"The poor old slave has gone to rest,
We know that he is free;
Disturb him not, but let him rest
'Way down in Tennessee."
There were several favorite melodies which we had often sung in camp,
when, as on a pleasant Sunday evening, we were met together in little
knots, to mingle our emotions in plaintive song, thinking of dear
friends at home. One of these was a simple ballad describing the
following incident--one of the most touching of the war. A youthful
soldier from the state of Maine died in New Orleans, with none but
strangers--as has been the lot of many--to watch over him in his dying
hours, or to perform the sad rites of burial. When the funeral service
was over, and the coffin was about to be closed, an elderly lady
present approached the remains, saying: "Let me kiss him for his
mother."
"Let me kiss him for his mother, Let me kiss his dear youthful brow; I
will love him for his mother, And seek her blessing now. Kind friends
have sooth'd his pillow, Have watched his ev'ry care; Beneath the
weeping willow, Oh! lay him gently there.
CHORUS: Sleep, dearest, sleep;
I love you as a brother;
Kind friends around you weep,
I've kissed you for your mother."
The words and melody harmonised with our feelings and lent them a
deeper tone as our united voices floated out upon the soft, still
evening air.
With songs of pathos, of love, and of home we mingled strong patriotic
airs. But it was curious to observe how by a common instinct everything
like coarseness and drollery was avoided. The absurd rollicking songs,
most popular on the march, were now scarcely hinted at. And in this way
an hour passed into oblivion as softly as if we had been asleep
dreaming of home which then was heaven, or near it. The bridge had
become shadowy in the gathered darkness, the curve line of the bivouac
was invisible except as it was dotted out by the blazing fires, the
water gleamed with the dancing images of flame, and overhead thousands
of stars had come out to be witness of our flow of soul. And now as the
spirit of stillness was creeping over the enchanted valley, we spread
our rubber blankets under the trees or the open sky, drew on our
overcoats, and lay down to sleep.
Looking back over the events of that day of waiting, and our
rose-colored bivouac in that lovely valley of the Conedoguinet, it is
curious and instructive to observe how pretty a trap we had walked into
unconsciously. It is suspected that the commander selected this spot
for our bivouac from its cage-like character, being prompted thereto by
the provoking experience of the day. However that may be, it is plain
that had the enemy been as near us as we were led to suppose, and had
they known our position, they might have captured the whole column
without firing a shot. The ribbon of land on which we had our bivouac
could be swept by a battery planted at the head of the bridge--which
was the only way of egress, while the place was too narrow to maneuvre
a platoon even. A small detachment of cavalry dashing through our line
of pickets might have sprung the trap upon us before we could have
extricated ourselves. But as good luck would have it the enemy were
nowhere near us, being well on their way to Gettysburg. Though the
force whose presence near Carlisle alarmed our commander and induced
him to countermarch the column, was, as already stated, no more than a
small cavalry escort of a rebel train of plunder on its way to the main
rebel army, yet it is probable that the large cavalry force of General
Stuart was not far off; for Stuart had been detached, as General Lee
states in his report of this his second Cis-Potomac campaign, "to
follow the movements of the Federal army south of the Potomac after our
own (rebel) had entered Maryland."
On that Thursday afternoon while our small column was loitering on the
Carlisle road, our backs turned upon that city, the terrible struggle
was renewed at Gettysburg, closing at sunset--about the time we came to
a halt in the romantic vale of the Conedoguinet for our night's
bivouac, supposing the enemy to be within striking distance of us!
_Friday._--Up at half-past three o'clock, and on the march at five,
after having braced ourselves for a solid day's work with hot coffee
and bread, or hard tack and butter--the bread and butter being the
fruit of yesterday's foraging. Some even fared on chicken, goose, lamb,
etc., though it is feared the rightful owners thereof were not always
invited to the feast.
Emerging from the valley we set our faces again toward Carlisle; and
being disencumbered of knapsacks and woolen blankets, which were
ordered to be brought forward in wagons, we jogged along in fine
spirits. This light marching order, as the phrase is, involves a weight
of some thirty pounds, musket included. At ten o'clock, having advanced
some seven miles, our regiment was halted in a grove just out of the
village of Kinston, for a noon-rest. By the persuasive force of
greenbacks the villagers and outlying farmers were induced to unearth a
goodly supply of bread, butter and eggs, hidden relentlessly doubtless
from the holders of confederate shinplasters during the late sojourn of
King Jeff's hungry subjects. Cherry pies were also added to our
regimental bill of fare, which was due to the energies of an
enterprising officer who had them baked for us and brought in hot!
There had been no issuance of rations since we left Bridgeport Heights,
and accordingly each company had to depend for supplies on its
enterprise in foraging. This was a lesson easily learned and daily
improved upon, though many a poor fellow, doubtless, of less adroit
companies, had spare diet oftener than he considered was healthy. We
sprinkled ourselves over the grove in knots or alone, and slept, sang,
read, wrote, rambled, ate and drank, or did whatever other thing was
most pleasing to ourselves.
About one o'clock we again took up our line of march. The sun was
blazing fiercely, there was but little breeze, and the danger of
sunstroke to many of us was imminent. But as the emergency was pressing
and orders peremptory, the column was pushed along with but short
rests, and we made Carlisle safely at sunset, having travelled since
morning some thirteen miles. We were halted in a field near the town,
and found no other traces of the visit of an enemy than the ruins of
the United States barracks, and a few carcasses of horses near us. The
condition of these latter made it necessary as a sanitary precaution to
cover them with earth. Accordingly spade parties were quickly detailed
for this service.
"The Valley"--as this whole region is known to the inhabitants
thereof--through the midst of which our road lay, is one of the most
beautiful farming countries imaginable. Vast reaches of level, now
golden with grain, stretch from the Blue Ridge on the west to the Blue
Mountains on the east, eight to ten miles apart. Looking over the
country from any point of the road the things one sees at this period
of the year which fix themselves in the memory, are grain, granaries
and mountains; the whole scene suggesting the Happy Valley of Amhara,
the prescriptive residence of Rasselas and the other princes of
Abyssinia. The barns are surprising structures, though of a piece with
the country. Such fields need and presuppose such granaries. They are
usually built of brick or stone, of huge dimensions, having sheds near
the ground as a cover for cattle. In the distance they loom up like
vast warehouses, completely dwarfing the adjacent farm-houses. Many of
the residences we found deserted; and of those that were occupied but
few gave us greeting. But the welcome of this few was so hearty and
substantial as to put us in a humor to forgive the meanness of the
rest.
While we were making our morning march, the hostile armies at
Gettysburg were ordering their lines for a resumption of battle; and at
the moment of our emergence from the woods where we had our delightful
noon-rest, that tremendous fire of artillery from "over one hundred and
twenty-five guns," opened upon the Union army, preparatory to the last
grand assault, which was made while we were on our way to Carlisle; the
disastrous repulse of which terminated the contest, and left the heroic
Army of the Potomac master of the field.
_Fourth of July._--At 3 A.M. we were called up to resume our march. The
previous day had been a trying one to us, and our bivouac was
refreshing accordingly. As we marched through Carlisle we greeted the
day with patriotic airs without exciting the slightest demonstration
beyond an occasional waving of a handkerchief. The people gathered to
see us pass, looking on listlessly. We did not notice a rag of bunting
flying except our own colors, though it was the nation's birth-day!
We turned down the road leading to Mount Holly Gap, a pass in South
Mountain. Five miles out we got a fine view of the range we were to
cross. It rose a couple of miles ahead of us, like a Cyclopean wall,
running directly athwart our path. At the base of it nestled Papertown;
but as yet only the brown church spire and a few house-tops were
visible against the back-ground of the blue mountain. At this village
we were greeted for the first time on our march with cheers! But
perhaps the people had an especially strong motive for feeling
patriotic and demonstrative, Stuart's cavalry having passed through a
day or two before, on its way to join the main rebel army at
Gettysburg. The road was paved with their hoof prints.
Entering the gap we shortly came upon a mountain stream which flowed
along the road-side, and here we were permitted to stop and bathe our
travel-bruised feet. But our business was urgent, and we were soon in
line again pressing on up the mountain. When eight or nine miles
distant from Carlisle we halted for a noon-rest. At this point the two
lips of the gap approach at the base within one hundred feet of each
other--two-thirds of which space is occupied by the brook, and the
remainder, for the most part, by the road. This place is a Thermopylae
but being only a side-door of the State of Pennsylvania, no step had
been taken to close it against invaders. The day was beautiful, and we
stretched ourselves along the shady bank to rest, sleep, write, nibble
on our hard tack, or do whatever pleased us best. All about us being
"A forest primeval,"
there was no near chance for foraging, and so we all rested. Some with
surprising versatility improvised hook and line, and went
a-fishing--their luck ranging from a nibble to the smallest variety of
minnow. Others equally enterprising hunted for blackberries in places
where a blackberry would have been frightened to death to find itself
growing--whether they climbed trees for them is not positively known.
Reports now began to come in of a great battle going on, of which we
had abundant proof before the day was ended. Up to this time our
campaign had been quite an innocent one; and though we had had some
wearisome marching, yet benignant skies had uniformly attended us. But
now all was to be suddenly changed. First came the hot rumors of
battle, and we realized the urgency of the moment, and wondered whether
we should be in time to help in our feeble way to win the great victory
we hoped for, little dreaming that the contest was already decided--the
great victory already won. Next came clouded skies; and as we rested,
there rose to our ears the distant mutter of thunder, and soon big
drops began to fall. Presently a mist was seen to gather around the top
of the mountain far above our heads; and soon the top disappeared in
the shroud which crept ominously down, down the mountain side. We began
to think of shelter, and unrolled our overcoats and rubber cloths. The
thunder grew louder, the lightning flashed more and more vividly and
the rain fell in torrents. A poor little cabin on the road-side gave
shelter to a few. A leaky shed treacherously invited others. Some
seemed to think it unsoldier-like to shrink before the elements, and
doggedly grinned and bore it. But the greater part of us crouched to
the ground under the trees, hauling our rubber blankets over our heads
so as to shed the rain. Like the victims of the first deluge, we
suspected it would not be much of a shower, and were only less mistaken
than those wretched beings.
Over against the mountain wall before and above us there hung in
mid-air a vast sheet of water which the howling wind flapped to and fro
in the gorge terrifically; while the blinding lightning and crashing
thunder seemed to issue together from the mountain itself. The creek,
before clear and placid, quickly became turgid and agitated. It began
to creep up the banks. Presently a dark, strange-looking mass came
floating down--it was a soldier's knapsack! The rain fell, if possible,
in increased torrents. The stream continued to rise rapidly. Other
knapsacks came floating down. It was not long before the water stood
two feet above its former level. Would it keep on raining till it
flooded the road and us? For two hours the rain poured down with only
momentary abatement to renew itself as furiously as before. The calm
mountain brook had become a raging torrent, threatening the whole gorge
with overflow, carrying angrily down a stream of knapsacks, officers'
valises, etc. As we afterward found, the torrent had caught them where
they had been piled together; the rising water having isolated them and
put them beyond the reach of their owners.
There being no signs of the storm abating the order came to "Forward."
We fell in resignedly and even with good humor, having by this time got
pretty thoroughly soaked--every expedient of shelter failing; indeed we
had given up trying to keep dry, and many of us had taken to sauntering
up and down the road watching the baggage drift by, and laughing to see
one another's forlorn appearance. With trailing arms we marched
cheerily up the mountain, singing with infinite gusto, "Marching
along," "John Brown" and kindred airs--our choruses sounding out
grandly in that wild place, and amid that terrific storm. A little
further on we came to a manufacturing hamlet in a sort of cup of the
mountain, the stream on which the mill stood flowing over the edge of
the cup at one side as it were. At this point, or near it, we left the
Carlisle pike and took the mountain road on our right, following up the
course of the Mountain Creek. We now began to fall in with a stream of
men, dressed in U.S. uniform, but without arms. They reported
themselves to be paroled prisoners captured in Wednesday's battle of
Gettysburg. They told us the battle was still raging and that we should
soon be in the midst of it. This was definite, the first definite
information we had had from the Army of the Potomac, since we began our
march. We were now convinced that a great battle was going on, or had
just been fought, and whether lost or won, we felt we must be needed.
This news animated every bosom--some with anxiety--some with courage;
and we pressed on with renewed vigor.
Two miles further on, at the point where Hunter's Run crosses the road,
the column was delayed on account of some obstruction in front. Working
our way along slowly we presently came in sight of the trouble. It was
a sea of water, covering the road waist-deep, in which men and horses
were seen to be floundering promiscuously. A portion of the column
succeeded in getting through, though at imminent peril of being washed
away and it was thought prudent to postpone further attempts at
crossing till the water subsided. A countermarch was accordingly
ordered to the paper mill, which being deserted gave us ample quarters.
It was an extensive establishment, and looked as if work had been
suspended unexpectedly and suddenly. Here were great bins of rags
washed and sorted ready for conversion; here vats of bleached pulp,
like snow-drifts; here piles of white paper, as it dropped from the
calender, with a sheet hanging half issued. We built fires, dried our
clothes, cooked coffee--the little we had left--and regaled ourselves
as best be could with the assistance of a morsel of hard tack which the
rain had reduced to semi-pulp--though of this delicious viand many of
us had not a sample. The hamlet could furnish us but a very limited
supply of creature comforts, the rebels having got there ahead of us,
and made themselves quite at home in kitchen and larder. About 5 P.M.,
the rain having ceased, though the skies still threatened, we again
took up the line of march, leaving behind several poor fellows, whom
the march had put _hors de combat_, quartered among the good people of
the place.
On again reaching the point of danger we found the water had subsided
but little; but orders were imperative, and we plunged in. The passage
was perilous. The road lay along the side of the mountain down which
the stream poured in a torrent, unseen till it came roaring out of the
forest at the road-side, surging furiously across the road, and
disappearing down the tangled wood on the opposite side with the roar
of a cataract. A distance of not more than a hundred feet of its course
was visible. We heard it coming, saw it rush by us, and heard its awful
leap into the depths of the wilderness again. It was the leap of a
tiger from covert to covert across a traveller's path; or like a hyena
at night, disclosed only by the glare of his eyeballs.
We followed the trail cautiously feeling our way along, and not daring
to look to the right or left--our ears filled with the din of the
waters, and half carried off our feet by the impetuous flood. Crossing
a gully--probably the natural bed of the stream--by a foot bridge,
which our engineers had doubtless thrown across, we saw beneath us with
a start and a shudder of horror the head of a drowned horse and the
pole of a wagon sticking up above the torrent. All else was out of
sight. It proved to be a loaded commissary wagon with its team, which
had been swept away! A number of muskets were lost, and a drum or two;
but excepting these casualties we all got across safely with no other
ill fortune than to be wet again to the skin, which, as night was
falling gave us a comfortless prospect. The drum corps of the
Twenty-Third was at this point sent back to Carlisle with the remainder
of the drums, thirteen in number.
In this part of the mountain the road runs level for several miles
along its slope, and being cut down on both sides is for long distances
little better than a ditch. The soil being a stiff clay, the tremendous
rain-fall having insufficient escape converted the road into a
canal--six inches to a foot of water overlying six inches to a foot of
mire. And into this infernal passage we plunged as night closed upon
us. For a couple of hours we floundered along with desperate energy,
losing shoes sucked off by the tenacious slime, and some even throwing
away their blankets. It was pitch dark; it had begun to rain again; we
were hungry--having had nothing but a little wet hard tack and one
small ration of coffee since we left Carlisle--and many, many of us not
so much; we were very jaded, having marched already a dozen miles, much
of it up the mountain, and much of it through mud that would challenge
the admiration of a veteran of the Army of the Potomac; and the floods
of air and earth had soaked us to the skin. Still we kept up our
courage and pressed forward; for now we had reason to believe that a
great battle was raging, which would, we hoped, be decisive of the
salvation of the Republic, and we prayed that if any exigency had
arisen or should arise--which seemed not improbable--in which the
militia reserve should be needed to turn the fortunes of the day in
favor of our arms, we might not be too late.
Some three miles beyond Hunter's Run we passed a poor cabin--the first
human tenement we had seen since leaving the Mount Holley paper mill.
Pitch darkness was now fallen upon us. Here were gathered a motley
crowd of stragglers--thirty or forty in number--from regiments in
advance of us. They had built fires in different parts of the premises,
and looked, as they sat and stood huddled around them, like
gipsies--their faces red in the ghastly fire-light. Some were moving
about under the trees of the door-yard, like phantoms. At a short
distance in rear of the cabin thin parallel streaks of light were
visible, as if shining through the chinks of a barn. Here, it was
evident, another squad was quartered. As we passed this group of
shadows, and plunged again into the gloomy darkness, the spectral
sight, as we looked back, seemed like a phantasmagoria of Hades.
A mile further and we halted--a thicket along the road-side offering a
retreat only less forlorn than the miry road. Rubber cloths were spread
and we lay down for a little sleep. But the work of the day was not yet
ended. About midnight we were roused again by the order "Forward
column!"--a forced march indeed! The exigency, it was evident, must be
great! On, on, through rain and mire, one mile, two miles, three miles
to the hamlet of Laurel Forge, indistinguishable in the darkness, which
gave refuge to all that remained of what was twelve hours before a
proud regiment, filling the mountains with the echoes of its fervid
patriotic song, now a forlorn, exhausted handful of men clutching
greedily the shelter and the hope of rest which the grimy forge
offered. From this category must be excepted one company which,
occupying the right of the column, had forced the passage of the flood
at Hunter's Run when we first reached it on our march, the imminent
peril attending which had caused the order of countermarch to be given
to the rest of the regiment. They reached the dusky hamlet before dark
and passed the night in comparative comfort.
Thus closed at Laurel Forge--now forever associated in our memories
with the Valley Forge of the Fathers by reason of a common
suffering--our Fourth of July in the wilderness. If those immortal
patriots who gave us the day fared worse for our sakes, we who kept the
day are content to know that we fared about as badly as was in our
power for the sake of those who are to follow us. To think of friends
at home setting off rockets and the like in honor of the day, and very
likely in our honor too, seemed so ridiculous in connection with our
sorry plight as to provoke laughter irresistibly. It was like trying to
cheer a mourning friend at a funeral by telling him stories.
To sum up our Fourth of July work:--Distance travelled, including the
countermarch, half of it through frightful mire, _seventeen miles_;
weight carried, allowing for the additional weight given to overcoat,
tents and clothes by their being soaked through and through a good deal
of the time, _thirty-two and a half pounds_; with insufficient food,
and bad feet under most of us.
At Gettysburg there was a cessation of hostilities throughout the day,
both armies remaining in position, apparently taking a breathing spell
preparatory to renewing the struggle on the morrow. During the night,
however, the rebel retreat began by the Fairfield road. The rear of the
column did not get away till after daylight on the 5th.
_Sunday, July 5th._--In the early morning, which it were a satire to
call the Sabbath day, as it had seemed ridiculous to us to think of the
day before being the jubilee day of our boyhood, we scratched open our
eyes and looked about us to see what sort of a place it was we had
fallen upon. Half a dozen small, unpainted, dingy wooden cabins stuck
along the road-side, an iron furnace and a few other buildings,
appendages of the latter, or non-descripts, greeted our sight. But
there was one thing we saw which made us glad--a fine mill-stream,
where though the water was turbid and yellow we bathed, and washed the
mud and grit out of our clothes. Some of us found in the miserable
settlement a little coffee and some flour, the latter of which we were
at no loss how to use--for what soldier has not heard of flap-jack?
Entering a cabin, and taking possession of the family cooking
stove--the women of the establishment meekly withdrawing--a small party
of us prepared our repast. One brought water from a neighboring spring;
another mixed the dough; another fed the fire from the wood-pile in the
corner; another found a dish-cloth and swabbed off the top of the stove
preparatory to laying on the dough; for we thought of our sweethearts,
and our mothers and sisters, and could not endure the idea of dirty
cookery! Then we spread out the ready paste flat on the place appointed
to receive it, where it went to cooking at once with most obliging
promptitude. We sat around the stove, on the wood-pile, on chairs, on
stools, on baby's cradle, on the floor.
Another crowd, having no pecuniary interest in the transaction, formed
an outer circle, accommodated with standees. All watched the growing
prodigy in silence and with greedy eyes. First it began to brown around
the edges. Then it began to puff up. After that the swelling went down
again, leaving the surface all wrinkled like the face of a monkey. Then
a fine smoke rose from it, as it were, incense. Could it be "done"? and
was this the sign from the gods? Perhaps; at any rate it was the sign
of something; probably the sign of scorching on the under side. Then it
ought to be turned. But how turned? Ah, how, indeed! It had been easy
to spread it on--but the turning!
"Facilis descensus Averni;
Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis;
Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras,
Hoc opus, his labor est."
A knife was brought; too short and too narrow. A spoon; better, but
still inadequate. An outsider suggested that all hands lay hold of the
thing on one side and flop it over suddenly. But the jealous
proprietors demurred, fearing that the movement might not be
simultaneous and that thus a flap-jack rupture might ensue, followed by
possible skedaddling of the shrewd operators bearing off the spoil.
Meanwhile the smoke was alarmingly on the increase and something must
be done at once. While we were in this quandary, the principal partner
in the concern, a long, lank fellow with tong-like fingers, in a fit of
desperation seized the thing in one hand with an old rag, and over it
went k-e-r-f-l-o-p! The danger was past, and we congratulated the
skillful operator and one another on the auspicious result. Mr.
Flapjack after that proceeded soberly to do himself brown, whereupon we
all partook, smearing each mouthful with molasses which a miraculous
cupboard furnished, and pronounced it good--in fact excellent. At home
not one of us but would as soon think of eating the stove itself, both
as to cleanliness and digestibility.
While we were recuperating at Laurel Forge on that strange Sabbath
morning a constant stream of stragglers and fragmentary companies of
different regiments were coming in. One of them reported meeting a
party on the road whose situation very fairly represented the degree of
wretchedness which all--officers and men alike--underwent on that
eventful day and night of the Fourth of July. It was just at daybreak.
The men were wading along through the mire as a staff officer rode by
and drew rein at the road-side a little ahead of them, in front of a
party of some three or four officers who were evidently having their
bivouac there in miserable isolation. The officer whom the messenger
saluted as his superior was bare-headed, having evidently just risen
from the ground where his rubber cloth and blanket still lay. His dress
was wet and begrimed with mud; his hair was frowsy, lying in ropy
tangles upon his head and hanging over his brows; and his face was
haggard with anxiety and suffering. It was Brigadier-General ----; and
here in this solitary wilderness had actually been his bivouac, in
company with a few of his staff. Taking what was overheard as a clue,
something like the following colloquy passed between the messenger and
the General:
"General, a complete company, or anything like it cannot be found on
the road--much less a regiment of the brigade. They are scattered
everywhere--sick, exhausted, famished; and if they were together, they
could not be fed." "Where are the wagons?" "Stuck in the mud, sir,
miles back. The teams are broken down and others cannot be procured. I
don't see how we can possibly get the wagons up." "Ah, *** h'm, *** Did
you see no farmers' houses around anywhere?" "The country here, sir, is
a perfect wilderness. The only habitations are a few cabins of poor
people, scattered along the road at long intervals; and even of these
there is but one for the whole seven or eight miles between the paper
mill and Laurel Forge."
It was palpable enough that the situation was alarming. The column
broken up into a vast stream of stragglers--regiments and brigades
mixed promiscuously together--men and officers half-famished, jaded
out, buried in the depths of a mountain wilderness--the subsistence
trains mired far in the rear and no prospect of their getting up; all
this rushing at once upon the mind of a conscientious commander wholly
unused to the hardships of real campaigning, and before he had had time
to throw off the incubus of the dismal night he must have endured, was
enough to crush any but a heroic spirit.
The skeleton of the Twenty-Third having gone forward early in the
morning, our little private "breakfast party" hastened its departure
from the now to us historic hamlet of Laurel Forge, after gratifying
the poor woman who presided over the dingy domicil with the sight of
more money in her hands, doubtless, than she was accustomed to seeing
at one time. The road now began to improve at once. We were getting
"out of the wilderness" apparently. A few miles brought us to Pine
Grove, another settlement with its furnace and shops. Then shortly
after we began to ascend again; and we wondered with fear and trembling
whether we were entering upon a second mountain road which it would be
our wretched fate to climb. There rose indeed before us, two or three
miles off, a formidable range whose crest must have towered well nigh a
thousand feet above us; and though it did not lie directly across the
path we were going, the road bent suspiciously toward it. We had little
strength left for such a renewal of our toils. Up--up--up; nearer and
nearer the crest of the mountain, till it became at length evident that
we were actually on its flank, and that our road lay over its very top.
The rain had ceased, the sun was fighting his way out from among torn
clouds, and the air was sultry. The road was filled with a vast stream
of stragglers intermixed with officers on horseback, and wagons. Along
the road-side weary soldiers were resting. Here one had fallen out
alone, exhausted and disheartened, and another coming up had sat down
beside him on the greensward for a moment, though wearing the uniform
of a different regiment. The latter, with a true soldier's feeling, was
giving the poor fellow a drink from his canteen, and administering the
cheap but precious solace of kind and encouraging words, while big
tears rolled down the cheeks of the other. Such scenes were frequently
observed. Common sufferings had broken down all barriers and we felt
for one another the tenderness of brothers.
Slowly and wearily we toiled on--one mile--two miles. The road
stretched up steep and stony. It was a comfort to be rid of the mire,
but the stones were afflicting enough to our bruised feet. How the
batteries were ever dragged up that mountain road so soon after
emerging from those miles and miles of mire is one of the wonders of
equine endurance. But so it was. We found on the summit that
incomparable Philadelphia Battery which had accompanied us from the
fort, and had won golden opinions from all by the unfailing promptitude
and uncomplaining endurance with which the little company had borne
more than their share of toil and privation. At the top of the mountain
the road was blocked up for long distances with infantry and artillery
at a halt; and here a good portion of our stragglers came up with the
now rehabilitated regiment. The enemy was reported to be near. What
enemy or in what force we could not learn. This much, however, was
understood;--the Eleventh Brigade, or all that was left of it was
ordered to the front! At length the order "Forward" ran along the line,
and on we marched again. We soon came to a cross-roads in an open wood.
Here cannon were planted to command both approaches, hid in front by
leafy branches of trees laid up against them. These were masked
batteries, and it was to be our duty to support them. This looked like
business. One hundred rods or so further brought us to a pretty opening
where we were halted and ordered to pitch tents in the adjoining
timber. Foragers were at once despatched, great fires built, tents
pitched, and preparations made for such supper as was possible under
the circumstances, just as if our pleasant arrangements were not liable
to be stopped at any moment by the appearance of the enemy. But we were
too exhausted to feel nervous with anxiety. At length the foragers
returned with gratifying reports, the substantial fruits of which were
fresh bread and butter, together with a supply of live stock next
morning. During the night the commissary wagons came up, and in the
morning we had coffee once more, and new rations of hard-tack were
given out.
The 5th was spent by Lee at Gettysburg in making good his escape, a
large portion of his immense trains moving by the Cashtown road guarded
by a force of cavalry under General Imboden. As soon as General Meade
discovered the enemy's retreat he sent General Sedgwick with the Sixth
Corps in pursuit; but the latter was not able to accomplish much.
_Monday, 6th._--Our approach and preparations to meet the enemy had not
developed his presence, though some straggling rebels were brought in
who had been picked up by our scouts in the mountains, to whom they had
given themselves up without resistance. Accordingly about the middle of
the forenoon we were ordered to advance again. Some of us had cherished
the hope that we would be permitted to rest over Monday; for we sorely
needed it, and felt that, should we be marched then into the van of
battle--what with our physical exhaustion and our wasted ranks--we
could make but a poor show of fight. But it seemed the exigency was too
urgent to admit of delay. We therefore pulled up stakes again, strapped
our luggage to our backs, shouldered our pieces, and marched forward in
the direction of Gettysburg.
A hard march of fifteen miles over a rough mountain road that pretty
much all the time went up or down, and occasionally by long stretches,
brought the column to Cashtown, a cross-roads settlement, ten miles
north-west from Gettysburg, where the mountain road meets the
Gettysburg and Chambersburg pike. Here we bivouacked in an orchard.
This place is memorable to the Twenty-Third regiment on account of a
sad disaster there befalling, in which one of our number was the
unhappy actor. He fired off a musket charged with ball cartridge,
supposing he was only snapping a cap, directly into the ranks of the
Twenty-Eighth regiment of our brigade, wounding two men--one of them
mortally. No sooner was the lamentable event known to the regiment than
they took instant steps to make the only reparation in their power.
They subscribed on the spot a purse of some twelve hundred dollars,
which they duly paid, for the relief of the families of the victims.
We had thought to make this spot memorable in a very different and
happier way, viz., by the capture of the rebel train bearing the
precious spoils which the enemy had taken from our people. But we were
too late; it had all got safely past before we came up. That furious
storm which had broken over us in the mountains, rendering the roads
impassable or extremely difficult, had been the agent of Providence to
hold us back. However disposed on the spur of the moment and in the
vexation of disappointment we may have felt to regard our delay as an
unmitigated misfortune, depriving us of a golden opportunity of earning
a direct share, however small, in the glories of Gettysburg, still we
may be sure a wiser hand than ours guided the issues of those memorable
days. It is probable that the cavalry force of Imboden, guarding that
important train, was large; at any rate large enough to have trampled
out our handful of men had we made an attack. Had the skies favored we
could hardly have reached Cashtown a day sooner than we did without
making forced marches; much straggling must have ensued; and the column
thus reduced would have come up in an exhausted condition. To be sure
we might have harassed the enemy, caused confusion among the teams, and
perhaps destroyed or compelled him to destroy a part of his train. But
we were too late, and speculation or regret is now unavailing.
When General Meade despatched Sedgwick's corps in pursuit of the flying
enemy on the Fairfield road, he sent at the same time a force of
cavalry on the Cashtown road to capture or destroy the rebel train.
They "captured," in the words of Lee himself, "a number of wagons and
ambulances; but they (the rebel wagon train) succeeded in reaching
Williamsport without serious loss." Sedgwick appears to have been
unsuccessful in seriously harassing the retreat of Lee, the Fairfield
pass, up to which place he pushed the pursuit, being so strong a
natural position as to enable a small force holding it to check for a
considerable time any pursuing foe. General Meade remained at
Gettysburg with the bulk of the army during the 5th and 6th, "engaged
in succoring the wounded and burying the dead."
_Sunday, 7th._--Our attempted exploit of capturing or destroying the
enemy's train having thus miscarried, we resumed the chase, taking the
Chambersburg pike. In thus turning our backs upon Gettysburg, whither
we supposed we were bound, we might naturally wonder "what next?" That
this supposition was correct, witness the following order:
(Pine Grove), July 7th, (6th), 1863.
In compliance with Division Orders this command will take up line
of march for Gettysburg forthwith.
This Brigade will take the advance--regiments in the following
order:--7th, 8th, 56th, 52nd, 23rd.
******