J. C. SMITH,
Brigadier-General Commanding.
We followed the Chambersburg pike as far as Greenwood where we turned
to the left down a road leading southerly. The remains of a caisson and
a forge which had been knocked to pieces so as to be unserviceable to
the finder, and unused rifle shells scattered along the road indicated
the haste of the retreat of the enemy. To facilitate their escape they
had moved in two columns, one by the road, the other through the
adjoining fields, where the ripe grain for long distances lay trampled
for the breadth of the line.
About 4 P.M., we came to a halt in a grove just out of the little
village of Altodale, (erroneously called Funcktown by Col. VARIAN of
the 8th and Col. TRAFFORD of the 71st in their published reports of the
campaign), having accomplished a distance of some fourteen miles from
Cashtown. Here we realized more keenly than we had yet done that we
were coming upon classic ground. Through the grove flowed a brawling
brook named the Little Antietam. The waters which there soothed our
travel-bruised feet and refreshed our weary limbs were destined to
bathe the historic field where the patriot army hurled back the first
rebel invasion. But the neighborhood is itself memorable for a prior
transaction, connected with one of the most pregnant events in the
history of the country. Near the place of our bivouac, John E. Cook,
one of the unfortunate confederates of John Brown of Harper's Ferry,
was arrested. Cook, it will be remembered, escaped from Harper's Ferry
by taking to the mountains of Maryland on foot; and after having
reached a spot where he expected to find sympathizing friends, was
treacherously seized by one Logan, and sent back to a Virginia gallows.
This execrated wretch now lives, poor and despised by his neighbors, in
this village of Altodale. But it is pleasant to be able to say that his
wife, as if an atoning angel, opened her doors, (Logan was absent on a
distant journey at the time), and showed to our men--they being
ignorant of who their entertainer was--a generous hospitality. She fed
the hungry and nursed the sick with christian charity.
On this Tuesday morning the entire rebel army reached Hagerstown; and
at the same moment General Meade set on foot from Gettysburg a flank
movement by way of Middletown.
The skies threatening we pitched tents for the night along the Little
Antietam. Toward morning the rain fell furiously. It dripped through
the canvas above us, it crept in under the edges of the tents, and
soaked the rubber cloths on which we lay. When our situation under
cover had become sufficiently miserable, seized with insane impatience
we crawled out into the open air, only to find that our neighbors had
been as insane as ourselves. It was then early daybreak. You could
dimly see, gathered around the faintly burning embers of the company
fires, a few strange-looking objects, black and utterly shapeless
except near the ground where a pair of legs protruded. As you moved
through the wood you everywhere met forms like these wandering about
aimlessly and in moody silence. Squat on the ground were others--mere
black shapeless heaps. Some were collected around the trunks of trees.
Some were scattered about on rocks and stumps. Wherever you went they
were directly in front and on either side of you. As the beams of
morning crept through the grove the phantasmagoria became still more
striking. Distant objects were brought to light, and those near you,
faintly descried or not observed before, became distinct. The whole
extended wood was seen to be filled with these black shapeless heaps,
strewn on the ground indiscriminately everywhere. They encircled the
smouldering fires, which ever and anon would shoot up a sparkling blaze
as if some one had stirred them. Some taller than the rest were moving
about slowly and solemnly. Here and there were commissary and
quartermaster wagons, the teams unhitched and turned about like
Barnum's equine monster--their heads where their tails ought to be--and
looking demurely into the wagons, where, on boxes and barrels, were
other dismal black heaps. Observe one of these. It is crowned with a
soft felt hat, the rim bent down all around, from which the water is
dripping drearily. Looking under it you see the large, sad, careworn
visage of Colonel Everdell, ever watchful of his men, and now sharing
with them this extremity of discomfort and exposure.
As the morning waxes light the camp-fires flame up stronger if not
brighter, and now you see real human figures moving about. These
ominous black heaps scattered everywhere are, as it were, eggs, and out
of each of them will crawl in due time a full-fledged biped. See yonder
by that fire; one of them is even now in violent motion--evidently in
the pangs of birth. Presto! a man emerges from it as it collapses to
the ground. He goes straight to the fire, stirs it up, blows the sick
embers, cuts slivers for kindling and lays them on, takes the axe,
splits a rail in pieces which he piles on the now quivering spires of
flame, and goes to other black heaps and shakes them with reproachful
summons. Lo, these too split apart, and out from each appears a man!
These take black iron pots and go off. Presently they come swinging
back with the pots filled with water. Meantime the fire is finely
started, the pots are slung astride a long pole set over the fire, the
wood crackles, the flames shoot up wrapping the pots around. And now
the camp is all astir. The black objects are twice as numerous as
before, moving about with increased animation. You imagine Little
Antietam to be the Acheron of fable, and all these to be poor ghosts,
strangely clad in the mortal habiliments of woe, crowding the banks of
the fateful river, and waiting, sick with hope deferred, their turn to
cross; and your eyes wander curiously along the swollen, dashing stream
to catch sight of the unclean grizzly beard, Charon, the ferryman, and
his crazy skiff:--
"There stands
Charon, who rules the dreary coast--
A sordid god: down from his hoary chin
A length of beard descends, uncomb'd, unclean:
* * *
He spreads his canvas; with his pole he steers;
The freight of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears
* * *
An airy crowd came rushing where he stood,
Which filled the margin of the fateful flood--
* * *
Thick as the leaves in autumn strew the woods,
Or fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods,
And wing their hasty flight to happier lands--
Such and so thick the shiv'ring army stands,
And press for passage with extended hands.
Now these, now those, the surly boatman bore:
The rest he drove to distance from the shore.
* * *
A hundred years they wander on the shore;
At length, their penance done, are wafted o'er."
Then you fancy them a collection of howling dervishes; or a
congregation of monks in Purgatory, the figures about the fires being
the working devils preparing to roast the poor monks for their
morning's course of expiatory torment.
While you are trying to drown your misery in this sort of musing the
fire is doing its work, and soon the pots boil, the fixens are tossed
in, and the coffee. Near by your own company fire--that is what most
interests you now--there is spread on the ground a rubber cloth, whose
irregular protuberant shape suggests agreeable things. The busy figure
at the fire approaches the mystery, raises the covering at one end and
draws forth bread, which he cuts in chunks, loaf after loaf; a crock of
apple butter--a Pennsylvanian Dutch dish somewhat analagous to the
apple sauce of the Yankees; and a can of brown sugar--a luxury which
only the prudent forethought of enterprising officers rendered
possible, intended doubtless for their own mess, but generously devoted
to the comfort of the company, now struggling under the terrible triple
load of fatigue, privation and exposure. For be it remembered that,
although we had had fresh meat rations served out to us only
forty-eight hours previously, sufficient to last us a couple of days if
not wasted, yet the unexpectedness and suddenness of our resumption of
the march had prevented us, in our inexperience, from availing
ourselves of the provision. Indeed it rarely happened that we carried
in our haversacks from bivouac to bivouac anything more than half a
dozen hard-tack, if so many, which we snatched up hastily as we fell
into line for the forward march. So that the only real refreshment we
found within our reach at the end of each day's march, when, weary,
hungry and sore we dropt down on the rough ground of bivouac, was night
itself and its sweet gift of sleep. Whatever may be the theories of
physiologists on the subject, we felt, as a matter of daily experience,
that a good, wholesome, appetizing meal half an hour or an hour after
coming to a halt would have enabled us to endure much harder marches
with much less fatigue than is here recorded.
All being ready, the boiling pots are slipped off the fire, and the
viands set on the ground in order before the master of ceremonies. A
shout goes forth, "Fall in for rations!" But the call is needless. For
the last half hour fifty pairs of eyes have been following every motion
of the cook and his volunteer aids, and tin plates and cups been giving
forth their dulcet strains. A long cue of black headless devils stands
merry before the flourishing disciple of Soyer. He dips into the
smoking pot of stew and raises a cupful, dripping and delicious; a
plate is ready to receive it. He dips again; another is ready. The
supernumeraries dispense the coffee, bread, apple-butter, and
sweetnin'. The black cue shortens one by one till the last hungry devil
is supplied, and all have assumed the squat posture, and the grove is
filled with black heaps again. But not now as before. Then all were
glum, silent, motionless--the rain pelting them remorselessly. Now
every one is alive with movement and talk. By and bye the weather
clears up a little. One after another, human forms reappear upon the
scene. The drummers sound their call;--it is the Assembly--the summons
to forward march. Tents are struck quickly; luggage rolled and
shouldered; arms taken; and away goes an army of brave youths, three
short hours ago utterly and miserably "played out", now ready to make a
long day's march, or to move upon the enemy, singing as they pass under
Logan's windows, "Marching along," "John Brown," etc., ignorant at the
moment of the poetic justice which their mighty chorus celebrates.
A member of the Twenty-Third left behind at Altodale, sick and in care
of a kind mater-familias, related an amusing experience which
illustrates the semi-civilization of the people of those regions. His
bed was provided with but one sheet; and the hostess kindly enquired
whether he would rather have a counterpane or a blanket next him--"some
people prefers one, and some the other!" she remarked. He thanked her
blandly and chose the counterpane. During the two days and nights of
his stay he did not hear the sound of a piano, nor a note of music from
the inhabitants, though he was in the heart of the village, and at
twilight saw young ladies promenading the street. In lively contrast to
this neglect of the divine gift of music, he heard, on the second
evening, a company of soldiers who were dallying in the place, singing
patriotic songs, which were received by their comrades with a familiar
"Hi! Hi!" This sudden irruption of democratic New York into a
Pennsylvania Dutch village, whose only idea of the great city was,
doubtless, what had been derived from rose-colored descriptions and
fanciful pictures of its great hotels or its streets of palaces, must
have seemed to the inhabitants about as strange as the unheralded
appearance on Broadway, some fine afternoon, of a caravan of Bedouins
from Arabia.
Another instance was narrated to show the primitive taste of the
villagers; one more to the point than that just recorded, which may
have been accidental. Opposite the room where he lay sick was the
residence of one of the rich men of the place. His house was of brick,
commodious and painfully plain. The roadway extended to the very door,
the only marks of division between the portion to be used for vehicles
and that intended as a walk being a locust tree and a bridle post. The
door was raised some two feet above the ground, and was reached by a
partly hewn log, from around which the rain had washed away quite a
depth of gravel, so that it now presented an awkward step for a lady.
Though there was abundant room for a door yard there was no enclosure,
no sign of shrub or flower. Here dwelt one of the upper-tendom of
Altodale.
This same soldier, on his way to rejoin his regiment met a Pennsylvania
youngster with whom he had the following colloquy:--
"Many more back?" inquired the boy, who evidently wanted to know
whether there were many more troops coming forward. Carlyle might envy
such terseness of language.
"No, not many. Did many pass here yesterday?"
"No, not so very many. But last night there was quite a _drove of
'em_."
This language was either not complimentary to the discipline of the New
York militia while on the march, or not complimentary to the
school-masters of Franklin County, Pa. Imagine such a conversation in a
rural district of Massachusetts!
As an offset to this promising lad, he heard of another who was
chopping wood by the road-side when the rebel army was passing. One of
the rascally tatterdemalions coming close to him made a grab for his
hat--it was a fashion they had of helping themselves to the head-gear
of everybody they passed--but missed it. The boy turned, raised his
axe, and "dared" the rebel "to try that again!"
From Altodale the column followed the course of the Little Antietam in
a south-westerly direction to Waynesboro', and came to camp two miles
beyond on the Waynesboro' and Hagerstown pike. The day was pleasantly
cool, and the march of eleven miles was made in comparative comfort,
notwithstanding the roads were heavy and our wet luggage and clothes
added greatly to our burden, As to rations we were learning to get
along with the scantiest supply, like the horse of the enterprising
economist which was trained to subsist at last on one oat a day, and
was on the point of getting along on nothing when he unexpectedly gave
up the ghost. Whether our lot would have been similar had our term of
service continued a few days longer can never be positively known.
At Waynesboro' we fell in with the Sixth Corps of the army, which, as
before mentioned, had been despatched by General Meade from the field
of Gettysburg, on the 5th instant, in pursuit of the enemy by the
Fairfield Road--their line of march being thus nearly parallel to ours.
Here we were, then, in the midst of the world-renowned Army of the
Potomac--in fact incorporated with it, being now subject to the orders,
as we understood, of that gallant soldier, Major-General Sedgwick, who
fought his corps so splendidly at Fredericksburg in Hooker's
unfortunate Virginia campaign. We felt a genuine soldierly pride in
such an association. We were now the comrades in arms of men whose
business was fighting, and who attended to their business like men; and
them we trusted to show us the way we were to follow. Our expectation
that, notwithstanding all our forced marching, we were destined to
return home without getting sight of the armed enemy was partially
dissipated; and now that a live fighting man had got us in hand, there
were few of us, it may well be supposed, who were any longer "spilin'
for a fight." The veterans regarded our grey suits curiously, and
advised us to exchange them for Uncle Sam's blue before we went into
action; otherwise, we should most likely be taken for Grey Backs, (as
the rebels were sometimes called by the Union soldiers from the color
of their dress), and be shot by our comrades. This was not an
over-pleasant suggestion; still, in the absence of present danger, we
tried to "borrow no trouble".
General Meade, in his report of the Battle of Gettysburg, makes the
following allusion to our arrival, though he erroneously makes
Boonesboro' instead of Waynesboro' the place where we first joined
him:--
"It is my duty as well as my pleasure to call attention to the
earnest efforts at co-operation on the part of Major-General D. N.
Couch, commanding the Department of the Susquehanna, and
particularly to his advance of 4,000 men under Brigadier-General W.
F. Smith, who joined me at Boonesboro' just prior to the withdrawal
of the Confederate army."
We pitched our tents in a pleasant hillside grove, where we rested the
next day, employing our leisure in putting our arms in order. The
morning report gave 519 officers and men as present and fit for the
duty in the Twenty-Third regiment; the strongest muster the regiment
could show during the campaign. Many of us got passes to go to
Waynesboro' where, notwithstanding the rebels had, a few days before,
seized all they could lay hands on, we found pretty much all we wanted;
and having just come "out of the wilderness", we wanted pretty much
everything that soldiers can use at once, or can carry away with them.
The Little Antietam still kept us company, and bathing in its waters
greatly refreshed our wearied limbs.
_Friday, 10th._--Ordered out on a reconnoissance with the New York
Seventy-First. The column moved out on the Waynesboro' and Greencastle
pike, and took position on a bare hill some two or three miles east of
Waynesboro'. Here we stacked arms and roasted in the sun all day; at
night returned to camp.
_Saturday, 11th._--Rested again, though we were on the _qui vive_ all
the afternoon for a forward movement, the following order having been
promulgated:--
Head-Quarters First Division, }
Department of the Susquehanna, }
Waynesboro', July 11th, 1863.
The Brigadier-General Commanding calls the attention of the command
to the certainty of an early engagement with the enemy, and it is
strictly enjoined upon Brigade, Regimental and Company commanders
to attend at once to the condition of the arms and ammunition of
the men under them.
No time is to be lost in putting the arms in perfect order and
seeing that the boxes are filled with cartridges.
The rations on hand must be cooked and put in haversacks, so that
no detention will ensue when the order to march is given; and also
that the men may not suffer for food, when it is impossible for the
supply trains to reach them.