IN VIRGINIA UNDER GENERAL POPE
A ride in the Confederate doctor's "One horse Chaise." Living off the
country. Learning the distance to Germania Ford. The Second Battle of Bull
Run. The Battle of Chantilly.
While we remained at Newport News we had a rather pleasant time. We
drilled a little, we played ball a good deal, we ate quahog clams, we
received boxes from home filled with good things, and we swam in the
waters of the bay; the sun was very hot, but there was always a good
breeze.
One of the boys, a rather awkward fellow, received a box from home. It
contained among other things a box of dried prunes; he stewed some of them
for sauce. He had no more than got them finished when the order was given
to fall in for inspection. In his haste he upset his pan of sauce on his
gun and equipments; line was formed and along came the colonel, the
captain and the inspecting officer. He presented his gun to the inspecting
officer; but to the surprise and horror of the officer, his gloves of
immaculate whiteness, were covered with a soft brown sticky substance. He
looked at his gloves for an instant, and with an oath demanded "What is
that?" and the king of the awkward squad made answer, "It is nothin' but
stewed prunes." For an instant military discipline was powerless, but the
man was sent to his quarters and was later dealt with.
By the last of July the report was abroad that we were to leave soon and
instead of going up the James River to reinforce McClellan, as we expected
to do, on the 3d of August we started to join Pope. We sailed up the
Potomac to Aquia Creek. We landed on the 4th, and took train for
Fredericksburg, arriving there in a short time and went into camp about a
mile from the town.
There we remained until the 12th, and who of the 21st boys does not
remember how we enjoyed the delicious fresh spring water that was so
abundant there, after drinking the North Carolina surface water?
Directly after our arrival there, heavy picket posts were sent out on all
the roads leading to the camp. I was in the detail which was established
near the village of Falmouth, a little pine grove near the house of the
local physician furnished us a fine camp ground. The physician was a man
about sixty years old, of one of the "first families of Virginia," and
"secesh" through and through. Occasionally he would come over to our camp
and talk with us. He was free to concede that his sympathies were with the
South, and spoke with freedom of the superiority of the southerner; he
was very certain the Confederacy would be established. We answered his
assertions respectfully, but quietly determined to give the old man a jolt
if we had a chance. The night before we left there, Harding Witt appeared
at my tent door at about three o'clock in the morning; the way was clear.
A colored boy, one of the doctors' servants who had engaged to co-operate
with us for a consideration, had just been over and informed Harding that
the doctor had been hastily called to Fredericksburg and would not return
until afternoon the next day. It had been predetermined that if possible
we would have a ride in the old man's chaise. He had a good horse, and the
chaise was large enough to hold three of us on a pinch. The party was to
consist of Harding, Billy and myself and we were speedily on the way. As
we approached the house we found the negro waiting for us; he then led the
way by a back path to the rear of the buildings. The horse was soon
harnessed into the chaise, and led by the same path down to the road.
Billy unrolled a bundle of small United States flags he had got from the
sutler and we proceeded to decorate that team as it was never decorated
before, then we loaded in and started for camp. We reached there just as
ranks were broken after the morning roll call. We rode up and down the
parade ground a few times, then drove over into the company street and
received the congratulations of our friends; then went for a drive and
rode back again. When we reached the doctor's house we told his wife, it
was President Lincoln's birthday and we thought we would take a ride to
celebrate the occasion; besides we were concerned about the horse, lest he
should become foundered standing in the barn so long without exercise. She
called us a band of horse thieves, barbarians and vandals, and gave us a
number of other pet names which have escaped me. We fully expected to be
disciplined for this prank, but not an officer of the regiment saw us and
not a word of reproof was ever said to one of us about the affair. It is
needless to say the doctor did not honor us with a call that day and
towards night we moved on, starting on a night's march towards Culpepper
Court House--now marching, now standing still, dragging slowly along over
one of the worst conceivable roads and not making more than ten miles
during the whole night.
In the early morning of the 13th, we halted and had coffee. After a rest
of three or four hours we started on again and by night when we went into
camp we were within a few miles of Bealton station; rations were issued
and we were taken on some freight cars and carried to Culpepper Court
House. What a railroad that was? We covered the cars inside and out, we
could not have run at the rate of more than eight or ten miles an hour,
but that speed seemed dangerous. The cars swung, bumped and rolled along.
I expected every minute they would leave the track, but they did not, and
about the middle of the afternoon we reached Culpepper Court House. We
marched through the town out a little way into the country and camped for
the night. August the 15th we moved forward again in the afternoon about
five or six miles and camped near the battlefield of Cedar Mountain. We
had then become a part of General Pope's army, a part of which was in camp
near by, and we immediately proceeded to take advantage of Pope's General
Order No. 10, which allowed the army to live off of the country.
The land was not overflowing with milk and honey; the cows, what there
were of them, were kept milked pretty dry. However, the next day after we
reached that neighborhood, a party of our boys did get a hive of bees, and
another party to which the writer belonged succeeded in capturing a sheep.
We had plenty of pork and bread, and with mutton and honey added, we lived
very well.
One afternoon while we were there, Harding Witt and I started out for a
walk to see what there was to be seen going over towards the battlefield.
We had just passed a deserted log house with a dead horse lying in front
of it, when we overtook a long, lank, lean woman; she had a boy about
eight years old with her. She had a large bundle of bedding on her head;
in one hand she had a basket full of cooking utensils and was holding onto
the bundle with the other.
As we approached she called out to James, who was heavily loaded with
household things, "Geems, whorey up, you are so slow!"
"Who lives in that house we have just passed?" said I, pointing to the log
cabin.
"I did."
"Were you there during the fight?"
"Guess I was."
"Where was your husband?"
"He war dead."
"Was he killed in the battle?"
"No, big Pete Jones killed him about two months ago."
"How far is it to Germania Ford?"
"Two skips and a right long jump ar reckon," and Harding and I trudged
along as we had learned the distance to Germania Ford.
By the 16th, it became interesting and picturesque to see the Johnnies
signaling in the evening from every hilltop on the other side of the
Rapidan; we seemed to be very near them--almost among them.
The afternoon of the 18th, things looked very ominous; great clouds of
dust could be seen rising all along the southern horizon; our trains were
moving to the rear; large masses of provisions were being destroyed. Just
about sunset Confederate troops could be seen on the high ground on the
other side of the river, and as darkness came on, the southern and
southwestern sky became illuminated, indicating camps of an army.
Signaling, too, was carried on vigorously from the hilltops. During the
afternoon we were told that the army was to fall back to the north side of
the Rappahannock and that our brigade was to act as rear guard. The first
part of the night dragged slowly along and it was past midnight before we
got started, but the road was clear, and once under way we moved rapidly.
Our regiment led the brigade on this march and as we approached a road
that led to Raccoon Ford a little way off to the right, General Reno rode
up to the head of the column and showed some anxiety. The Confederates had
something of a force at Raccoon Ford and he, I imagine, knew we were
running pretty close to them. They did not attempt to disturb us,
however; they very likely did not know we were passing so near them, and
we sped along, reaching Kelley's Ford about noon the 19th, having marched
a distance of twenty-three miles.
The last mile before we reached the ford the road ran along near the river
bank. It was hot and dusty, and the sight of that cool fresh water was too
great a temptation for three of us boys, so down we went, stripped off and
took a duck. We had no more than got into the water when we heard firing
just behind us. The Johnnies' cavalry had overtaken us and had opened fire
on the boys up in the road. We caught up our clothing and trappings and
ran along beside the river under the bank up to the ford not more than
half a mile and there dressed ourselves, then went and joined the regiment
which was nearing the ford. The attack did not amount to anything. We soon
crossed the river and went into camp.
The thing that interested us most while at the ford, was the attacks by
the Confederate cavalry on our cavalry pickets that were stationed in the
wood on the farther side of a very large field, on the south side of the
river. The Johnnies attacked and drove in our pickets two or three times.
To see the two forces manoeuvre on that field was interesting; if the
enemy came too near the ford a battery of artillery, stationed on high
ground near us on the north side of the river, would open fire on the
Johnnies and send them scurrying back into the wood again. We remained at
the ford two days.
Early in the morning of the 22d, we left Kelley's Ford, going up the
river. Soon we heard artillery firing ahead but it did not last long. We
soon passed through Rappahannock station where there were a lot of dead
horses lying about, probably the result of the firing we had heard early
in the morning. In the early morning of the 23d there was heavy artillery
firing at Rappahannock station again. The commissary stores there were
burned and I think the place had been evacuated. Clouds of dust may be
seen off on the southwest and western horizon; artillery and infantry
firing in front and to our left may be heard most of the time. We fired
off and cleaned our guns and reloaded them again. All the signs indicate
that we are drifting toward a battle.
August 24. We started on the march early, but after going a little way
turned into a pasture and halted, a fine steer was driven up and killed;
in an hour all the eatable part of that creature had been consumed. There
was a large field of corn nearby to which we helped ourselves, and we had
as good a breakfast as any fellow ever needed. About ten o'clock heavy
artillery firing opened in front of us. A squad of Confederate prisoners
passed us going to the rear. There is firing on three sides of us, in
front, to the left and in our rear. We are going slowly along now,
marching two or three miles, then halting for an hour or two.
We were ordered to support a battery that was firing across the river at a
Confederate battery. A lot of our sharpshooters along the river bank were
firing away too. Directly the Confederate guns were silenced but the river
was between us; it was high, there was no ford nearby and we were obliged
to leave the guns there. As we moved along during the afternoon, some
ambulances loaded with wounded men passed us going to the rear. "Where
were you hit?" asked one of the boys. "Passing the time of day with some
cavalry on the other side of the river," was the answer received. At night
we camped near our train and had some coffee, the first we had had since
leaving Kelley's Ford.
About eight o'clock the morning of the 25th we left camp, soon passing a
bridge across the river on fire, then a dead negro lying beside the road.
Some of the boys examined him and said his flesh was still warm. Those
clouds of dust are still visible off to the left. We passed through the
town of Warrenton about noon, then marched till midnight. How the boys
growled! And how they swore! Weren't we a tired lot when we halted! It
seemed as if we would go to sleep marching. When we halted we took a few
steps to the side of the road and dropped. We learned the next morning
that we were at Warrenton Junction, where we stayed all day.
Leaving camp early in the morning of August 27, we marched part way back
to Warrenton, just for exercise, very likely. The reports circulated about
Stonewall Jackson being bagged and the like on this campaign are so common
that they have come to be the laughing-stock of every one. We marched most
of the day and halted at night at the village of Greenwich. Just before we
went into camp, Billy started off across the fields a'foraging. When he
returned he brought with him a basket of turnips. He gave me three of them
and that night I cooked and ate them. Well, it seemed to me that I never
ate anything in my life that went to the right spot like those turnips.
Cannonading in our front and clouds of dust rising off to the west and
north on the horizon are almost continuous, and once more comes the report
that Stonewall Jackson is caught at last. It is a mistake to think that
the private soldiers are not, after a certain amount of experience, able
to size up their commanders in a fairly correct way. If there is a master
mind at the head, they know it very quickly, and it did not take the men
of the 21st long to discover that there was no master mind at the head at
that time. So much backing and filling, so much talking about bagging that
old fox, Stonewall Jackson, soon became a matter of ridicule and all our
dependence was placed in General Reno.
August 28. We started early in the morning in the direction of Manassas
Junction, reaching there about noon to find it had been burned. The
storehouse and the trains of cars, all loaded with supplies, were in
smouldering ruins. A few dead rebels lying about was the only redeeming
feature. Late in the afternoon we started for Bull Run and when we camped
in the evening, we were under the impression that we were in the immediate
neighborhood of the old Bull Run battlefield.
August 29. We started early in the morning, passed through Auburn and
headed direct for the firing line; it sounded as if a battle was under
way. A lot of paroled prisoners passed us going to the rear as we moved
along. We soon reached a high hill to the top of which we climbed. We had
a fine view of the center and right center of the Confederate line, but
where the Union army was I have not the remotest idea. Occasionally a
brigade would be sent into the wood, down to our right center, would be
cut to pieces and come out again. General Reno did not leave us for a
moment.
At about noon three batteries of artillery came up onto the hill and we
took position in their rear as their support. A little later in the
afternoon, the first brigade of our division, was sent into the wood on
our right center, but soon came out broken and mangled and they were
followed by the Johnnies, who pressed forward to capture the artillery in
our front, but the artillery was too much for them. They in turn were sent
back in confusion. Then the Johnnies massed a lot of artillery in our
front and opened fire on the batteries we were supporting, and for an hour
or an hour and a half the shot and shell came over there thick and fast
and more of it. Two cannon of our batteries were dismounted, one
ammunition caisson was blown up and a number of horses were killed. We
were right in range, and got the full benefit of it. This was one of the
instances where we were under fire but could do nothing ourselves, but lay
there and take it--every fellow trying to see how close to the ground he
could get.
Toward evening we were ordered in; the brigade was moved down onto the
slope in front of the artillery, then we halted. We remained there a
little while and returned to our place in the rear of the batteries. We
were told General Reno had seen General Pope, and had convinced him that
to send our brigade in there unsupported would be needless slaughter. Just
at dusk we witnessed off to our left a minor action that characterized the
whole battle. A battery of artillery was placed on some raised ground and
was firing away; it was supported by a single regiment of infantry. All at
once we saw a Confederate line of pickets creeping up on the battery. By
picking off the gunners they soon had the battery silenced. Then a strong
line of Confederate infantry advanced; the regiment of infantry in support
moved forward, but they were dispersed and the battery was taken. Thus
ended the first day's fight so far as we saw it.
After that, we drew back a little way and had some supper; some of the
boys made fires and cooked some coffee. One of them while standing over
the fire, his legs spread apart fixing his coffee cup, had the cup knocked
from his hand. A Johnny sharpshooter had fired from a distance at the
fire; the ball, passing between the man's legs, hit the cup; the fires
were put out directly after that.
August 30. Everything remained quiet until the middle of the afternoon,
then the Confederates began an advance on the left. There were a few
troops there to face them, but not many. There seemed to be no head to,
and no order in our forces, and the Johnnies with their long lines of
battle well massed, moved forward with but slight opposition. As they
advanced they threatened our position and we fell back to another hill
farther in the rear. Toward dusk we moved off to the left in double quick
time. We stopped and left our knapsacks in a little grove as we went
along. We knew then there was business ahead, but we were ready for it as
long as General Reno was with us, for we had entire confidence in him. He
had hardly been out of our sight these last two days. We came on to a main
road, followed it along a short distance, crossed a bridge over a small
stream, moved to the left up on to a low hill and formed a line of battle;
we were told to hold that bridge.
As we moved to our positions we were exposed to the enemy's artillery and
lost a few men, but we were undisturbed.
General McDowell, that picturesque figure with the great mass of
snow-white hair, and General Milroy, were on the hill when we arrived, and
seemed delighted with the appearance of the brigade and its timely
arrival. Two batteries of artillery were immediately brought up and put in
position by General Reno. We had not long to wait. Sharp picket firing
soon gave notice that our skirmish line was attacked and was falling back,
and we heard troops forming down in the wood in front of us; and soon on
they came to the attack. Twice during the evening they charged up that
hill, the first time a single line of battle, the second time two lines of
battle deep, and each time they were repulsed with great loss. They hardly
fired a gun, and we did not open fire until they were within three or four
rods of us. Then we gave it to them in good earnest, the artillery with
double charges of canister. We almost swept them from the hill. They went
down in dozens, and retreated a broken and disorganized mass.
Late in the evening the Johnnies made an attack on the left flank of the
51st New York that was on our left. We changed position and assisted the
51st in repulsing the attack.
Later, the Confederates advanced a skirmish line to see if we were still
there. They found us there. Toward midnight there was every appearance
that they had given up trying to take the hill that night. It was quiet
all along the line save for the groans of the wounded and dying men that
covered the slope in front of us. It was a beautiful night, and to lie
there and listen to the appeals of those poor fellows and be unable to do
anything for them was heartrending. Toward midnight we stole quietly away,
first moving the cannon back by hand.
General Hill in his report of the second battle of Bull Run stated his
loss in the attack on the Henry House Hill the evening of August 30, 1862,
as 600 men.
It is impossible to refrain from giving an account of Dr. Cutter's
experience in this battle.
Early in the afternoon of the 29th when the first brigade of our division
was ordered in, Dr. Cutter went in with it. He was at the time acting as
division surgeon. The first brigade got into a bad place, lost heavily and
was forced back. As they began to retreat Dr. Cutter drew his sword and
tried to hold the men up to their work. At that moment he was seen to fall
to the ground and was supposed to be killed. A few minutes later, however,
he regained consciousness and looking about saw a Confederate soldier
standing over him and apparently about to run him through with his
bayonet. Dr. Cutter pointed to his green sash and warned the soldier
against killing a non-combatant. "But you have a sword in your hand now,"
replied the soldier. A Confederate officer coming up at the moment ordered
the soldier to move on and took the doctor to the rear. He then discovered
what had happened. He had not been wounded at all. A bullet had struck the
buckle plate of his waist belt and knocked the breath from his body, the
effect of which having now passed off, he offered to assist in taking care
of the wounded. This he was allowed to do and worked with the Confederate
hospital staff all the afternoon taking care of the wounded, both
Confederate and Union.
The Confederates were not slow in discovering that Dr. Cutter was a man of
exceptional knowledge and ability and, when night came on, the gray headed
old man was taken to General Hills' headquarters and treated as an honored
guest. During the evening he told the Confederate officers gathered flatly
who he was, and advanced his abolition ideas with perfect freedom. The
Confederates saw that they had in their midst one of the fathers of
Abolitionism in Massachusetts; that they were having the other side
presented by one qualified to speak. It was a novel situation. They were
at the time confident in the success of their cause, and, while they
laughed at his strictures, they encouraged him to go on and listened to
him nearly the whole night.
The evening of the second day's fight Dr. Cutter, still a prisoner, was in
the vicinity and witnessed the massing of troops for the assault on the
Henry House Hill and somehow had an intuition that it was the old second
brigade that defended the hill, but not until well into the night did news
reach headquarters that the Henry House Hill was defended by Reno's
command. This delighted the old doctor. He made the Confederates
acknowledge they got all they wanted and then told them who gave it to
them.
The second battle of Bull Run was a disastrous battle for General Pope and
the "Army of Virginia" but not for the old second brigade. We had checked
the enemy's advance at a most critical moment, for as we moved back to
Centreville that night we found the road choked with trains and artillery,
much of which must have fallen into the enemy's hands had they not been
stopped at the time. As it was they made no further effort to advance
after the engagement at the bridge until the next day. Meanwhile our
artillery and trains got straightened out and well out of their way.
Nothing of importance occurred to us on the 31st. We lay quietly in camp
near Centreville the whole day.
September 1st, about two o'clock, we broke camp and started towards
Fairfax Courthouse. As we started off, the report got around among the
boys that Stonewall Jackson was in our rear, or threatened our
communications with Washington. About four o'clock as we were marching
along we heard a bugle on a small ridge to the left and in front of us. On
looking up we saw a cornfield, and the upper edge of it filled with
Johnnies picking green corn. We were not more than a fourth of a mile from
them and could see individual men distinctly. We halted and loaded our
guns. Then we moved along past the Johnnies leaving them to our left, they
disappearing behind the ridge. We soon came to some wood lying in front
and extending off to the left. The 51st New York entered the wood ahead of
us with a picket line advancing in front of it. It was soon evident that
each command had lost all connection with the other, and was advancing no
one knew where or why. The 21st seemed to have obliqued to the left of the
51st. We then came upon a line of Johnnies. We, thinking them to be the
51st, did not open fire until we received a most murderous fire from
them. In the meantime a heavy thunderstorm had come up, and we were
soaked to our skins. My gun went all right the first time, but it was
impossible to load it in such a downpour. I then got out my revolver and
fired away with that. Every one who had a revolver fell back on that when
his gun refused fire I expect. Captain Walcott seeing his men could not
keep up much of a fire drew his revolver, stepped in front of his company
and opened fire. When he had emptied his revolver he glanced around for
his men,--they had gone. It was the same in all the companies, with their
guns out of order, they could do nothing but fall back. We left a lot of
poor fellows in that wood for whom nothing could be done but to bury their
lifeless bodies. A little way back we re-formed and marched back to the
edge of the wood.
As we emerged from the wood General Phil Kearney rode up and ordered us to
advance through the fields to the left of the wood we had just come out
of, without a moment in which to put our guns in order. By that time it
had stopped raining and the colonel begged for a few minutes that the men
might put their guns in order, but without avail. Kearney could not be
reasoned with and swore that if we did not move at once he would have the
regiment put under arrest, and forward we went. It was then getting dark,
and all we could see was lines of fire off to the left; we soon entered a
cornfield and marched nearly through it. At the farther side was a
Virginia rail-fence, beyond that, was a pasture half grown up. As we
arrived within three or four rods of the rail-fence the order was given to
halt and no sooner did we halt than the enemy opened fire from behind the
rail-fence. What could we do? Not one in ten of our muskets was
serviceable. Those who had revolvers used them; I used mine for the second
time that day. We stood there a minute or two and then we retreated. When
the Johnnies saw we were unable to return their fire they appreciated the
situation and over and through the fence they came to capture prisoners,
and before I knew it one of them was quite near me shouting: "Halt, throw
down your gun," etc. But I did not halt, nor did I throw down my gun, but
I did run and he ran after me. I soon decided in my mind that he was not
gaining on me, then I thought I was increasing the distance between us;
directly, I discovered a ditch in front of me. It looked very wide. My
shoes were loaded with Virginia mud; could I jump it? I realized that
everything depended on that jump, and I made a great effort. I struck the
farther edge just far enough on to balance over, picked myself up and
started off up the other slope. Glancing back, I saw the Johnny who had
chased me ordering some of our boys out of the ditch; they had made the
fatal error of trying to secrete themselves in that ditch. I kept on going
to the rear, until I reached the part of the field from which we started
on that last advance with General Kearney; then I began to hunt around to
find the boys.
General Kearney went in with us as we advanced into and through the
cornfield; he rode along beside the colonel. When we got to within about
four rods of the fence, the colonel was sure he saw soldiers move behind
the fence and said to Kearney, "There is a Rebel line of battle behind
that fence." "No, there isn't," said Kearney and spurred his horse forward
to get a nearer view. As he got to within a rod and a half or two rods of
the fence, the Johnnies opened fire and General Kearney was one of the
first to be killed at that time.
When I began to hunt about for the boys, Billy Morrow was one of the first
I run across. We soon found others and then the colors. Billy and I then
thought of one of our friends, a fellow by the name of Bradish, a Company
E man, who was hit in the wood. Billy had seen him at about the same time
I did as we came out of the wood, and believing we were near the place,
we started out to see if we could find him. Bradish had been one of the
nine who had played ball at Newport News, and we were both very fond of
him. We thought he was badly wounded and wondered if we could not find him
and do something for him. It took but a few minutes to find the place.
Then began the lone search. The last I saw of Bradish was as we neared the
edge of the wood coming out. He was hobbling along trying to keep up with
us. I did not know where he was hit, but I thought in the thigh or about
the hip, for one of his legs seemed quite powerless. There were a number
of dead men lying about but we were unprepared to believe our comrade was
dead, but when we examined the dead men we found Bradish was one of them.
We found a place under a great pine tree; we dug a shallow grave and
buried him near the place where he fell. We put a stone at each end of the
grave, carved his initials on the trunk of the tree and left there one of
our beloved comrades and one of the best soldiers in the regiment.
The expression on his face I shall never forget, it was so changed and so
painful. Had we not been searching for him and turned him over, for as he
lay his face was partially concealed, and so got a good view of it, I
should not have recognized him. He had probably died soon after we left
him as we started on the advance into the cornfield, for he was entirely
cold. The face of Pat. Martin, as I saw him after he was killed at the
Battle of Newbern, was entirely expressionless; he was shot through the
brain and probably never knew what hit him. The Confederate who died while
I was gone to get him a canteen of water, the morning after the Battle of
Bethseda Church had a rather peaceful and happy expression on his face.
Many of the men I helped to bury after the Battle of Fredericksburg had
drawn, distressed, painful expressions on their faces; some of them gave
one the impression that they had suffered the most intense agony just
before death. I never watched a man die who was killed in battle--the
private soldier is too busy to watch his best friend die at such a time.
In this Battle of Chantilly, the losses in killed, wounded and prisoners
in the regiment were 140, the heaviest loss we had sustained, in a single
battle, up to this time. Three of our finest officers were killed;
Lieutenant-Colonel Rice, Captain Fraser and Captain Kelton. We felt the
loss of these men very deeply; but the worst thing about the whole matter
was, we felt we had been sacrificed to no purpose. Every one felt that had
General Reno been with us it would all have been different, but he was
sick back to the rear in an ambulance off duty, and with him absent
everything went wrong. General Kearney seems to have been entirely off his
base that night; the way he ranted and swore around there was disgusting.
The fault in the wood seems to have been that the officers of the 21st did
not keep in touch with the 51st New York, and wandered off no one knew
where.
At roll call the next morning, September 2, there was but a shadow of the
21st present. After a while we started for Alexandria, moving very slowly,
marching and halting by turns, the roads being choked with artillery and
trains. During one of these halts, as we lay beside the road, a thing
occurred which showed the stuff at least one boy of that army was made of.
There was a boy in our company by the name of Harding Witt. Harding was a
Dana boy. I had known him a long time and I knew him well. We had been
school companions and had enjoyed fishing excursions together many a time.
Harding was on the picket line at the time of the fight in the wood and so
was absent from the company. But late at night after the fight was all
over I heard he had been wounded. I heard nothing more and saw nothing of
him until the next day when halted in the road on our way back to
Alexandria, I saw some one approaching. He had no gun and no knapsack; he
had a canteen, his right sleeve was slit up and I could see a white
bandage on the arm. The same could be seen on one of his legs. The
trouser's leg was slit up and a bandage could be seen on the leg. He also
had a bandage on his head. As he approached nearer I recognized Harding.
He came up and as we shook hands I said to him: "Well, Harding, they
called for you last night." "Yes, Mad," said he, "they called for me five
times but I am all right." That boy had been hit five times, in the wood
the night before, but he wasn't taken prisoner nor was he in the hospital.
He was, however, obliged to go to the hospital later.
We moved back to the vicinity of Alexandria and went into camp where we
stayed until September 4th. During those days a number of the boys found
their way back to the regiment. They had strayed away after the fight,
some of them perhaps, making as famous runs as were made by some of the
soldiers after the first Battle of Bull Run.
Among those to return at that time was our beloved surgeon, Dr. Cutter.
Imagine our surprise and delight one afternoon on seeing him march into
camp. When the Confederates were ready to move on, he was set at liberty
and had made his way back to Alexandria where we were in camp. To us, he
seemed to have risen from the dead. The officers of the first brigade had
reported him among the killed, and that report had been accepted by the
men of the regiment, and to see the old hero again so unexpectedly,
startled us.
If I remember rightly, it was in this campaign, as we were falling back
along the east side of the Rappahannock River, I first noticed a colored
man, we later called Jeff Davis, hanging around the cook's quarters trying
to make himself useful. He would gather wood for the cook's fire, tote the
water, and on the march help carry the cooking utensils. In due time it
was discovered that Jeff was an important acquisition to the company. He
was good natured and just as willing to do things for the other boys as
for the cook. Jeff Davis was a runaway slave, middle-aged, medium sized,
wore top boots with his trousers tucked in, his shirt front was never
buttoned either at the throat or lower down. His hat of black felt looked
as if it had been thrown at him and he had caught it on one corner of his
head. He had an easy going, rollicking gait and laugh, and was as full of
fun as an egg is full of meat. Still, Jeff was full of business, too, and
when, later on, he became company cook, the cooking was never better done,
or the interests of the company more carefully guarded than by him, and it
was as cook of Company K we realized his supreme usefulness and worth.
Acting as a sort of company treasurer, when the company was paid off, he
would pass around the hat and nearly every fellow would throw in a half a
dollar or a dollar. Nothing would be seen of that money until we got into
a hard place for food, then Jeff would manage to get us something to eat.
Jeff was the best kind of a forager; he knew how to buy and he knew
instinctively where to find things.
During the Knoxville campaign, had it not been for Jeff we should have
suffered much more than we did, although much of the time we received only
half rations from the Commissary Department and at times we received only
two ears of corn for a day's ration, but every once in a while Jeff would
get hold of something and give us a good meal. On the march over the
mountains he picked up a little Mississippi mule and the amount of food
that man hunted up and brought into camp during the siege of Knoxville was
prodigious. If a foraging party went out from headquarters after forage
for the horses and mules, Jeff was pretty sure to go along and he seldom
came back to camp empty handed. Had any one asked Jeff how he got those
things, he would have been shot on the spot--but no such foolish questions
were asked.
The things he got from people of his own race he doubtless bought and paid
for, but it is very doubtful if the white planters ever saw much of Jeff's
money. To be sure, he had some interesting experiences. One time he came
near being captured by some of Longstreet's cavalry, but he succeeded in
evading them and reached camp in safety. Jeff remained with the company
until the end of the war, came home with us to Massachusetts, settled in
one of the hill towns of Worcester County became a respected citizen,
married, raised a family and died there.