. Why was it, then, that we had
been forced back? We believed that the answer lay entirely in the fact
that we had been outgeneralled. We felt that Pope and McDowell were the
Jonahs who should go overboard. And overboard they went, not to be heard
of again during the war. The reappointment of McClellan to command was
everywhere received with pleasure. So far as my acquaintance went, the
feeling was unanimous in his favor.
For several days we remained in camp enjoying the luxury of tents and
beds after our strenuous experiences on the march. New regiments were in
the meantime assigned to the old brigades. Ours received the Thirteenth
New Jersey and the One Hundred Seventh New York, with a new corps
commander in the person of General Mansfield.
_Moving Toward the Enemy_
On September 5 it was definitely rumored in camp that the enemy had
crossed into Maryland by way of Edward's Ferry. All of the Army of the
Potomac were soon after moving up the river toward Darnestown, where a
defensive position was taken and the enemy's movements awaited. There
were no further developments until the 10th, when an order came from
General McClellan to store in Washington all of the officers' baggage
and the company tents and property, and turn over the teams to be used
in hauling provisions and ammunition. This looked more like business
than anything we had yet seen.
The next morning we began to move in earnest, passing through
Darnestown, and on toward Frederick City. On the 12th we made a long
march to Ijamsville, where we heard from one party of citizens that the
enemy were evacuating Frederick City, and from another that they were
preparing to fight us at the crossing of the Monocacy River. In the
morning, we were early on the road, marching rapidly to the ford of the
Monocacy, and crossing without trouble. As we approached Frederick, we
could hear the firing of the advance of Burnside's Corps, as they were
driving the rear guard of the retreating enemy from the passes of the
Catoctin Mountains, about five miles west of the city. Over 800
prisoners were sent back that day, mostly stragglers and deserters, who
had soldiered as long as they wished.
That night we camped near Frederick City, a large portion of our
Regiment taking advantage of the opportunity to visit old friends and
acquaintances in that place. We had been there so long during the past
year that it seemed to us almost like home. The Confederates had been in
possession for nearly a week, and many stories were told of the good
people who had displayed their loyalty under adverse circumstances. The
real heroine of the town was old Barbara Fritchie, who had kept a Union
flag waving from her window during all the time of the Confederate
occupation. Her name has been immortalized by Whittier. I know that in
recent years it has been said that no such person ever lived, and that
the flag was not displayed. But I heard the story told within
twenty-four hours after the Confederate army had left Frederick, from
persons who knew the circumstances, and I am going to believe it until
there is more positive proof than I have yet seen, that it is not true.
_Battle of South Mountain_
We were ready to march by four o'clock on the morning of the 14th. But
we might as well have stayed in camp until seven. The road west from
Frederick was a fine, broad turnpike, wide enough for two or three
wagons abreast, but it was now completely choked with the ammunition and
provision wagons of the troops in advance. Even after we did finally get
started, and were clear of the town, we had to march through the fields
and woods on either side of the road.
When we reached the top of the Catoctin Mountains, we could hear the
sound of artillery and musketry fire on the next mountain ridge beyond.
Occasionally we could even catch a glimpse of the lines of our troops as
they moved up the slopes to assault the position of the enemy. We were
now rapidly marched down the mountain and turned off by a circuitous
route to the right, in order to strike the enemy on the left flank.
Before we could reach their position, however, it had already been
carried by assault, and the enemy had taken advantage of the darkness to
make good their retreat. Such was the battle of South Mountain.
We now countermarched to the turnpike near Middletown, where we went
into camp at one o'clock in the morning. We had been on the road for
twenty-two consecutive hours, most of the time climbing over rocks and
through brush on the mountain side. Again we were on the march, at eight
o'clock the next morning, crossing South Mountain as we had crossed the
Catoctin Mountains, with the wagon train occupying the road and the
troops in the woods along the side. We passed through Boonsborough in
the afternoon, and by night had reached nearly to Keedysville.
The road was strewn with the muskets and other accoutrements of the
enemy fleeing from South Mountain, together with a great deal of
plunder that they had gathered in Maryland. There was every indication
that they had retreated in a state of demoralization. The houses in
Boonsborough and the vicinity were filled with their wounded, and we
were constantly meeting squads of from twenty to one hundred prisoners
who were being sent back from the front. Occasional artillery firing in
the front seemed to indicate that we were being waited for not far
ahead.
_Battle of Antietam_
On the morning of the 16th we moved forward to a position behind a range
of low hills near Antietam Creek, and there we remained until night,
undisturbed save by occasional shots from the enemy's batteries, posted
in the hills on the opposite side of the creek. The remainder of our
army kept coming up all day, taking position as they arrived, until at
night it was understood that they were all at hand with the exception of
Franklin's Corps, which had gone to the relief of Harpers Ferry. At
about nine o'clock we were called up and moved across Antietam Creek,
close to the enemy's lines, where we lay down to secure such rest as we
might in preparation for the next day's fight. General Hooker's Corps
lay in position, just in front of us.
It was reported that night that Harpers Ferry had been surrendered by
Colonel Miles without a struggle, and when the relieving force of
General Franklin was within three miles. It was rumored also that Miles
had been shot by the men of his own command when they learned that they
had been surrendered.
We were awakened soon after daylight by the sound of heavy cannonading
in the front. It had been raining during the night, but now the sky was
clear and the sun shining. The men hurried into the ranks, and the Corps
formed in close column by companies. We moved a short distance to the
right, then sat down to await developments. As battery after battery
came into action, the artillery firing continually increased in
rapidity, until for a few minutes the roar would be continuous. Then
there would be a lull, and the sharp crack of the musketry would be
heard, as the skirmishers pushed forward through the timber. Now the
scattering musketry fire increased into crashing volleys; as more and
more troops became engaged, the volleys developed into one continuous
roar, like the roll of distant thunder.
Within a few minutes we became aware by sight, as well as by sound, that
a bloody battle was in progress; a constant stream of wounded men was
coming back to the field hospital in the rear. Many were but slightly
wounded and still clung to their muskets as they hurried back to have
their wounds dressed. They would stop on their way, for a moment,
hastily to tell how they were "driving the Johnnies" in the front.
Others, more seriously hurt, were being helped along by comrades; while
others, still more unfortunate, lay silent on stretchers as they were
borne back by ambulance men and musicians. Soon, a number of ammunition
wagons which had ventured too close to the front, came dashing by us to
seek shelter behind a neighboring hill. They were followed shortly after
by a dismounted cannon being dragged back for repairs. Now came a
temporary lull in the musketry. The thunder of the artillery increased
as if in compensation; but rising above all came the cheers of our
comrades in the front, announcing that the opening engagement had ended
in victory.
The pause in the musketry was of short duration. The enemy, largely
reenforced, soon attacked in their turn, making desperate efforts to
regain the ground that they had lost. Upon our side, more troops to the
right and left came into action, and the battle was soon raging again
with redoubled fury. The enemy in our immediate front seemed to have
largely increased their artillery, and scattering shot and shell were
dropping around us.
At length our First Brigade was sent into action. We soon followed, at
double-quick, in close column by companies. Passing rapidly through the
woods, we emerged upon the field a little northeast of the old Dunkard
church, and our Regiment deployed in line. The manoeuvre was executed as
though we had been on a parade ground instead of a battle-field. I have
seldom seen it better done.
Immediately on our right and about one hundred yards to the front, was
posted one of our batteries of twelve-pound brass guns. It had evidently
been in action for some time. All of its horses were killed or
crippled, and the gunners were just falling back before the advancing
Confederate line of battle. To the left of the battery, and stretching
off to the woods directly in our front, stood the remnants of a brigade,
still stubbornly contesting the advance of the enemy's infantry. Our
Regiment moved forward to the battery, the artillerymen at the same time
returning to their guns. The Second Massachusetts took position to the
right; the Twenty-Seventh Indiana came up on the left.
The Confederate infantry moved steadily across the corn-field, while the
decimated brigade in its path fell back, step by step. We were obliged
to wait before commencing fire, until they could be moved out of the
way. Then we opened fire from one end of the line to the other. The
enemy were handicapped by the fact that they were moving diagonally
across our front, instead of directly toward us, and our fire was
terribly severe, so it was not long before they broke and ran back to
the woods. Immediately, however, another line was coming up, this time
confronting us squarely. And now commenced the work in earnest.
Our position was in a stubble-field. The ground in front of us sloped
gently downward, so that we were fifteen or twenty feet higher than the
enemy. About a hundred yards in our front was a rail fence, beyond which
lay another open field. The previous day, that field had contained a
luxuriant growth of ripening corn; now it was cut by bullets and
trampled by men and horses, until scarce a vestige of the crop remained.
For a time, the enemy came on rapidly, without firing a shot. Their
right, like our left, was "in the air" and about even with us. They were
as gallant fellows as ever moved to an assault. One could but admire the
steady courage with which they approached us; great gaps being made in
their lines at every discharge of our grape- and canister-laden
twelve-pounders, and our bullets also wore them away at every step. A
portion of these stern fighters reached the fence; none came farther.
They there stopped and opened fire on our lines. From our higher ground
we could see the steady stream of their wounded being helped to the
rear. Still they held on, returning fire for fire; and we too were
suffering terribly. At length the Confederates had been reduced to a
mere handful; it was hopeless to hold on any longer, and they fell back
toward the woods. But before they had reached there, another of their
brigades was coming up behind them. The newcomers, however, halted and
opened fire at nearly double the distance that their predecessors had
taken. Soon they also began to waver, then suddenly broke, and joined
their comrades in the flight to the woods.
As they all disappeared toward the timber, General Hooker rode up and
ordered us to fix bayonets and pursue. With a whoop and hurrah our
Regiment and the Twenty-Seventh Indiana started down through the
corn-field, General Hooker himself leading like a captain. It was such
traits as this that made him popular, even with those who did not think
him fit for high command. We had passed fairly into the corn-field,
which was literally strewn with the dead bodies of Confederates, when a
staff officer rode up, and ordered us to get out of the way, for General
Sumner wished to put in a division at that point. This was all that
prevented us from assaulting a position with about a hundred and fifty
men, which a few minutes later Sedgwick's Division, with five or six
thousand, failed to carry.
We moved back out of the corn-field to our old position, and immediately
after Sedgwick's Division came in from the northeast. As they moved
forward in perfect line to the attack, they presented a splendid sight,
even to old soldiers, and we had little doubt that they would sweep
everything before them. They marched in three parallel lines, one behind
the other, and about seventy-five yards apart. The brigade and field
officers, aware of the peculiar danger of being on horseback in such a
place, all marched with their men on foot. The only mounted officer in
the entire division was old General Sumner himself, who rode a little in
the rear of his first line. He was then nearly seventy years of age,
perfectly grey but still proudly erect. As he stretched his tall form to
its full height on his horse, in order to see what might be in front of
his men, he was the most conspicuous object on the field, and
undoubtedly was the target for every Confederate sharpshooter in sight.
No resistance of consequence was met until the advance brigade was out
of sight in the woods, and the Second Brigade was just at the edge. Then
a heavy musketry fire showed that the enemy had reformed their lines and
were making a stubborn fight. Their artillery also now opened fire, and
shells and round shot began to fall in our neighborhood. It soon became
evident to us, who were spectators of the fight, that General Sumner's
formation had been a serious mistake. His second and third brigades were
exposed to a heavy fire from the enemy, yet they could not reply on
account of the line in front of them. They soon broke up in confusion,
therefore, and fell back out of range. The leading brigade held on for
over half an hour, to the position that it had gained in the woods, when
it also fell back, with but a small portion of the magnificent line
which a short time before had so gallantly gone forward to the attack.
The remnant of our Regiment, together with portions of several other
like commands, were now stationed at the edge of the woods behind a
battery of artillery. There was little more active fighting, however, in
that part of the field during the remainder of the day. At one time the
enemy made an attempt to recover the lost ground in the corn-field, but
the batteries easily drove them back to the woods. Soon after twelve
o'clock we were relieved by fresh troops and moved a short distance to
the rear. With the friendly aid of a rail fence we now built a fire, and
prepared our dinner of hardtack and coffee, and remained quiet for the
rest of the day. To the left the firing continued until late in the
afternoon.
Many of our gallant boys laid down their lives that bloody day on the
battle-field of Antietam. In the morning, our Regiment had taken into
the fight twelve officers and not quite 300 enlisted men. The number was
thus small because our wounded from Cedar Mountain had not yet rejoined
us, and hard marching had sent others to the hospital. Of the twelve
officers, we lost one killed and seven severely wounded. The Colonel had
been hit in the head by a bullet, which had cut just deep enough to draw
blood; while I had received a severe bruise from a spent ball. Of our
300 privates, we lost 194 in killed and wounded. The Twenty-Seventh
Indiana on our left, had lost about half of its men; the Second
Massachusetts on the right, had suffered in about the same proportion.
In my Company, of the thirty men whom I took into the field, two had
been killed, two mortally wounded, and sixteen so severely hurt, that
they were ordered to the hospital. Of all that Company, only one had
escaped without the mark of a bullet upon his person or his clothes.
Every one of our color-guard, composed of a corporal from each company,
had been shot down before the battle was over. As its bearers fell, the
flag had been passed along the line until it had come into the hands of
one of my privates, Joseph Collins, who carried it the remainder of the
day. The color-bearers of the enemy had been even more unfortunate. On
our charge into the corn-field, our men picked up several of their
banners that had fallen with their bearers.