BY J. M. MARTIN.
We Embark for the Peninsula--Yorktown--Camping in the Mud--Peach
Orchard--Artillery Practice--Battle of Williamsburg.
On the 17th of March the regiment embarked and steamed down the Potomac,
past Mount Vernon, of hallowed memories, on its way to Fortress Monroe,
whither the army was being transferred to enter upon the historic and
ill-fated Peninsular campaign. Upon arrival it went into camp near the
ancient, but then recently burned town of Hampton, crumbling brick walls
and charred chimneys being the only remaining monuments to mark the site
of the once pleasant village, the beginning, to us, of the scenes of the
war's "rude desolations," while protruding from the placid waters of the
bay were to be seen the masts of the "Cumberland," that but a few days
before had gone down with flag flying before the onset of the ram
"Merrimac," while over by the Ripraps peacefully floated low on the
waters the little "Monitor" that David-like, had single-handed put to
flight this Goliath of the rebellion, that had defied our navy; a
veritable "tub on a plank."
On the morning of April 4 the grand advance was begun. Across the narrow
neck of land that divided the waters of the Chesapeake and James, the
magnificent hosts of the Army of the Potomac, stretching from shore to
shore, moved forward to the fortified post of the enemy at Yorktown.
Battlefields, like history, repeat themselves. It is said the plains of
Esdraelon have been the theater of a greater number of conflicts at arms
than any other known portion of the globe, so here at Yorktown, where
the Sons of Virginia, Pennsylvania and others of the thirteen colonies
humbled the British under Cornwallis in 1781, and whose lines of
entrenchments were yet visible, were again to meet in 1862, the sons of
these sires of revolutionary fame, in martial combat, not shoulder to
shoulder, as then, but in opposing phalanx. The line of advance of the
57th was by the main road leading from Hampton to Yorktown by way of
Little and Big Bethel, the latter place being the scene of General B. F.
Butler's unfortunate night venture of 1861.
The afternoon of the second day's march brought the advance of the army
in front of the enemy's formidable works around Yorktown and along the
Warwick river. For the space of nearly a mile, immediately in front of
the town, the country was open, scarcely a tree or a shrub impeding the
view of the fortifications, whose embrasures bristled with heavy
ordnance. With drums beating and colors flying we marched boldly along
the way and filing off into the open fields deliberately proceeded to
pitch our tents and make our camp in the very jaws, as it were, of these
frowning batteries. Whether it was a fear of bringing on a general
engagement, or amazement at our audacity that kept the Confederates
quiet behind their earth-works we did not then know, but subsequent
events proved the former to be the cause. Not until the day following
did they manifest a disposition to disturb our repose, and then only by
a solitary shot that plunged into one of our company's streets, burying
itself deep in the soft earth. This shot was sufficient, however, to
admonish us of the fact that they had a perfect range of our camp, and
could, of they chose, make it exceedingly uncomfortable for us. As a
result we very deliberately withdrew, without the loss of a tent or
knapsack, back to the main line in the woods, though not wholly beyond
the range of their guns.
Once in our established camp there began a month of as arduous duty as
untried soldiers were ever called to perform. Digging trenches,
constructing earthworks, and picket duty, kept us constantly engaged,
and to add to our discomfort the weather was extremely unpleasant;
frequent rains wetting us to the skin and rendering the earth about the
consistency of a mortar bed. Of this time Surgeon Lyman writes: "Here
for three weeks the men walked in mud, slept in mud and drank water from
holes scooped out of the mud. The combined remonstrances of the medical
officers of the brigade, 'that a month's continuance in that place would
deprive the government of the services of one-half of its members,' were
met by the silencing reply, 'It is a military necessity.' The result
showed that our fears were well founded. The malaria of the marshes and
swamps of Yorktown, with the excessive labor performed in the trenches
and on picket duty, debilitated our men for months, sending dozens of
them to their graves, and rendering hundreds unfit for service, and many
for life."
Here we had our first experience with the wild garlic, which grew
spontaneously in the uncultivated fields and after a day or two's
pasturing rendered the flesh of the beeves unpalatable, the taste of the
garlic remaining long in the mouth after the act of mastication. Here,
too, the regiment had its baptismal of blood, in the known to us, though
never historically christened, "Battle of the Peach Orchard."
On the afternoon of April 11 the 63d Pennsylvania Volunteers, while on
picket duty in the woods to the left of the Yorktown road, was attacked
by the enemy. The 57th was ordered to its assistance and advancing at
double quick, formed in line of battle, moving over the open field in
face of a hot fire and quickly putting to flight the columns of the
enemy, driving them back to the protection of their heavy batteries. In
this short but exciting engagement, the regiment lost by wounds two men,
Samuel Merven, of Company E, and John Cochran, of Company F. Cochran
subsequently died from the effects of his wound and Merven was
discharged. In this engagement, insignificant as it was, compared with
its after battles, the regiment exhibited great coolness and gave token
of its ability and readiness for future duty and service.
An incident occurred about this date, while the regiment was on picket
duty, that is worthy of passing notice. Lieutenant Wagner, of the
topographic engineers, was engaged in making drawings of the Confederate
works. He had placed a camp table in an exposed position and spread his
drafting material upon it. The white paper made an excellent target for
the enemy's gunners. One of their shots struck the table and fatally
wounded the lieutenant. A few moments after he rode along the rear of
our lines, his shattered and bleeding arm dangling at his side. This
shot is referred to, after these many years, by General Longstreet in
his recent work, as one of two of the most remarkable shots, for
accuracy of aim, of the war. He says:
"An equally good one (shot) was made by a Confederate at Yorktown. An
officer of the topographical engineers walked into the open in front of
our lines, fixed his plane table and seated himself to make a map of the
Confederate works. A non-commissioned officer, without orders, adjusted
his gun, carefully aimed it, and fired. At the report of the gun all
eyes were turned to see the occasion of it, and then to observe the
object, when the shell was seen to explode as if in the hands of the
officer. It had been dropped squarely upon the drawing table and
Lieutenant Wagner was mortally wounded."--Gen. Longstreet, in "From
Manassas to Appomattox."
This shot appears, by a note to the text written by Capt. A. B. Moore,
of Richmond, Va., to have been fired by Corporal Holzbudon, of the 2d
company, Richmond Howitzers, from a ten-pound parrott gun.
Another incident more immediately connected with the regiment, worthy of
a place in its history as an exhibition of accurate firing, occurred
here. On the left of our regimental picket line was stationed a section
of a field battery whose duty was to shell the enemy's works and prevent
their annoying our lines. For some time Colonel Campbell watched with
manifest disgust the green cannoneers blazing away at random, and with
evidently little effect. At length stepping to one of the guns the
colonel said:
"Boys, let me sight this gun for you." Running his eye along the sights
and giving the elevating screw a turn, he said:
"Now, let her go!"
In an instant the death-dealing missile was speeding on its way, entered
the enclosure and exploded amid the startled gunners of the enemy.
"There, boys, that's the way to shoot. Don't waste your powder!" said
the colonel, as he turned and walked away, an expression of satisfaction
wreathing his florid face.
By the 3d of May all things were in readiness to open our batteries of
big guns on the Confederate fortifications and all were in excited
expectation of the bombardment and possible storming of the enemy's
works on the following day, but the morning light of the 4th revealed
the enemy's strong works abandoned and empty. In the night, Johnson, who
had superseded Magruder in command, like the Arab had "folded his tent
and silently stolen away." The 105th Pennsylvania were the first to
enter the abandoned works. The news of the evacuation of the works and
retreat of the Confederates spread rapidly from regiment to regiment,
and our bloodless victory, but not without the loss of many a brave boy,
was celebrated with wild shouts and cheers. The cavalry followed closely
on the heels of the retreating enemy, but the infantry did not take up
the line of march until later in the day; Fighting Joe Hooker's division
following first, with Kearny close in his rear. As we marched through
the Confederate works, stakes planted upright in the ground with red
danger signals attached gave warning that near them were planted
torpedoes, placed there for the injury of the unwary by the enemy.
A story was told at the time that the planting of these torpedoes was
revealed to Lieut. R. P. Crawford, of Company E, of the 57th, then
serving as aid on General Jameson's staff, by a Confederate deserter.
That the 105th Pennsylvania, being about to enter the abandoned works,
this Confederate stepped out from the shelter of a building, and,
throwing up his hands as an indication that he desired to surrender,
came forward and revealed to Lieutenant Crawford, who chanced to be
present, the secret danger that threatened them if they attempted to
enter the works without caution. Thus forewarned of their danger, a
squad of prisoners, under compulsion, were made to search out, and
locate these concealed missiles, thereby preventing possible loss of
life and woundings.
During the afternoon of the 4th the regiment marched with the division
about four miles on the main road to Williamsburg and bivouacked for the
night. By dark rain began to fall and continued throughout the night and
the day following. The early morning of the 5th found us on the march
again. The rain had thoroughly soaked the light clay soil and the
preceding ammunition trains and batteries had worked the soft clay roads
into deep ruts and numerous mud holes. To take to the fields and
roadsides did not better much the marching, the unsodded fields being
little better than quagmires, in which the men floundered to the knees.
All the forenoon there was now and then cannonading to our front with
occasional rattle of musketry, indicative of skirmishing, but by two or
three o'clock there came the long swelling roar of infantry firing,
giving evidence that our advance had overtaken the enemy and they were
making a stubborn stand. The atmospheric conditions were such that from
these sounds the battle appeared to be but a mile or two in our advance,
and at every turn of the way we expected to see the blue line of smoke
and snuff the odors of burning powder, while in fact the engagement was
five or six miles distant. Reaching a point about two miles from the
battlefield the regiment was ordered to unsling knapsacks, doff blankets
and overcoats and march at quick step to the front. As we neared the
field, panting from our exertion, we passed a brass band standing by the
roadside. General Heintzelman, observing them as he passed, exclaimed in
that nasal twang so familiar to all:
"Play, boys, play! Play Hail Columbia! Play Yankee Doodle! Play
anything! Play like h--l!"
It is needless to add that the band promptly obeyed and the strains of
the national quickstep put a new spring in our weary limbs, revived our
flagging spirits and with a rousing cheer we pressed forward. Arriving
on the field the regiment was deployed in line of battle in the woods to
the right of the road, but darkness was settling over the field, the
firing soon ceased and we were not engaged. The night following was
extremely disagreeable. The rain continued to fall, and drenched to the
skin we lay on our arms all night without fire, blankets or rations. By
morning the lowering clouds were gone, and so also were the Johnnies,
leaving their dead unburied and their wounded to our tender care. Many
private houses of the ancient town, all of the churches and that
venerable seat of learning, from whose halls came many of the nation's
most eminent statesmen and patriots, William and Mary College, were
turned into hospitals, where friend and foe were gathered from the field
of conflict, housed, and cared for by our surgeons and nurses with
undiscriminating attention.
An incident that well illustrates the reckless daring of General Kearny,
and which ultimately lost him to our cause, as well as the influence of
such acts upon others, occurred during this engagement. During the
battle, General Kearny, accompanied by General Jameson, rode out to the
front, and on an open piece of ground, in full view of the contending
forces, the two sat there observing the progress of the battle,
apparently oblivious of the fact that they were exposing themselves as
targets to the enemy's sharpshooters. Past them the minie balls were
zipping, while the air was redolent with the "ting" of musket balls and
buck-shot. At length, satisfied with their observations, they coolly
turned their horses about and rode to the rear. The day following,
General Jameson was approached by one of his aides who had witnessed the
act, who said to him:
"General, don't you think the risk you and General Kearny exposed
yourselves to yesterday was unjustifiable?"
"I certainly do," the general candidly replied.
"Then why did you take the risk?" the aide queried.
"Captain," said the general, gravely, "If I had been conscious that I
would have been hit the next minute I would not have turned my horse's
head. Why, what would Kearny have thought of me!"
After the battle the regiment camped immediately west of town. Of course
the commands that had borne the brunt of the battle were lionized, as
were also those officers who had acted a conspicuous part. On this field
General Hancock received his chief sobriquet, "The Superb," which clung
to him throughout life. Regimental ranks, after a hard day's fighting,
often were very much broken, the losses not always being catalogued as
of the killed and wounded; roll calls exhibiting many names marked
"missing," or "absent without leave." These absentees invariably
reported fearful losses in their commands. While in camp at Williamsburg
a strapping big fellow with turbaned head, blue jacket profusely
decorated with gold lace, and baggy red trousers, wandered into our
midst.
"Hello! What regiment?" one of the boys inquired.
"---- regiment."
"But what state?"
"New York, of course."
"In the fight?"
"Yep. All cut to pieces. I'm the only one left!"