CHAPTER XII.

On the afternoon of the 1st of July the troops of Jackson passed by

Frazier’s farm, and the dead that lay on every side gave evidence of the

terrible conflict that Longstreet had had there the day before.

About four o’clock the rattle of musketry and the roar of artillery

began in our front, and rapidly increased as we advanced. Passing the

Willis church we halted in the woods to await orders. The battle had now

fully begun, and raged with great fury. It was evident from the very

first that the enemy had greatly the advantage in position, and that on

our part the battle would have to be fought almost exclusively with

infantry. Several times Jackson sent in his artillery, but they were

quickly compelled to return torn and disabled. Never before had I

listened to such an infernal din, and it was every moment increasing.

The woods in which we lay was swept by the artillery, and immense trees

were cut down by the huge shells from the gunboats as though they had

been straws. In the midst of all this dreadful fire Jackson sat calmly

upon his horse, surrounded by his staff, who in vain urged him to seek

some safer position. At last, after a shell had exploded in their very

midst, killing a staff officer and several horses, he was persuaded to

leave, and it was with a feeling of relief that we saw him retire.

As the battle progressed we seemed to be faring badly, for our best

troops were constantly coming to the rear beaten, and in the utmost

confusion. For four hours did this fire continue, and for four hours was

the First Maryland compelled to lay under it without being able to

return a shot.

At last with gladness we responded to the order to advance, although it

seemed as though we were marching into the very jaws of death. The scene

as we cleared the woods and approached the field was grand beyond

description. For miles the moonless sky was lit up by the incessant

flashes of artillery and musketry and exploding shells, and it seemed as

though we were stalking forth into a very sea of fire and flame. But

nothing mortal could withstand that artillery, and again we were

compelled to seek shelter from its fury. For half an hour longer it

continued, when it perceptibly slackened, and soon ceased altogether.

Completely unnerved and prostrated by the fire we had been compelled to

endure so long, we threw ourselves upon the ground in the midst of the

dead and dying, not to sleep, but to lay awake and watch the enemy’s

lanterns flitting over the field, where they were busily engaged

removing the wounded, and to listen to the cries of our own poor fellows

who lay mangled and dying upon that field of awful carnage.

At length I fell into a broken sleep, from which I was awakened before

day by Colonel Johnson, and ordered to hold myself in readiness to

advance my company, along with Captains Herbert and Edelin, at the first

appearance of daylight. As it dawned we moved forward over heaps of dead

and wounded, and in a short time after encountered a small force of the

enemy, which retired after exchanging a volley with us, and it now

became evident that McClellan had withdrawn during the night.

Soon after day the rain commenced to fall in torrents, and drenched to

the skin and miserable, we set to work to remove our wounded and bury

our dead, of which there seemed no end. The majority of the wounds were

of the most dreadful description, being inflicted principally by

fragments of shell, whilst most of the killed were horribly mangled.

Very many had fallen in the woods, and as the rain accumulated in the

dense foliage, huge limbs that had been shattered the day before by

artillery, would give way and come to the ground, crushing the poor

wretches who had dragged their already maimed bodies under them for

protection from the pitiless storm. Altogether, Malvern Hill was the

most dreadful field I ever beheld, and I hope never to witness such

another.

By night of the 2d our melancholy task was done, and next morning we

moved upon the enemy at Harrison’s Landing. After slight skirmishing

here for several days, General Lee thought it best to withdraw, as

McClellan’s position was a strong one, and the army therefore sought the

more healthy country around Richmond wherein to encamp.

The First Maryland was stationed on the Central Railroad, about three

miles from the city, from whence in a few days it was ordered to

Charlottesville to recruit, and where it arrived about the 15th of July.

Recruiting went on slowly, however, and after remaining at

Charlottesville until the 4th of August, the command was ordered to

Gordonsville, on its way, we supposed, to join Jackson, who was then

near Cedar Mountain, and daily expecting to encounter his old adversary

Banks, in command of the advance of Pope’s army.

The reader may judge then the surprise of all, when a few days after our

arrival an order came for the disbanding of the regiment. Nothing could

have surprised us more, and we were not sparing of anathemas upon the

government that had shown so little gratitude to the brave men who had

been so long battling in its behalf. To disband us within the very sound

of the enemy’s cannon. Could anything be more humiliating? And then to

assign no reason for it. Had we disgraced our colors, or had we ever

turned our backs upon the foeman? What could all this mean?

But murder will out, and it was not long before we discovered that it

had been brought about by two or three politicians from Maryland, who

were aspirants for military fame, but which fame they were to acquire by

being at once foisted into high positions. Now, as Mr. Davis could not

be made to appreciate their talents as these men would have him, and

give them what they asked for in the army, they sought through the

Secretary of War to have the First Maryland disbanded, hoping that what

remained might form a nucleus for a regiment which they were to raise

and command. In the first they succeeded—in the last they failed.

It was the 17th of August, if I mistake not, that Colonel Johnson drew

the little remnant of heroes up in line for the last time, and after a

few appropriate and touching remarks, read the order disbanding them.

Not a man but felt his humiliation, for even as the order was being read

the troops of Longstreet were filing by on their way to new fields of

glory and of conquest. “Come on, Marylanders, we can’t get along without

you!” they exclaimed in their ignorance of what was then transpiring,

and not dreaming that they had seen us on the field as a body for the

last time. And then when the little State flag presented us before the

first Manassas by the ladies of Maryland, and which we loved so well,

was furled never again to flaunt defiantly in the face of the foe, a

look of affection beamed upon it from every eye in the command, and

strong men, unable to control their emotions, turned sadly away. Never

had it seemed so dear to us before, and although now all tattered and

torn it looked more beautiful than when it came from the fair fingers

that worked it. To the donors we then pledged ourselves to defend it

with our heart’s best blood, and that promise had been sacredly kept.

Brave hearts and strong arms had carried it through the blood and

carnage of many an ensanguined field, and where the fight raged thickest

there it was ever to be found. Heroic men had fallen beneath its folds,

and as the eye grew dim they sought a last glance at the colors they had

loved so well in health and strength, but which seemed still dearer to

them in death. Farewell, dear little emblem of woman’s devotion; upon

thy folds rests no dishonor. There, fold it gently, for it is precious,

and will ever serve to remind us of the First Maryland Regiment of

Infantry, C. S. A.

[Illustration: Lt. Col. JAMES R. HERBERT.]

THE

SECOND MARYLAND INFANTRY.

CHAPTER I.

It was towards the close of October, 1862, that the author made his way

to Richmond, scarcely convalescent from severe injuries received in the

second battle of Manassas. I reached that city in anything but a

comfortable frame of mind, for I was out of the army owing to the

disbanding of the First Maryland, and my finances had run down to the

last five dollars. However, hoping something would turn up, I registered

my name at the Linwood, and determined to quietly await the course of

events.

The city was filled with officers in gay uniforms, some just from the

front, some who had never been there, and never intended to go, others

convalescing from sickness or wounds, &c., &c. Altogether Richmond

presented a gay scene, and I thought I could spend a few days there as

pleasantly as elsewhere. But I had no alternative, for it was out of the

question for me to yet think of carrying a musket in the field.

A few days after my arrival, while walking up Main street with a friend,

I was approached by an officer in a handsome uniform and handed a large

sealed envelope stamped “official business.” Judge my surprise when upon

opening it I found a commission as First Lieutenant of infantry in the

Provisional Army of the Confederate States, with orders to report to

Colonel Shields at the Camp of Instruction. This was a windfall, indeed,

and with all my heart I thanked the kind friend who had taken so much

interest in my behalf.

Some funds were now to be raised on the strength of the commission to

pay board bills, etc., and I therefore directed my steps to the office

of dear, good old Major John Ambler, paymaster, upon whom I had more

than once before called when in trouble—and what Marylander had not.

They were his especial favorites, and he would rather pay them at the

beginning than at the end of every month.

This little necessary piece of business attended to, I proceeded to rub

up my uniform preparatory to paying my respects to Colonel Shields, at

Camp Lee. I found the Colonel a very pleasant gentleman, who received me

most cordially, and upon presenting my papers I was assigned to my

quarters with orders to report next morning, when I would receive

instructions.

In the morning I was on time. With a bland smile the Colonel informed me

that my duties would be confined to superintending guard-mounting,

instructing the sentinels in their duties, and to organizing into

squads, to drill as many as possible of the several thousand conscripts

in camp.

I must confess this was putting it upon a sick man pretty heavy, but I

determined to do the best I could for the present. Upon inquiring if I

had any assistants, I was told, “yes, Captain, Frank Schaffer, but he

isn’t here much.”

I had never met Schaffer, but knew who he was, so I started out to hunt

him up. I soon found him, and reported my orders. He laughed, and told

me not to trouble myself much about the conscripts, “unless,” said he,

“you want to be driven as crazy as a March hare.”

I soon found that he was right, for of all the mean, filthy, ignorant,

God-forsaken people it had ever been my lot to encounter, these

conscripts exceeded all. You might drill them for hours without making

the least impression, and when at last exhausted patience would draw

forth language rather strong and unmilitary, you were sure to hear

something like “I don’t know nuthin ’bout soldiern, nor darned ef I keer

’bout larnen, and jist say I might go home, mister, an’ I’m off.”

I soon found it utterly impossible to do anything with them, and took

the responsibility of directing my attention to the lighter duty of

mounting guard, for I knew the commandant would never be the wiser, as

he seldom came out of his office except to go home. As to looking after

the camp it was something he never thought of; indeed, never having had

any experience as a soldier, he scarcely knew one end of a musket from

the other.

My guard was composed of this conscript material too, and a pretty guard

it was. They thought nothing of smoking their pipes when on duty, or

halloaing to their companions at a distance; they would carry their

muskets in all sorts of fashions, but generally dragging it by the

bayonet, and as to keeping them on post when they felt hungry, that was

out of the question, although I punished many of them severely for this

breach of discipline.

One day I was making one of my usual rounds, when I espied a sentinel in

front of the officer of the day’s tent resting his arm and chin upon the

muzzle of his gun. When I approached he never moved, but began to

whistle a lively tune. I stopped directly in front of him and asked

“what he was doing there?”

“Wall, not much of anything,” he replied, “looking after that ar

feller’s things back thar, I believe,” at the same time kicking back

towards the officer’s tent, and still in the same attitude.

“Come,” said I, “straighten yourself up; have you never been taught to

salute your officers when they approach?”

“No I haven’t, and I don’t keer much about larnin,” was his reply; “say,

mister, what did that thar rig cost you’ve got on?”

This was unbearable, and after using no gentle force to straighten the

fellow and make him shoulder his musket, I set to work to instruct him

in the duties of a sentinel. After half an hour’s hard work I left him

thinking I had succeeded pretty well. A short time after I had occasion

to return the same way in company with Captain Schaffer, the officer of

the day, to whom I related what had occurred in front of his tent. He

laughed, and offered to lay a wager that he had forgotten every word I

had told him, which I readily accepted. As we approached what was my

chagrin to find the fellow in exactly the same position I had at first

found him, nor did he move when we got directly opposite to him. Again I

asked him “what he had been put there for?” As before, he answered “to

look after that thar feller’s things back thar,” accompanied with the

old kick.

“Have you not been taught the duties of a sentinel, sir?” I demanded in

an angry tone.

“Wall,” said he, without moving an inch, “thar was a feller ’round here

a bit ago, who wor a tellin of me somethin’, _but I kinder believe he

didn’t know any more about it than I do_.”

I troubled myself no more about that sentinel, the reader can rest

assured.

After having remained at Camp Lee some three weeks, I determined to

resign my commission, and endeavor, if possible, to raise a company for

the field, for I had discovered that a good many young men were coming

over from Maryland about that time to go into the army. I found it the

most difficult task I had ever undertaken, as most of them preferred the

cavalry or artillery to the infantry. However, by great perseverance,

and the aid of Captain Richard Winder, about the 20th of December I

mustered into the service a company of eighty-five as fine men as ever

trod a battle-field. They were principally from the lower counties, and

well behaved and intelligent men.

With the assistance and influence of Generals Elzey and Winder, I was

enabled to arm and equip them well, which I could not have done

otherwise, for clothing and the improved arm were at that time in much

demand.

Having received my orders, on Sunday, the 30th day of December, 1862,

with Volandt’s band at the head, I marched my company through the

streets of Richmond to the Virginia Central depot, where I took the cars

_en route_ for the Valley of Virginia, to join the First Maryland

Battalion of Infantry, or as it was afterwards called, to distinguish it

from the First Regiment, the Second Infantry.

I found it at New Market at daylight on the morning of the 2d of

January, upon the eve of marching to Moorefield, on an expedition

against the enemy, along with the rest of Jones’ command, to which they

were temporarily attached.

My men being wearied, I was directed to remain behind and do provost

duty until the return of the expedition. It proved a fruitless one, and

they returned after a week of great suffering, having been compelled on

their march to break the ice and ford the many rapid mountain streams

between the two places.

For the first time in a good many months I had the pleasure of taking by

the hand my old friend and former companion in arms, Major James R.

Herbert. I also, to my great delight, found many of the officers and men

of the old First in the Battalion, now numbering seven companies, and

among the former Captain Wm. H. Murray, Captain John E. Howard, and

Lieutenants George Thomas, Clapham Murray, and Zollinger.

CHAPTER II.

The Second Maryland Infantry, which was destined to take such a

brilliant and conspicuous part in the great rebellion, was formed and

partially organized in Richmond during the autumn of 1862.

To the exertions of Major Herbert, Captains William H. Murray, Ferdinand

Duvall, and other officers, the Confederacy was mainly indebted for this

splendid command. As I have said, they but partially organized in

Richmond, and then proceeded to Winchester, where the organization was

perfected and Captain Herbert elected Major.

Shortly after my company joined them, an order was issued by General

Jones directing that the officers of the command should go into an

election for a Lieutenant-Colonel, it having more than the requisite

number of companies. Major Herbert was chosen Lieutenant-Colonel. A

short time after Captain W. W. Goldsborough was promoted to the

Majority, when the organization stood as follows:

Lieutenant-Colonel, James R. Herbert; Major, W. W. Goldsborough; Acting

Adjutant, Lieutenant George Thomas; Quartermaster, Major James Hardin;

Commissary, Captain John E. Howard; Surgeon, Dewilton Snowden.

Company A.—Captain, William H. Murray; Lieutenants, George Thomas,

Clapham Murray, William B. Zollinger.

Company B.—Captain, J. Perrin Crane; Lieutenants, John H. Stone, Charles

B. Wise, James H. Wilson.

Company C.—Captain, F. C. Duvall; Lieutenants, Charles W. Hodges, Joseph

W. Barber, Thomas H. Tolson.

Company D.—Captain, Joseph L. McAleer; Lieutenants, James S. Franklin,

J. T. Bussey, S. T. McCullough.

Company E.—Captain, John W. Torsch; Lieutenants, William Broadfoot, W.

R. Byus, James P. Quinn.

Company F.—Captain, A. J. Gwynn; Lieutenants, Polk, John Hyland, and

Forrest.

[Illustration: Maj. W. W. GOLDSBOROUGH.]

Company G.—Captain, Thomas R. Stewart; Lieutenants, James Davis, W. H.

Wrightson, G. G. Guillette.

After the Moorefield trip the Second Maryland spent the remainder of the

winter in camp at various points in the Valley of Virginia, first at New

Market, then near Edinburg, Lacy’s Springs, Harrisonburg, and at

Woodstock.

Nothing of importance occurred during that time to disturb the monotony

of camp life, except an occasional alarm, or expedition after pig iron

to the furnaces in the vicinity of Edinburg. These expeditions were

facetiously called “Jones’ pig iron raids” by the men, and which they,

as well as the officers, heartily detested, for it seemed as though

General Jones invariably selected a blinding snow storm in which to make

them.

It was in March, whilst encamped near Woodstock, that one day a cavalry

picket dashed into camp and informed Colonel Herbert that a large body

of the enemy’s cavalry were advancing rapidly, down the valley turnpike,

and were within three or four miles of us. The long roll was instantly

sounded, and although the men were all engaged at one thing or another

around the camp, and the summons was totally unexpected, yet within less

than three minutes the column was formed and on the move. Such was the

state of efficiency our able commander had brought his battalion to.

We marched rapidly up the turnpike until we had passed Woodstock, three

miles from our encampment, and were within two miles of the enemy before

we were overtaken by the cavalry, under command of Jones in person. He

ordered us to halt and form line of battle, whilst he pressed forward to

ascertain the number and character of the Federal forces. In a short

time we were startled by a volley of small arms and the wild yell which

we knew too well came from our men in the charge. It was not long before

prisoners began to come to the rear in large numbers, and we were

assured that it had been successful. The General had encountered the

Twelfth and Thirteenth Pennsylvania cavalry, and at one charge, with an

inferior force, scattered them to the four winds, capturing, killing,

and wounding over three hundred of them.

Although the troops were without shelter the whole winter, except such

as they could erect out of brush and leaves, there was scarcely any

sickness, and a hardier set of men I never saw. It was demonstrated to

our entire satisfaction that tents were not fit for troops in winter, as

the winter before we had tried them for a while in the First Maryland,

and much more sickness prevailed.

It was some time in April, 1863, that General Jones determined to make a

raid upon the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad in the neighborhood of New

Creek and Cheat River. The Second Maryland was to accompany the

expedition as far as Moorefield, between sixty and seventy miles

distant, to bring back the wagon train, which could accompany them no

further, and to gather up stores of every kind to be found in that rich

and fertile valley.

It was a lovely morning that we left our camp, and although the roads

were bad we made good progress the first two days. On the third day,

however, the rain commenced to pour down in torrents. It was a cold,

sleety rain, and about as disagreeable a one as it had ever been my

misfortune to encounter. On we pressed, though, fording rapid streams

waist deep and climbing immense ranges of mountains. By three or four

o’clock of the third day we had reached the summit of the last range, at

the foot of which lay the beautiful town of Moorefield. Suddenly the

wind sprung up, the clouds and mist disappeared, and away off in the

distance lay this magnificent valley, one of the most enchanting spots

in West Virginia. I was perfectly charmed, and for a long while gazed

upon the scene before me in silent admiration.

That night we went into camp within two miles of the town, and next

morning moved a portion of the command into the place, whilst the

remainder encamped upon its suburbs.

General Jones finding it impossible to cross the river at Moorefield,

moved up to Petersburg with his cavalry, where a crossing was effected.

We were now left to ourselves, with instructions to rest the men and

horses, and then return to the Valley of Virginia in the vicinity of

Harrisonburg. We had but little to fear from the enemy, who were at

Winchester, some seventy miles off. We therefore took our own time about

leaving, for we found Moorefield a most delightful place, and the people

kind and hospitable. However, after a stay of three days, we retraced

our steps by the way of Franklin to Harrisonburg, taking with us about

one hundred and fifty prisoners that General Jones had captured after a

sharp fight at Greenland Church, and also some of our wounded, among

whom was the gallant Colonel Richard Dulaney, of the Seventh Virginia

Cavalry.

We reached Harrisonburg without an incident worthy of note, and went

into camp to await the return of the expedition, which we did not expect

for at least a month.

CHAPTER III.

As we felt satisfied our stay at Harrisonburg would be a prolonged one,

and the weather being fine, Col. Herbert set to work to make the

Battalion as efficient in drill and discipline as possible. He had taken

advantage of the winter, when the men could not drill, to teach his

officers their duties, and as most of them were totally inexperienced

they required a great deal of instruction. By spring they were familiar

with Hardee, and that, with the little training they had had in the

fall, made them perfectly competent to handle their respective companies

in company and battalion drill.

“To equal the First Maryland in drill and discipline,” I have heard Col.

Herbert say, “is my greatest ambition.” And he was gratified, and more

than gratified, for I think without _any_ exception the Second Maryland

was the most perfect command that was or had ever been in the

Confederate army. One great reason for it was that they had been

properly mustered in, and no misunderstanding therefore existed as to

the length of time they were to serve, as had been the case in the First

Maryland.

Still another reason was that the officers, with scarcely a single

exception, were a remarkably intelligent set of men, and took the

greatest pride in the battalion. With all the love and fond remembrance

I still cherish for the old First, I am compelled to admit, in all

candor, that the Second was a superior command, and for the reasons I

have stated.

On the 22d of May General Jones returned from his trip to West Virginia,

which, taking everything into consideration, proved a failure. It is

true he had destroyed a part of the railroad, but the damages had been

as quickly repaired. He had captured horses, cattle and sheep in large

numbers, and also some prisoners; but then he had sacrificed some

valuable lives, and so completely broken down his men and horses as to

require a long season of rest before again ready for the field.

A short time after his return the Second Maryland and the Baltimore

Light Artillery and First Maryland Cavalry were ordered to Fisher’s

Hill, to relieve the gallant Major Sam Myers, who was stationed there

with a small force of cavalry. Soon after our arrival we were joined by

the lamented General Albert G. Jenkins, with a splendid brigade of

Virginia cavalry.

Whilst at Fisher’s Hill it was determined by the officers of the

Maryland Line to select a commander, it being then temporarily under the

command of Lieutenant-Colonel James R. Herbert. By their unanimous voice

Colonel Bradley T. Johnson was chosen, and Lieutenant Bussey dispatched

to Richmond to notify that officer of the fact. Colonel Johnson was then

a member of a military court, much against his will, with the rank of

Colonel of cavalry, and he at once accepted the command, and started for

it next day, but did not reach it until after the battle of Gettysburg

(though he was in the latter part of that engagement, acting as

aid-de-camp to General Ewell,) and upon looking into the matter, and

finding the battalion of infantry cut to pieces, advised that the

consolidation should be postponed for the present, whilst he himself was

assigned to the temporary command of the Third Virginia Brigade, the

same he commanded with so much distinction at the second battle of

Manassas, and first invasion of Maryland, and to which General Jackson,

before his death, had so long tried in vain to have him permanently

appointed.

During our short stay here nothing of moment occurred with the exception

of a slight skirmish in the streets of Strasburg, in which Captain John

W. Torsch with three companies was engaged with a regiment of the

Federal cavalry. The enemy was driven off with loss, and pursued beyond

Middletown by a portion of the First Maryland cavalry, who were,

however, unable to come up with them, so precipitate was their flight.

On the 10th of June the whole command moved down and went into temporary

camp at Cedar Creek. Whilst here a company of the First Maryland

cavalry, with a few of Jenkins’ men, all under the command of Captain W.

I. Raisin, had the misfortune to run into a Federal ambuscade, in which

he sustained a loss of four men killed, and thirty wounded and captured,

the gallant Raisin being of the number, with a desperate wound in the

head.

On the afternoon of the 12th a dispatch arrived announcing that General

Ewell was at Front Royal with his whole corps. Great was our surprise,

for we had little dreamed he was nearer than Fredericksburg. What it

meant we could not conjecture, but that a movement was to be made on

Winchester was apparent to all.

Late that night a second dispatch arrived directing Colonel Herbert with

his infantry and the Baltimore Light Artillery, (General Jenkins with

the cavalry had left that afternoon to join General Ewell,) to move in

the direction of Middletown immediately and protect Ewell’s wagon train,

which had been ordered to that point.

The next morning, by order of General Ewell, we moved up the Valley

turnpike, somewhere along which we were to await the arrival of General

Early, who was to strike the turnpike near Newtown. We halted about two

miles from Kearnstown, where shortly after a second order arrived

directing us to halt at Newtown and there await Early’s approach. It was

too late, however, for we had passed that place, and fearing the effects

a retrograde movement would have upon his raw troops, Col. Herbert

determined to take the responsibility of waiting for Early where he was.

In an hour or two that General joined us with his division of infantry.

Our approach had by this time been discovered by the enemy, for a

regiment of cavalry was descried in the road less than a mile in our

front. A piece of Griffin’s battery was now run up and masked by a small

party of horsemen, and a shell thrown into the midst of the surprised

cavalrymen, who scattered in every direction. In a few minutes a battery

made its appearance upon a neighboring hill, when a lively exchange of

compliments took place between it and the Baltimore Light Artillery.

Meanwhile Early was engaged getting his troops into position. Three

companies of the Second Maryland, under the command of Major W. W.

Goldsborough, were thrown forward as skirmishers, with orders to advance

until the enemy were developed in force. Griffin’s opponent had now

retired, and the whole command moved forward in line of battle. In a

little orchard, near Kearnstown, which was flanked on the right by a

strip of woods, the skirmishers first encountered them, and a sharp

fight ensued. Steadily the Marylanders pressed forward, and although

subjected to a severe artillery fire from a battery on a hill a short

ways off, drove the enemy before them.

General Early had in the meanwhile formed his troops for a charge, and

in a few minutes a yell on our left announced it. It was Gordon with his

splendid brigade of Georgians. In beautiful order they dashed forward

and drove the enemy pell-mell into Winchester.

That night (one never to be forgotten, for the rain poured in torrents

until morning) we held a position at Hollingsworth’s Mills, but half a

mile from Winchester.

At early dawn the rain ceased and the troops were all on the alert.

Shortly after sunrise the skirmish line along the whole front got in

motion and approached to within two or three hundred yards of the

suburbs of the town. Here they halted for a few minutes exchanging shots

with the enemy, when the Marylanders charged into the town, and a lively

skirmish ensued in the streets of Winchester. Although opposed by a

greatly superior force they held their ground for some time until

ordered back by General Gordon.

Reluctantly they withdrew, the enemy following, until they reached a

stone fence about two hundred yards from the town, when the fight was

renewed, and continued several hours, the enemy holding a position in

cemetery lot. This the Marylanders finally drove them from with loss.

We afterwards ascertained that it was the Fifth Maryland we had

encountered, nearly the whole of which was captured next day.

While this little affair was transpiring, Early was placing his

artillery in position and moving a column of infantry (Hays’

Louisianians) in the rear of the town to storm a strong fortification,

the key to the enemy’s works. About four o’clock the artillery opened,

and under cover of it the Louisianians charged on the run, and in the

time I am relating it, had possession of the place; and when had they

ever failed in the assault?

Holding these relative positions, darkness came upon the combatants, and

we felt confident unless Milroy retired during the night he would be

assaulted in the morning.

Having command of the skirmish line I was instructed by General Ewell,

who had come up that morning with the main body of his corps, to keep a

watchful eye upon the enemy, and if I saw any signs of his withdrawing

from his works to report the facts to him immediately. I therefore kept

my scouts in the town all night, who constantly reported that everything

indicated such a move, which intelligence was communicated to the

commanding general, who hastened several brigades by a circuitous route

around to the rear of the town, and about three miles distant, to

intercept them should they attempt to escape by way of the Martinsburg

road.

Thus the night wore away, and at the first peep of day, agreeable to

orders, I put my skirmishers in motion and entered the town. All was

still as death. Not an enemy was to be seen as I cautiously moved along

the deserted streets. Presently I met a citizen, who in reply to my

interrogatories told me he thought Milroy had retired during the night.

To make sure he was not mistaken I ascended with him to the upper story

of his house, from whence I could see into the main fort, and although

the flag seemed defiantly flying from the flag-staff I could see it was

deserted. I had scarcely regained the street when the roar of artillery

and the crash of small arms some two or three miles up the Martinsburg

road confirmed my belief.

Pushing rapidly down the main street, I did not halt until I reached the

Taylor Hotel, where I encountered a half dozen unarmed Federal soldiers,

who informed me their companions were all gone, and they had been left

behind to attend the sick and wounded at the hotel, which had long

before been converted into a hospital. I immediately moved up and took

possession of the Star fort, where I found about two hundred of the

enemy who had preferred to remain behind rather than follow the fortunes

of Milroy.

On looking around the fort I discovered twelve splendid rifled pieces,

which were but indifferently spiked; the ammunition had been destroyed

by throwing it into a well.

The sound of battle had in the meanwhile ceased up the road, and in a

short time a long line of prisoners, numbering over two thousand, made

their appearance, who had only surrendered after a desperate fight.

During the whole day prisoners continued to come in, until the number

was much augmented, and we had the satisfaction of knowing that the

miserable hordes under the brutal Milroy were pretty much all in our

hands, but to our chagrin we found that the wretch we had so long wished

to lay our hands upon had escaped.

Such was the battle of Winchester, or rather one of the battles of

Winchester, and a complete surprise it was, for not until the day after

our first attack at Kearnstown was Milroy induced to believe it was a

force of any magnitude that was in his front.

We found the town full of stores of every description, and our captures

amounted to considerable, for besides twenty pieces of artillery we

captured several hundred horses, an immense train of wagons, ambulances,

several thousand stand of small arms, &c.

The loss of the Second Maryland in this affair was as follows:

Company A, Captain William H. Murray.—Killed, none; wounded, Sergeant E.

S. Dorsey, severely; privates, Sommerville, Sollers, slightly; John

Wilson, slightly.

Company B, Captain J. P. Crane.—Killed, none; wounded, privates J. E.

Joy, mortally; H. Corry, slightly; William Herbert, slightly.

Company C, Captain Ferdinand Duvall.—Killed, none; wounded, Captain F.

Duvall, severely.

Company D, Captain Joseph L. McAleer.—Killed, none; wounded, private

John Devres, mortally.

Company E, Captain John W. Torsch.—Killed, none; wounded, Lieutenant W.

K. Byus, slightly; captured, Lieutenant Joseph P. Quinn.

Total, 9 wounded and 1 captured.

CHAPTER IV.

The morning after the battle of Winchester the command was temporarily

attached to the brigade of General George H. Steuart (composed of

Virginians and North Carolinians,) of Edward Johnson’s division, and

shortly after the whole of Ewell’s corps took up its line of March in

the direction of Smithfield, where we arrived about dark, and went into

camp for the night.

The next morning we resumed the march, our course shaped towards the

Potomac, which there seemed but little doubt we were destined to cross,

but with what object in view we had not the slightest conception. We

crossed the Baltimore and Ohio railroad at Kearneysville, and then took

the road leading to Shepherdstown. The day was intensely hot and the

troops marched leisurely. By midday we went into camp about three miles

from the river that separated us from our own beloved Maryland, and

which we cherished a fond hope of crossing on the morrow.

It was whilst we lay here that I took advantage of the time afforded to

pay a visit to the estimable family of the Hon. Alexander H. Boteler,

whose beautiful residence was but a mile from our camp. I found Mrs.

Boteler at home with her two accomplished and attractive daughters, and

they vied with each other in their endeavors to make my visit an

agreeable one.

Mrs. Boteler informed me that they had been subjected to all sorts of

annoyances from the Yankee soldiery, and taking me to her chamber

pointed out a bullet hole through a pane of glass in the window which

had been fired by a thing in uniform whilst she was looking out into the

yard, the ball passing through her hair and lodging in the ceiling.

It was late in the evening, and with many regrets, that I left this

lovely family and their little paradise, and wended my way back to camp.

Alas, all that is now left of that once sweet, happy home is a mass of

ruins, for the brutal and relentless Hunter visited it soon afterwards

and burnt it to the ground.

On the afternoon of the 18th of June we broke camp and moved up the road

leading to Shepherdstown, through which village we passed amid the

joyous shouts of the inhabitants, and were in a few minutes upon the

banks of the Potomac, into which the men plunged waist deep, and began

make their way to the longed-for shore. I wished I possessed the pencil

of the artist to paint that scene, for it was one that will never be

forgotten by those who witnessed it.

Upon reaching the Maryland shore the joy of her exiled sons baffled

description. They shouted and screamed, and rolled upon the ground in

the delirium of their joy, and to one not acquainted with the cause it

would have seemed as though bedlam had been let loose, and in this

Pandemonium I must confess our gallant brigade and battalion commanders

played a conspicuous part, leaving out others of minor rank.

That night we encamped upon the banks of the river, and next morning

passed through the town of Sharpsburg and halted upon the famous battle

field.

After remaining in camp here three or four days, we moved on towards

Hagerstown, which place we passed through, and encamped a short distance

beyond.

By many of the citizens of Hagerstown we were heartily received; others

again scowled fiercely upon us, and no doubt wished every rebel son of

us to the devil.

On the morning of the 23d of June we left our camp near Hagerstown, and

crossed the Pennsylvania line, and passed through Greencastle, where

Steuart’s brigade was detached from the division and ordered to proceed

to Chambersburg by way of Mercersburg, McConnelsburg, &c., and we

arrived on the evening of the 26th without an incident worth mentioning.

After crossing the Pennsylvania line, the most prejudiced observer could

not help being struck with the perfect discipline that pervaded the

entire army. There was not a single straggler to be seen upon the road,

for under no circumstances was a man suffered to leave the ranks, except

when at a halt, which was ten minutes in every hour, and then he was

limited to one hundred yards from his command. There was no running

about the country pillaging and robbing and burning; no defenceless

women insulted and outraged, as had been the case hundreds of times in

our own country when invaded by the hireling hordes of Yankeedom. Oh,

no, the army of Gen. Lee was composed of different material and was

commanded by a Christian soldier, who held such hellish acts, and the

instigators of them, in abhorrence.

On the morning of the 27th we passed through Chambersburg and took the

turnpike to Carlisle, and on the afternoon of the 28th of June the worn

and wearied division went into camp a short distance to the right of the

road, and about three miles distant from that town. The day had been

excessively warm, and our march a long and tedious one, but stimulated

with the hope of soon having in our possession the capitol of the great

Keystone State, and proud to know we were invading the enemy’s country,

not a complaint was heard nor a straggler to be found.

The order to “break ranks” had been obeyed with alacrity; and as the

dusk of evening came on hundreds of fires could be seen throughout the

woods at which the hungry troops were busily engaged cooking their meat

and boiling their coffee. A night of refreshing sleep followed the

repast, and at reveille every man was promptly at his post, and

prepared, nay impatient, to resume the march to Harrisburg, which town

we cherished the fond hope of reaching that day.

But hour after hour sped by and no order to “pack up” was given. What

could it mean? For days we had taken up the line of march at sunrise.

Twelve o’clock, and no order. One, two, three o’clock, and an aid was

observed to dash up to brigade headquarters, and in a few minutes the

welcome command to “fall in” was heard throughout the vast encampment.

All was bustle and excitement, and many were the speculations indulged

in by both officers and men, as the companies formed, as to the cause of

our delay and our probable destination that day.

“It is my impression,” observed one, “we will go no farther than

Carlisle, where Rhodes is encamped, join him, and make the attack upon

Crouch’s forces about midday to-morrow.”

“There is where you are mistaken,” was the reply of a comrade. “You see

the different corps and divisions have been marching on converging

roads. Well, we are almost up with Rhodes, and our delay of a day was

evidently occasioned by Ewell’s being ahead of time. Now mark me, we

will make a forced march to-night and begin the attack at daybreak in

the morning. General Lee can spare no more time, in my humble opinion.

Already he has lost too much, and the next thing we know, Hooker will be

at our heels, and between him and Crouch we will have a devil of a hot

time of it.”

Entertaining such opinions pretty generally, great was the surprise of

all to observe the head of the column, upon reaching the turnpike, file

abruptly to the left instead of the right, and we found ourselves

retracing the steps of the day before.

Disappointment and chagrin was depicted in every countenance as we

silently wended our weary way. The boisterous, merry shout of the past

few days was no longer to be heard; and the troops did not move with

that elasticity of step in the retreat (as we termed it) which had

characterized their advance, for officers and men had alike become

impressed with the belief that some disaster had befallen us, and we

were a second time to recross the Potomac.

After a march of twelve miles the command went into _bivouac_ near the

village of Springfield. The evening’s meal was moodily discussed, and

all went sulkily to sleep.

The reveille of the following morning was not as cheerfully responded to

as before; and shortly after taking up our line of march the barefooted

(and there were hundreds of them) who, with cracked and bleeding feet

had borne the advance march so cheerfully, now began to murmur and

complain.

During the day’s march we met about two hundred paroled Federal soldiers

who had been captured a day or two before by General J. E. B. Stuart’s

cavalry, and ordered to proceed to Carlisle. They were hundred days men,

called out by the Governor of Pennsylvania, to repel the invaders of

their sacred soil, and had been but a few days in the field. As they

passed our bronzed and weather-beaten gray jackets the contrast was

striking indeed. The one clothed in new and well-fitting uniforms, the

other in rags, and shoeless. Many were the wistful glances directed at

their well-cased feet by Steuart’s men, but they passed us without

molestation. Not so, however, with the Stonewall Brigade, which was

immediately in our wake. The temptation was too great for their

commander, General Walker, to resist, and halting the young heroes of a

single skirmish, he addressed them pretty much as follows:

“I would judge from your appearance, young gentlemen, you have not been

long in the service, and while we have been blistering our feet on your

devilish turnpikes, you have been enjoying the pleasures and comforts of

home. Your term of service has now expired; return there and remain, for

I tell you soldiering is both a disagreeable and a precarious

occupation. But before you go—and you have but a short distance ere you

meet your friends, and we, God knows, how far without meeting one—I

think it but fair we should make an exchange in the way of boots. What

say you?”

A hearty burst of laughter was the response at, to them, so novel an

idea, and in an instant every pair of shoes was “shed” in army parlance,

and tendered to our barefooted soldiers.

It was quite amusing to see the poor fellows move off, picking their way

daintily over the rough and uneven turnpike; and from the gait we left

them “advancing on Carlisle,” I much question whether they reached their

destination inside of several days.

Another incident similar in its character occurred an hour or two after

in the Second Maryland. A gallant young non-commissioned officer of

Captain William H. Murray’s company, came to me and presented for my

inspection what _had_ been a pair of shoes, but were now minus the

soles. His feet were in a shocking condition, and he expressed a fear

that he would be unable to proceed much farther, unless I could supply

him, or grant him permission to “forage” for a pair. Being curious to

see how he would proceed about it, “I spreck nottings mit mine mouf, but

I spreck like ter tivel mit mine looks,” as the Dutchman would say; and

going upon the old adage that “silence gives consent,” the Sergeant

quietly resumed his place in the ranks. But a little while elapsed,

however, before I observed him gradually fall to the rear of the column;

and as he neared me, he pointed significantly to a fat old farmer who

was lazily leaning on a gate-post, intently watching the passage of the

troops. I aver I did not wink at the Sergeant, but he afterwards

persistently maintained that I did. Be that as it may he stepped up to

the old fellow, and bantered him for a trade. Now the Dutchman could

scarcely speak a word of English, and the Sergeant not a word of Dutch

and after vainly endeavoring to make him understand his Saxon, had no

alternative but to trade _sans ceremoni_. So, throwing off his “uppers,”

he in the most artistic manner stooped down raised one foot, and in an

instant the Teuton stood “one boot off and one boot on.” The fellow

followed, the Pennsylvanian never moving a muscle or budging an inch,

but watching the strange proceeding in utter amazement. After admiring

the “fit” for a moment, the audacious rebel politely bid the old

gentleman “good day,” and rejoined his command, congratulating himself

no doubt upon the excellent exchange he had made. As we passed out of

sight I turned in my saddle and cast a look behind. There he still

stood, gazing after us, as if transfixed to the spot, and no doubt

soliloquizing, “Ven tat tam fellow prings mine poots pack.”

CHAPTER V.

The afternoon of the 30th of June found the advance at the little town

of Greenvillage, six miles from Chambersburg, where we filed to the left

and took a country road, as we supposed, in search of suitable ground on

which to encamp for the night. At length we halted in a beautiful field,

close by which there was wood and water in abundance.

An hour or two after our arrival, Lieut. Col. Herbert and myself visited

brigade headquarters for the purpose of learning, if possible, the

reason for the retrograde movement, and the probabilities of our

returning to Virginia without a fight.

We found the General agreeable and affable as usual, and with him the

gallant Colonels Warren, Walton, and Parsley, of the brigade. They were

discussing the very subjects upon which we wished so much to gain some

information, and we listened attentively.

Walton seemed much annoyed, and in his blunt and earnest manner

expressed great disappointment at the result so far of the second

invasion of the enemy’s country.

“I am as much in the dark as any of you, gentlemen,” said the General;

“but I do not agree with you in the supposition that we are to recross

the Potomac without a great battle. The result of that battle will

determine our future movements. We will pursue this road on the morrow,

most assuredly, but where this road will lead us to is a question I

cannot solve. Hill and Longstreet are in advance of us; Rhodes is, or

was, at Carlisle; Early is supposed to be in the neighborhood of York;

and that we are converging toward some given point is very evident, but

of the whereabouts of that point I am totally ignorant.”

In my youth I had more than once travelled almost every road in York,

Adams, and Franklin counties, and was therefore familiar with them all.

From the General’s remarks it instantly flashed across my mind that we

were about to move on Baltimore and Washington. That I had discovered

the designs of General Lee I did not doubt for a moment, and looking

wondrous wise during the rest of the conference, I determined to keep my

own counsel until the next morning, when I would surprise my brother

officers by unfolding to them what I was confident must be the reason

for this countermarch. How near I was to the truth the reader will see.

The dawn of the first day of July broke bright and beautiful; and, as I

watched the glorious sun rise majestically in the cloudless sky, I

little thought its decline would inaugurate one of the most dreadful

battles of the century, and usher into eternity the souls of hundreds of

my fellow-men, who die engaged in deadly strife.

At seven o’clock the march was resumed; and when it became apparent we

were not yet to seek Virginia’s sod, a spirit of enthusiasm diffused

itself throughout the command which could hardly be controlled. Poor

fellows, little did they then think a few hours more would see thousands

of them stretched stark and stiff, and wounded and dying upon the gory

field of Gettysburg.

“Captain Murray, I will lay you a wager,” was my exclamation as I rode

to the side of that gallant young officer. “I will wager you my last ten

in Confederate currency that we will see Washington’s Monument in

Baltimore in so many days. Come, do you take the bet?”

Raising his eyes, he looked at me with an expression which seemed to say

as plain as he could speak, “Are you jesting, or are you a fool?” and

then broke out into a hearty laugh.

“If I did not know you and the Colonel were at headquarters last

evening, I would be inclined to believe you had partaken of some of the

proceeds of Commissary John Howard’s successful raid of yesterday,” he

replied.

“But I do not know anything of Captain Howard’s raid or what he

captured,” I somewhat petulantly rejoined, for I did not like the idea

of my great secret being treated with such indifference; “and I moreover

assure you I am altogether in earnest. Now listen, and I will convince

you I am right: You know that Longstreet and Hill are in advance of us,

and I will inform you that Rhodes has left Carlisle, and Early is at

York. Well, from York there is a turnpike to Baltimore, as you are

aware. Early will take that road and operate upon the line of the

Northern Central Railroad. There are two fine turnpikes also from

Gettysburg (whither we are going, as this road can lead us nowhere

else,) to Baltimore, the one passing through Littlestown, Westminster,

&c., the other by the way of Hanover and Manchester to Reisterstown,

sixteen miles from the city, where the two meet. Rhodes will join us at

Gettysburg, and the whole army, with the exception of Early, will take

these parallel turnpikes and reach Reisterstown simultaneously, for the

distance is the same. Rest assured all this marching and countermarching

was for the purpose of misleading Hooker; and now that General Lee has

him out of the way, he intends to slip into Baltimore and Washington

before he can discover his error.”

I believe my reasoning made some impression; but not being of so

sanguine a temperament as myself, he was far from being fully convinced.

How far right and how far wrong I was in my conjectures the sequel

proved. It was not my first attempt to penetrate the designs of my

commander-in-chief, but I determined it should be my last.

After a rapid march of a few hours the column reached the town of

Fayetteville, through which we passed without a halt. Shortly after, the

troops of Longstreet’s corps were encountered, quietly cooking their

rations in a wood close by the roadside. These veterans—scarcely a man

of whom did not carry the scars of some hard fought field—suspended

their labors and closely scrutinized us as we passed by. How it made my

heart thrill with pleasurable emotions as I heard the compliments they

bestowed with no sparing hand upon the splendid command to which I had

the honor of belonging. By the tap of the drum they moved like

machinery, and with that quick, nervous step and precision for which

they were so justly celebrated throughout the entire army.

“Look out for your laurels, Fourth Texas,” I heard an officer exclaim in

that regiment of imperishable renown, “for if I mistake not there goes a

little battalion that will give you a tug for your next wreath.” And

similar remarks were heard on every side.

On we pressed, and rapidly neared the town of Gettysburg. But eight

miles more, and we will encamp for the night upon its outskirts.

But what means this commotion ahead? Something is out, most assuredly.

The order passes along the line to “Move up, men, move up.”

“Dr. Snowden,” I remarked to the surgeon of the battalion, who was

riding by my side, “I have imagined for some minutes that I heard the

sound of artillery ahead, and from the confusion among the staff

officers I am half convinced I did.”

“I was about to remark the same,” the Doctor replied. “There it is

again, and there, and there,” he continued, as so many sounds of

artillery were distinctly heard. “But here comes the Colonel, perhaps he

can enlighten us.”

As Colonel Herbert approached I could see from his manner that something

was wrong. Addressing me, he said:

“You will keep your men well up, sir; no straggling under any

circumstances. There is serious work going on ahead, and it is likely we

will be into it in less than three hours. The orders are to press

forward with all dispatch.”

The words were overheard by some of the men, and the news ran through

the battalion like wild fire. One prolonged yell announced it to the

other regiments and brigades, and for a minute the welkin fairly rung

with their joyous shouts. More distinct at every step became the roar of

artillery, and we knew from the incessant discharges that the fight was

a fierce one.

I must confess I was puzzled, completely nonplussed. Who had dreamed of

the enemy being in that quarter? I will venture to say not an officer of

the army outside the corps commanders, and perhaps their respective

staffs. And I do not believe they, or even General Lee himself, expected

forty-eight hours previous to encounter him there. A dreadful blunder

somewhere, but where I will leave it for the historian to tell.

“How about that nice little trip to Baltimore and Washington, and those

parallel turnpikes, now,” said Captain Murray addressing me. “Ah, that

was a beautifully arranged affair, I must confess; but there seems to be

obstacles in the way of its fulfillment.”

“And the ten dollars,” chimed in Torsch. “It will buy a pint of

Monegahaly, as the people hereabouts call it. Yes, we’ll take that ten

when we reach Gettysburg. We will, won’t we, Cap?”

I acknowledged my plans had miscarried, which was all owing to the

enemy’s getting betwixt us and Washington’s monument; but that I was

still somewhat inclined to believe it was only a small force of the

enemy who had stumbled upon our advance. And this belief seemed to be

strengthened as we neared the battle-field, for the discharges of

artillery were not now near so rapid as they had been an hour or two

before.

About two miles from Gettysburg we passed a farm house by the roadside,

which had been converted into a hospital and filled with our wounded, as

was also the yard. A little farther on a great many ambulances were

encountered, well freighted with torn and bleeding men, and directly a

long line of the more slightly wounded, all making their way to the rear

in search of surgical aid. From these we learned the fight had been a

desperate one, and the casualties numerous on both sides; but that we

had been successful at every point. A little farther and we filed to the

left to avoid attracting the fire of the enemy’s artillery, which was

still being served, but slowly.

Passing a large field, in which were several thousand Federal prisoners,

we were directly upon the battle ground. The evidences here gave most

unmistakable testimony of a stubbornly-contested battle, as the ground

was covered with the dead—blue and gray side by side. In and around the

railroad cut dug by Thad. Stevens many years since, the slaughter of the

Federal troops was appalling. They literally lay in heaps, whilst our

loss at this point appeared comparatively small.

We here learned that portions of Ewell’s and Hill’s corps had

encountered a heavy force under General Reynolds, and that he himself

was among the killed. Our own loss had been by no means slight. Besides

a large number in killed and wounded, General James Archer and almost

his entire brigade had been made prisoners.

It was nearly dark when we entered the town; and, halting in one of the

streets to await orders, the troops stretched themselves upon the ground

to rest their weary limbs. Having some acquaintances in the place, and

feeling rather hungered, I suggested to Colonel Herbert that we should

go up to Will’s hotel, where I thought we could procure some

refreshments; but upon reaching the place we found it closed and

apparently deserted. Returning, I met a gentleman whom I had known in

former years—Mr. Henry Stahle, editor and proprietor of a Democratic

paper there—and we entered into conversation upon topics entirely

foreign to the war. A crowd of gaping citizens soon surrounded us, and

imagining Mr. Stahle was hatching treason, forthwith reported him to the

authorities. Now, as Mr. Stahle had been suspected of being a copperhead

for some time, owing to the manly and independent tone of his paper, his

being seen in company with a rebel officer was proof positive, and when

our forces fell back he was handed over to the tender mercies of General

Morris, of Fort McHenry notoriety. I trust the reader will excuse this

little digression, but I thought the incident worth mentioning.

About nine o’clock we received orders to “forward,” and, passing through

the town, struck the York turnpike, which was pursued for a mile, when

we filed to the right and marched across the open country until we

neared the Hanover road, when the command “on right by file into line”

was given, (for we had been marching right in front,) and the Second

Maryland Infantry took its place in the line of battle, where so many of

the noble spirits who composed it were to bleed and die in the dreadful

conflict about to ensue.

CHAPTER VI.

That night the troops slept upon their arms, prepared to resume

hostilities or repel an attack at a moment’s notice. Colonel Herbert and

myself selected a spot somewhat retired from the main body, and, after

picketing the horses, laid ourselves down to sleep. To sleep, did I say?

To rest I should have said, for it was many hours ere I closed my eyes

in sleep. A thousand recollections of the past presented themselves. I

thought of home and the loved ones there; of many incidents attending

the two eventful years of carnage and bloodshed through which I had been

spared where so many died. Truly God had been merciful, and I offered up

a silent prayer that I might survive the fight of the coming morrow. And

then I thought of the hundreds around me who were taking their last

sleep save that which knows no waking; of those in dream, dreaming of

their once happy homes, of wives and children, of fathers, mothers,

brothers, sisters, and sweethearts, but to awake in the morning only to

the dread reality.

At early dawn I arose from my blanket hungry and unrefreshed. The

Colonel appeared in the same condition, for after rubbing his eyes and

looking around him for a minute he broke forth with:

“Why in the devil didn’t you think of making old man Sheeley give you

some of the cooked provisions out of the mess chest? Now the wagons are

the Lord knows where, and here we are sucking our thumbs to appease

hunger. I can go twenty-four hours without eating, but darned if I like

it to be an hour over that time.”

“And pray, sir, why didn’t _you_ ask Mr. Sheeley for some of the

provisions in the mess chest?” I inquired.

“Because I didn’t think of it.”

“And neither did I; but if you will promise to say nothing more about

Sheeley and the mess chest I will introduce you to a little private

arrangement of my own.”

The Colonel looked up inquiringly for a moment, and although he said

nothing, I could plainly read in his countenance “Oh do.”

At the battle of Winchester, some weeks previous, I secured a number of

large sized boxes of sardines, all of which I had given away, save one.

This I had in my saddle pocket, along with a small flask of brandy that

I procured as we passed through Greenvillage. I had kept it a secret,

for on the march you have plenty of visitors if you are known to possess

a flask of liquor. Here was an emergency, however, and it was for an

emergency I had saved it. The flask and sardines were speedily produced,

and for the first time in twenty-four hours I saw the Colonel smile. And

then he took the cork out of the flask, threw back his head and _smiled_

again, and, as he lowered the uplifted arm, I discovered considerable

daylight through the bottle he had smiled at. Ahem, like master like

man, and I followed his example. Then the sardines were discussed, and

we grew amiably disposed, and we talked and talked about—everybody and

everything but Sheeley and his mess chest.

The morning wore away and there were no evidences of a renewal of

hostilities. About ten o’clock, General Johnson requested me to make a

reconnoissance from a hill about three-quarters of a mile in our front.

Being perfectly familiar with the country, having hunted over almost

every foot of it in my youth, I put spurs to my gallant sorrel, and,

making a detour to the right, I after a few minutes rapid riding reached

its summit. Here screened from the enemy’s view by an undergrowth of

cherry trees, I witnessed a sight I shall ever remember. In front of me,

distant about half a mile, was the long ridge leading to cemetery

heights, and then cemetery heights themselves. This ridge and the

heights were crowned with innumerable batteries of artillery, and

immediately in rear of them a long dark mass of infantry, their bayonets

glittering in the sun. I was on the ridge which separated the contending

armies, and never before upon the eve of battle was I so struck with the

advantages one army had over the other in point of position, save at

Fredericksburg. In fact the thing was about reversed except in the

numbers of assailants. It was almost impossible for us to find position

for a single battery on our left or in our centre. The spot upon which I

stood was the only one in front of Johnson, and a battery could hardly

live here an hour, as was demonstrated that day. For at least twenty

minutes I gazed upon the opposite heights, where all seemed life and

animation, and then turned my horse’s head and galloped back to where I

had left the General, and to whom I made my report. As the coast was

clear, in company with Major Latimer, his chief of artillery, he

proceeded to the hill, and shortly after ordered up two batteries of

artillery, one the Chesapeake artillery, under command of the lamented

Captain Brown, of Baltimore.

During the afternoon Colonel Herbert proposed we should visit General

Walker, of the Stonewall Brigade, which was in position a short distance

to our left, and if possible procure something to eat, as we were

suffering very much from hunger, having partaken of no food except the

sardines since the morning of the day before. We found the General in

pretty much the same predicament, but his Adjutant-General very kindly

furnished us with two biscuits apiece, which were thankfully accepted.

In the course of the conversation which ensued, mutual surprise was

expressed that the attack had not been renewed.

“However,” said Walker, “it is not too late; and I think it possible it

will yet be made before nightfall.”

Now these late-in-the-evening fights are the most disagreeable things

imaginable, as will readily be conceded by all who have participated in

them, and I sincerely hoped the General’s prediction would not be

verified. In the first place, you are as liable to shoot and be shot by

friend as by foe. Moreover, the inextricable confusion inevitable is

unpleasant, for you are more likely to get into the enemy’s lines than

keep in your own, and I saw many instances of it that night.

While we were conversing, some of the pickets brought in a prisoner, an

ill-favored, brutal looking Dutchman, who had been pounced upon while

out foraging. The fellow appeared relieved at the idea of escaping the

fight, for drawing a long breath he said:

“Ich been feel mooch besser; I like not mooch fight.”

Upon our inquiring why Hooker had been superceded by Meade, he replied:

“Vat for he let der Lee in Pennsylvany coom?”

The prisoner could not or would not give us any information upon many

points we questioned him. He only knew that he belonged to a

“Pennsylvany” regiment in the “Oonan” army. So much and no more could

his intelligent mind comprehend.

“It is too bad,” exclaimed “Walker, rather excitedly, “to think that

such men as we have around us should be butchered by the miserable

mercenary devils of which this is a fair specimen. Sometimes I am half

inclined to show the wretches no quarter. Take the creature to the

rear.”

Expressing a mutual wish that fortune would favor us in the coming

fight, we separated, not to meet again for many months.

Soon after reaching the battalion Capt. W. H. Murray, of whom I have

before spoken in this narrative and of whom I have yet to speak, joined

us. He was one of my dearest friends, and his was a friendship I was

proud to boast. With Colonel Herbert we had started out early in ’61 as

privates in the First Maryland; arose to the rank of Captain almost

simultaneously; first saw fighting at the battle of Manassas; and had

together participated in most of the battles fought by the Army of

Northern Virginia from that time to this. A thorough disciplinarian,

brave as a lion, calm and collected amid the roar of artillery, the

rattle of musketry, and the carnage of battle, I regarded him as one of

the very best officers I ever saw. By his men he was almost idolized,

whilst by the battalion he was universally beloved. The companies he

commanded in the First and Second Infantry were model ones, and I

question whether throughout the whole Confederate Army two such could

have been found. As an evidence of their discipline and fighting

qualities, and the tenacity and desperation with which they stood to

their work at Gettysburg, I would state that out of ninety-eight men

that he took into the fight, but thirty-one reported after the battle.

“Anything to be done to-day?” was his inquiry as he took a seat by our

side.

“General Walker seems to think so,” was Col. Herbert’s response; “but

his opinion is based upon no positive information. This long silence

betokens a dreadful battle when it does commence, and I am getting tired

of the suspense. By-the-by, Captain, now you know perfectly well that I

am not at all superstitious, but I’ll be hanged if I havn’t a

presentment that I am to be hit in this affair. You and myself have

escaped so far without a scratch, but we won’t this time, mark my words.

With G. there it has become so common a thing that nothing else is to be

expected.”

“And for that very reason I shall escape,” said I. “You know the old

saying that ‘it is a long lane that has no turning;’ well I think I am

around the bend, whilst you two have not yet commenced the trip.”

“There it comes,” exclaimed Murray, suddenly springing to his feet as

the sound of a single piece of artillery was wafted to us on the

evening’s breeze from away down to our right. “And there, and there, and

there!” as three more distinct discharges were heard.

For a moment all was still as death. Not a sound to break the same quiet

that had preceded the four explosions. It was but a moment, however, for

these were Lee’s signal guns to commence the battle, and the thunder of

two hundred pieces of artillery burst forth from our lines. The enemy

replied with as many more, and the earth shook and trembled as though

riven by an earthquake. The air was filled with exploding, crashing,

screaming shells. “Lay down!” is the command, and every man was flat on

his face.

Perhaps nothing in battle is so trying to an infantryman’s nerves and

patience as the preliminary artillery fire that precedes it; and the

same effect is produced upon the artilleryman by the whistle of the

minnie ball; although the destruction of human life by musketry is at

least five hundred per cent. greater than by artillery; and an old

soldier will contend a battle has not fairly begun until he hears the

rattle of small arms, when he will exclaim to the recruit: “Now somebody

is getting hurt; all this thunder was only for its effects.”

The brigade on our right being in a more direct line with the shots

fired at the batteries of Latimer on the hill in front, begin to suffer

severely, and the litter bearers are busily engaged carrying off the

wounded. Latimer is working his guns savagely, but is being terribly

handled, for three times his number of guns are concentrated upon the

two little batteries, rending and tearing him to pieces. Caisson after

caisson shoot high up in the air as they are exploded by the enemy’s

shells.

“He can’t stand that pounding much longer,” remarked the Colonel; “and

for all the execution he is doing I wish General Johnson would order him

away. Here comes a litter from that direction with a wounded man. Let us

see who it is.”

Approaching the sufferer we were shocked to behold the familiar features

of the chivalrous Captain Wm. Brown, of the Chesapeake Artillery. His

face was pale as death, and although both legs had been horribly

shattered by a cannon ball, he smiled as he recognized us. Turning to

Captain Torsch, he said in a weak voice:

“Captain, if you should get home, tell my poor old father I died

endeavoring to do my duty.”

“We are making out badly up there,” said one of the litter bearers.

“Major Latimer has been carried from the field mortally wounded; and if

kept on that hill much longer more of us will be likely to follow him!”

For at least two hours this awful fire continued without a moment’s

cessation, when aids were seen dashing furiously down the long line of

infantry on our right, who spring to their feet as they pass, and were

at once in motion.

“Mount your horse quickly,” said the Colonel, “for we are going in;” and

the next instant, in a clear, distinct voice, heard even above the din

of battle, he gave the command, “Forward, guide centre!” and the gallant

sons of Maryland commenced their march to defeat and death.

Preceded by a cloud of skirmishers, steadily the long line in grey

advanced across the Hanover road, and entered the woods before them. We

found the ground here very uneven, and covered with immense rocks, which

necessitated the dismounting of field and staff officers, and the horses

were sent to the rear. We passed over more than a mile of this country

before our skirmishers encountered those of the enemy upon the banks of

Rock creek. A sharp fight ensued, but our gallant fellows dashed across

the creek, which was waist deep, and put them to flight. The order was

then given by some one for the skirmishers to join the main body. The

disastrous consequences that followed this order will be presently seen.

We were rapidly approaching Culp’s Hill through one of the densest woods

I ever passed. Darkness was upon us, and nothing could be seen save the

flash of an occasional musket in our front. More and more difficult

became the ascent, but over every obstacle pressed the devoted division.

Not a shot was now heard, and the woods seemed inhabited but by

ourselves. What has become of the enemy? In an instant the question is

answered, as the heavens are lighted up by the flash of thousands of

muskets, and the deadly Minnie tear and rend our ranks fearfully. The

column reeled and staggered like a drunken man. To add to the horrors of

the situation, a fire was also opened upon us in rear by a body of our

own troops, who receiving some of the bullets that escaped us mistook us

for the enemy. Men fell like autumn leaves; but the brave fellows

disdained to retreat. The enemy’s fire was returned, though with little

effect, as they were protected by their breastworks. No command could be

heard above the infernal din. What was to be done? To stand there was

certain death, and therefore, why not sell our lives dearly as possible?

At this moment the heroic Walton approached me and asked “what on earth

shall we do?”

“As I am not in command of the battalion, I can do nothing,” was my

reply.

“Well, I shan’t wait for orders any longer, but will charge the works if

I lose every man in my regiment. Take the responsibility and charge with

your left at the same time.”

“I’ll do it,” was my response, and hastily detaching the companies of

Captains Torsch, Stewart and Crane, with Walton, dashed at the

breastworks, cleared them in a moment, with the loss of but three men,

and instantly wheeling to the right opened a destructive, enfilading

fire upon the enemy who still remained in the breastworks, which

compelled them to fall back to Culp’s Hill.

On our right Nicholl’s brigade of Louisianians had not been so

successful, and there the fight still raged. The enemy here held a

stronger position, and could not be dislodged.

As the firing in our front had ceased temporarily, I took advantage of

it to go in search of Colonel Herbert, from whom I wanted further

orders, and to whom I wished to report my situation. Upon reaching the

right of the battalion, however, I was grieved to learn, through

Lieutenant George Thomas, that the gallant Colonel had been pierced at

the first fire by no less than three balls, and carried from the field

in a supposed dying condition.

Sending for the commanders of companies, with the view to ascertain

their respective losses, I was shocked at the reports made by them.

Nearly one hundred men had fallen in the Second Maryland alone, and at

least three hundred in the brigade, during those few dreadful minutes.

As Captain Murray had the right of the battalion by seniority, I

directed him, for the present, to take command of that wing whilst I

looked after the important position I had taken at right angles with him

after we had carried the enemy’s breastworks, and to inform General

Steuart, if he should see him, where I was, and how I was situated. I

had scarcely returned, when the enemy opened again with increased fury,

but as the brigade was now sheltered behind the log breastworks and

immense rocks that covered the hill, their fire did but little

execution. The men were directed to fire at the flash from their

muskets, and from the shouts of “stop that firing, you are shooting your

own men,” I was convinced it was with effect. They must have been new

troops, ordered from another point, as they did not seem to be aware of

the change that had taken place in their front. Many came into our lines

to remonstrate with us, and found themselves prisoners.

An incident of this kind occurred here, which, under different

circumstances, would have afforded some amusement. Captain Torsch, of

Company E, whose gallantry had been conspicuous during the evening,

whilst urging his men to fire as rapidly as possible, was approached by

a Federal officer and peremptorily ordered to cease. The Captain had

received no instructions to obey officers in blue uniforms, and he

therefore declared “he’d be d—d if he would,” and seizing the astonished

“lover of the Union” by the throat, dragged him into my presence, and

demanded in an excited manner that I should “give him the devil for

coming inside our lines and interfering with him in the discharge of his

duties.” The fellow was dreadfully scared, and begged piteously to be

sent to the rear, as he “did not wish to be shot by his own men.”

Another, somewhat similar, occurred shortly after, in which the author

was a party. Whilst directing the firing, I was approached by an officer

on horseback, and asked how “the fight was going?” I saw his mistake

directly, and telling him I did not know, walked towards his horse’s

head to take him by the bridle. As I did so his suspicions must have

been aroused, for he inquired “What corps is this?” “A Rebel corps, sir,

and you are my prisoner!” I exclaimed, presenting a pistol to his

breast. With perfect self-possession he dismounted, and unbuckling his

belt handed it to me with sword and pistol attached, playfully remarking

as he did so, “Take them, sir, they are yours, and fairly won.” He

proved to be Lieutenant Egbert, a staff officer, who in carrying a

dispatch had become lost in the darkness.

By ten o’clock the firing had ceased, and the men rested upon their

arms, prepared to repel an attack at an instant’s warning. The officers

were required to remain awake during the night, and a vigilant line of

pickets kept a watchful eye in the direction of the enemy, who were but

fifty yards distant. They were also on the alert, as we were assured by

an occasional volley of musketry.

During the whole night artillery and wagons could be heard rumbling

along the Gettysburg turnpike, and as the sound seemed to recede we

thought the enemy might be retreating. Generals Johnson and Steuart were

attentive listeners, and I heard Johnson express such a belief. I

sincerely hoped it might prove true, for I was sickened at the prospects

before us.

CHAPTER VII.

The long wished for day at length began to appear, and at early dawn the

troops were awakened from their slumbers to renew if necessary the

dreadful struggle. In vain I peered through the misty light for a

glimpse of the enemy, but none could be seen. They had certainly

retreated under cover of night, and we were right in our conjectures;

and now for a pursuit in the direction of Baltimore. But even as I thus

anticipated the pleasures in store for us, of the prospect of once more

seeing home and loved ones there, I was startled by a terrible volley of

musketry in our front, whilst simultaneously several pieces of artillery

opened upon the flank of the three companies I had thrown across the

breastworks the previous evening, and I was compelled to hastily

withdraw them and seek the cover of this our only protection. The fire

was awful, and the whole hillside seemed enveloped in a blaze, although

it was but occasionally we could catch sight of an enemy. The trees were

riddled, and the balls could be heard to strike the breastworks like

hailstones upon the roof tops. The fire was returned as best we could,

but it was almost certain death to expose any vital part of the body;

and many were killed and wounded by reckless exposure of person.

The right of the battalion, where were stationed companies A and C,

under the command of Captain Murray and Lieutenant Charles Hodges

respectively, were exposed to the severest part of the fire, and

suffered in greater proportion than the others. Until nearly eight

o’clock this dreadful storm of bullets continued to sweep over and

around us without the slightest abatement. All along our line wounded

men were lying bleeding to death, as it was impossible to remove them to

the surgeon’s quarters after they were struck. Feeling anxious to know

how the right fared, I cautiously made my way there, and sheltered

myself behind a rock where were Colonel Parseley and Captain Murray. I

inquired of Parseley if he had suffered much.

“Very much indeed. I have but thirteen men left. And now I have but

twelve!” he exclaimed in the same breath, as one of his men fell over

dead in Captain Murray’s lap, shot through the head.

I heard the words but imperfectly, for the same ball struck me full in

the forehead and knocked me almost senseless; but its force was spent,

and an ugly bump was the only result.

“Take care there, Sergeant Blackistone, you are exposing yourself too

much,” I shortly after remarked to the orderly of Company A, and even as

I spoke a ball passed through his arm, lacerating it badly. Poor fellow,

it was his first and last wound, for he died shortly after in the

hospital at Frederick, where he was held a prisoner.

“My men are out of ammunition, sir,” said Captain Murray; “and with your

permission, I will withdraw them to the cover of those rocks on the left

for half an hour—or a less time should you need me—and get some water

and replenish their cartridge boxes. I have suffered fearfully, sir, and

the men are somewhat dispirited.”

I suggested it would be a dangerous undertaking, but with great caution

the point might be made.

Gradually they worked their way down the line, and reached the shelter

in safety, and another company was ordered to take their place.

As I returned, the commanders of companies informed me that their

ammunition was also exhausted. The difficulty was to get it, as none was

within half a mile, and it was almost certain death to leave the shelter

of the breastworks. I reported the matter, however, to General Steuart,

whom I found sitting with his staff behind an immense rock, and he told

me I had better call for volunteers.

“General, do not ask one of your officers or privates to volunteer to

perform this duty whilst you have a staff officer left. I will bring the

ammunition, if I live!”

Words that should be written in letters of gold, and they fell from the

lips of Lieutenant Randolph McKim, one of the General’s aids. The noble

fellow made the venture, and succeeded in his mission.

It was about half an hour after the above, that Captain George

Williamson (Adjutant-General of the brigade, and one of the bravest men

that ever trod a battle-field,) directed me to move my command by the

left flank, file to the right at a given point, and form line of battle

under cover of a woods, and as close as possible to its edge, without

attracting the attention of the enemy, and that the rest of the brigade

would form on my right and left.

I divined the object of the move instantly, and told the Captain “I

considered it murder, and therefore would take my men in under protest.”

“The General has expressed the same opinion, sir; but the order comes

from one higher than he, and is peremptory,” was his reply.

Sending for Captain Murray to join the command, the devoted little

brigade—already reduced to about nine hundred men—made their way slowly,

sometimes crawling, to the spot where they were to be senselessly

slaughtered. Nine hundred brave men to storm a mountain, and upon whose

sides bristled the bayonets of ten thousand foemen, and artillery

innumerable. Some one’s hands are stained with the blood of these

gallant men, and God will mete out fearful retribution in the world to

come.

We were now within less than two hundred yards of the enemy, with an

open field in front, over which we were to charge.

“Captain Murray, you will take command of the right,” were my last words

to one of the noblest of men.

Slowly I moved down the column, with feelings I had never before

experienced on the battle-field, for I felt I had but a minute more to

live; and as I gazed into the faces of both officers and men, I could

see the same feeling expressed, for all were alike aware of their

danger. But no coward’s glance met mine. There was no craven in those

ranks. _They_ had sneaked to the rear the day before. But the compressed

lip, the stern brow, the glittering eye, told that those before me would

fight to the last. Reaching my post, I looked up the line, and there

stood the brave Steuart, calmly waiting for the troops to get in

position.

“Fix bayonets,” was the command, quietly given; and the last act in this

bloody drama was about to be enacted. It was a dreadful moment. But one

brief second of life yet left! The sword of the General is raised on

high! “Forward, double-quick!” rings out in clarion tones, and the race

to meet death commenced. The fated brigade emerged from the woods into

the open plain, and here—oh God! what a fire greeted us, and the

death-shriek rends the air on every side! But on the gallant survivors

pressed, closing up the dreadful gaps as fast as they were made. At this

moment I felt a violent shock, and found myself instantly stretched upon

the ground. I had experienced the feeling before, and knew what it

meant, but to save me I could not tell where I was struck. In the

excitement I felt not the pain; and resting upon my elbow, anxiously

watched that struggling column. Column, did I say? A column no longer,

but the torn and shattered fragments of one. But flesh and blood could

not live in such a fire; and a handful of survivors of what had been a

little more than twelve hours before the pride and boast of the army,

sought to reach the cover of the woods.

But that merciless storm of bullets pursued them, and many more were

stricken down. Among those who escaped, with a slight wound, was

Adjutant Winder Laird, who, as he passed where I lay, caught me up and

carried me to the shelter of the woods.

Faint and sick from the loss of blood, I fell into a stupor, from which

I was aroused by the voice of Lieutenant Thomas Tolson.

“Can I do anything for you sir?” he kindly inquired.

“Tell Captain Murray to take command of what remains of the battalion,”

I directed.

“Alas, sir, Captain Murray has fought his last fight; he fell dead,

close to my side, late in the charge,” he answered.

Colonel Herbert’s prophecy was fulfilled.

The command of the battalion now devolved upon Captain Crane, who, with

little difficulty, rallied the survivors, and from the breastworks we

had occupied, still maintained the fight. Borne back at length, by

overwhelming numbers, this little band of heroes sullenly retired,

stubbornly contesting every foot of ground until they reached Rock

creek, where they took a stand, from which the utmost efforts of the

enemy failed to dislodge them.

[Illustration: Capt. WM. H. MURRAY.]

Darkness put an end to the conflict, and the exhausted troops threw

themselves upon the ground to snatch a few moments’ sleep. But human

endurance was yet to be taxed to a greater degree before allowed to seek

that rest and repose it so much needed, for that night General Lee had

determined to retire from Gettysburg, and recross the Potomac.

Such was the part taken by the Second Maryland in the great and bloody

battle of Gettysburg, and although it brought mourning and sorrow into

many families in that glorious old State, still it had better a thousand

times been that than the blush of shame for a son’s recreancy.

The casualties were frightful indeed; and it became necessary to leave

the severely wounded in the hands of the enemy, among the number Colonel

Herbert, Major Goldsborough, Lieutenant Joseph Barber, (who died a few

days after) and Lieutenant Wilson. Captains Stewart and Gwynn, and

Lieutenants Thomas, Tolson and Broadfoot, although severely wounded,

succeeded in getting away, the latter, however, died at Martinsburg soon

after reaching that place.

Of the officers and men who escaped unhurt, but two hundred reported

after the battle, out of five hundred that went into the fight. I annex

a list of the casualties, which will be found pretty nearly correct:

Field and Staff.—Killed, none; wounded, Lieutenant-Colonel James R.

Herbert, seriously; Major W. W. Goldsborough, seriously.

Company A, Captain Wm. H. Murray.—Killed, Captain Wm. H. Murray;

privates, John W. Hardesty, Wm. Bruce, T. Lloyd, James Iglehart, Jr.,

Arthur Kennedy, George W. McIntyre, Wilbur Morrison, Harman Nicalai,

Henry A. McCormick, George C. Starlings, John H. Windolph; wounded,

First Lieutenant George Thomas, severely; First Sergeant Wm. J.

Blackiston, severely; Sergeant James H. Thomas, severely; Corporal

Charles E. Maguire, severely; privates, John Bond, slightly; Philip

Barry, slightly; Wm. H. Bowly, mortally; Charles S. Braddock, slightly;

James E. Carey, slightly; Wm. S. J. Chandler, mortally; Moses Clayville,

severely; Jacob N. Davis, severely; Wm. J. Edelin, slightly; Barnard

Freeman, severely; Alex. Fulton, slightly; Wm. F. Gardiner, severely;

Samuel T. Glenn, slightly; Motley Hanson, slightly; Samuel J. Hopkins,

severely; D. Ridgely Howard, slightly; Leonard W. Ives, mortally; W. T.

V. Loane, slightly; W. S. Lowe, severely; John Marney, dangerously;

Philip Pindell, mortally; Frank H. Sanderson, mortally; A. J. Sollers,

slightly; Charles H. Stale, severely; Wm. T. Thelin, severely; Charles

M. Trail, severely; Andrew C. Trippe, severely; John P. Williams,

dangerously; Jacob E. Zollinger, severely; Wm. H. Laird, slightly; Craig

Lake, severely; Lamar Holliday, dangerously; Wallace Bowling, severely;

Thomas B. Bowling, severely; J. A. Klimkiewiez, severely; captured, H.

Tillard Smith, James A. Peregoy, Albert Emery, Bernard Hubball, David H.

Lucchesi.