BATTLE OF SHARPSBURG, CONCLUDED
Toombs's Georgia Brigade--Longstreet on the field--Lee's war
horse--McClellan superseded by Burnside--A horse trade--Richard H.
Anderson's division--A lost opportunity--Walton and myself find
quarters at Shepherdstown among wounded--Driven away by enemy's shells.
Toombs's brigade of Georgians had fought well at the bridge on the
right. It was contested all day and was the scene of some bloody
encounters. Some fresher men under A. P. Hill at last came up late,
almost dark, and a general advance on the enemy's lines persuaded the
timorous McClellan that we were not done fighting, and he ceased his
operations. Lee was left, after the long day's work, with thin ranks
holding the ground he stood on in the morning, and nothing lost by
us in guns, colors, or prisoners. The casualties, however, were very
heavy, our list of wounded and killed being awful. Here fell my dear
personal friends of school days, McIntosh and Parkman. I had lost
several in the battles preceding and my heart was heavy.
Longstreet's conduct on this great day of battle was magnificent.
He seemed everywhere along his extended lines, and his tenacity and
deep-set resolution, his inmost courage, which appeared to swell with
the growing peril to the army, undoubtedly stimulated the troops to
greater action, and held them in place despite all weakness. My staff
comrades described to me later his appearance and reception by Lee when
they met at night after firing ceased. Longstreet, big, heavy, and
red, grimly stern after this long day's work, that called for all we
could stomach, rolled in on his clumsy carpet slippers. Lee immediately
welcomed him with unconcealed joy. "Here comes my war horse just from
the field he has done so much to save!" his arm affectionately around
"Peter's" shoulder. The latter should surely have been proud and well
satisfied. Lee held his ground that night and all the next day (the
18th), caring for his wounded and burying his dead. On the night of
the 18th he quietly moved out and successfully passed the Potomac to
Virginia ground without loss. That McClellan with his great army, a
third of which had taken no part in the two battles, permitted this
escape is unaccountable. In olden times generals lost their heads for
such stupidities. "Little Mac" lost his place instead, being soon
superseded by Burnside.
I was never good at a horse trade, and here is a story of one. I had
a nice little mare of good paces, but she was undersized for my long
legs. Walton, my staff comrade, had a big, fine bay, well gaited and
apparently all that I could wish. Walton, being a small man, liked the
mare, and was ready to trade; but just before getting to Boonsboro, the
big bay, "Mott" (he had been brought from Mississippi by that Colonel
Mott who was killed at Williamsburg, and we named him "Mott"), had
broken loose and was astray somewhere, Walton being unable to find him.
Having some mounted men I could use and knowing the cavalry officers
near by, I believed he could be found, so taking the chances I made
the trade by paying Walton $275 to boot, and this too in '62, when
Confederate money was not so very _bad_. That much cash could then buy
considerable stuff. Longstreet was an excellent judge of horseflesh
and to him I gave the details of my trade. In answer I got a little
stare and smile as he said, "Why, Major, I would not give $275 for the
horse tied to a corn crib; no quartermaster in this army can furnish
forage enough for that beast!" This was soothing and encouraging to be
sure, and in the mean time bay "Mott" refused to be found. Boonsboro
and Sharpsburg were fought, the army back in Virginia, and I on my
way back, when at last came my cavalrymen, bay "Mott" in hand, and in
a fortnight or so I was on him, a powerful, well-paced animal; but
Longstreet was right, he could never get enough to eat, and after some
time his ribs and bones were disagreeably in evidence, and the beast
was turned over to a quartermaster to do with as he would. He had
pickings in the corral and was probably hitched to a hay wagon.
When struck down by that bursting shell, Colonel Cooke had me
immediately carried off on a stretcher to a less exposed place, and
on regaining consciousness good old Fairfax was pouring whiskey down
my throat. We had been severed by one of those unnecessary camp
differences and were not on good terms. Needless to say all that
was now forgotten and we were comrades once more. He managed to get
an ambulance and sent me off to the army field-infirmary. There was
another officer stretched by me in the ambulance, very bloody and
very terribly wounded. I did not think I was hurt badly, but seemed
to have no motion or feeling about the legs. We were soon at the
surgeon's camp, Dr. Guild medical director in charge. I knew him well,
a cheerful soul. "What, you too!" he cried. "Now, turn over." And he
began pinching my legs unmercifully. I kicked and cried out loudly, and
he laughed and said: "O, you are quite right, I feared for your back.
Now away to the rear across the river; you will be on duty again in a
fortnight." The hurt was a violent contusion below the right shoulder
and made the whole side of the body black and blue with extravasated
blood. Off we started and came up with my staff comrade, Walton, slowly
trotting to the rear with a bullet in his shoulder. He took charge of
things energetically, managed by threats and bullying to get a boat,
and had us ferried across the river at Shepherdstown. There Walton got
some men to carry me, hunting a resting place; he tried everywhere, his
wound paining him all the time. The little town was full of wounded
and it looked as if we should have to lie out in the street, but some
gentle hearts were melted. At the house of the Hamtrammocks, already
crowded with wounded, the ladies gave up their last room and put us in
it, fed and cheered us, providing that sweet sympathy and goodness that
was ever present among the noble women of battle-torn Virginia.
The Hamtrammock family was unknown to me, but stood very well in the
village and all through the Valley. It was said that their father, long
dead, had commanded a Virginia regiment in the Mexican War. The only
members of the family we saw were the two pleasant girls, Elsie and
Florence, and an aunt, Miss Sheperd. That evening the doctor relieved
Walton of acute suffering by cutting out the bullet, which had buried
itself in the muscles of the shoulder, and dressed my battered back.
So we awoke next morning refreshed and easier, charmed with our luck
in such good quarters. We were soon quite ready to be entertained by
the young ladies, and they were nothing loth after the nurses had made
us presentable. There was a Georgian in the house, Captain D'Antignac,
badly wounded in the head, and in charge of Miss Sheperd. She would
sometimes rush into our room, laughing immoderately; the poor fellow
was out of his head and talking all sorts of nonsense. Our hostesses
were very gracious, gay, happy, well educated girls; they played and
sang prettily, and were such Confederates! We had much curiosity to
know how they had fared during the night, since they had been robbed
of their rooms; it finally came out that they had shared the bathroom
between them. But this elysium could not last long, for next day
the enemy planted some guns on the river bank and began shelling
everything. The wounded were in great peril and the surgeons hurried
them to the rear. An ambulance was sent at once for us, and with
grateful farewells to our friends, we were taken away to a little old
farmhouse fifteen miles distant, behind Lee's army.