MCCLELLAN RELIEVED--HIS ADDRESS--BURNSIDE IN COMMAND--ON THE
MARCH--FALMOUTH--MY RIDE--OLD BATTLEFIELDS--SAD SIGHTS--"YANKEE
SKULLS"--"BONE ORNAMENTS"--SHELLING FREDERICKSBURG--PONTOON
BRIDGES--OCCUPATION OF THE CITY--AIDE-DE-CAMP--DREADFUL SLAUGHTER--A
GALLANT MAJOR--STRANGE SIGHTS--DARK NIGHT--DEATH OF GENERAL
BAYARD--SOMEONE'S PET--RECROSSING THE RAPPAHANNOCK.
After reaching Warrenton the army encamped in that vicinity for a few
days--during which "Father Abraham" took the favorable opportunity of
relieving the idol of the Army of the Potomac from his command, and
ordered him to report at Trenton, New Jersey, just as he was entering upon
another campaign, with his army in splendid condition.
After a brief address and an affecting farewell to officers and men, he
hastened to comply with the order. His farewell address was as follows:
"November 7th, 1862. Officers and Soldiers of the Army of the Potomac: An
order of the President devolves upon Major-General Burnside the command of
this army. In parting from you I cannot express the love and gratitude I
bear you. As an army you have grown up under my care. In you I have never
found doubt or coldness. The battles you have fought under my command will
proudly live in our nation's history. The glory you have achieved, our
mutual perils and fatigues, the graves of our comrades fallen in battle
and by disease, the broken forms of those whom wounds and sickness have
disabled--the strongest associations which can exist among men--unite us
still by an indissoluble tie. We shall ever be comrades in supporting the
constitution of our country and the nationality of its people."
That was a sad day for the Army of the Potomac.
The new commander marched the army immediately to Falmouth, opposite
Fredericksburg. Of the incidents of that march I know nothing, for I went
to Washington, and from thence to Aquia Creek by water.
I did not return to Washington on the cars, but rode on horseback, and
made a two days' trip of it, visiting all the old places as I went. The
battle-ground of the first and second Bull Run battles, Centerville,
Fairfax Court House, and Chentilla.
But how shall I describe the sights which I saw and the impressions which
I had as I rode over those fields! There were men and horses thrown
together in heaps, and some clay thrown on them above ground; others lay
where they had fallen, their limbs bleaching in the sun without the
appearance of burial.
There was one in particular--a cavalryman: he and his horse both lay
together, nothing but the bones and clothing remained; but one of his arms
stood straight up, or rather the bones and the coatsleeve, his hand had
dropped off at the wrist and lay on the ground; not a finger or joint was
separated, but the hand was perfect. I dismounted twice for the purpose of
bringing away that hand, but did not do so after all. I would have done so
if it had been possible to find a clue to his name or regiment.
The few families who still live in that vicinity tell horrid stories of
the brutal conduct of the rebels after those battles.
A Southern clergyman declares that in the town where he now resides he saw
rebel soldiers selling "Yankee skulls" at ten dollars apiece. And it is a
common thing to see rebel women wear rings and ornaments made of our
soldiers' bones--in fact they boast of it, even to the Union soldiers,
that they have "Yankee bone ornaments."
This to me was a far more sickening sight than was presented at the time
of the battles, with dead and wounded lying in their gore. I looked in
vain for the old "brush heap" which had once screened me from the rebel
cavalry; the fire had consumed it. But the remains of the Stone Church at
Centerville was an object of deep interest to me.
I went from Washington to Aquia Creek by steamer, and from thence to
Falmouth on horseback. I found the army encamped in the mud for miles
along the Rappahannock river.
The river is very narrow between Falmouth and Fredericksburg, not more
than a stone's cast in some places. I have often seen the pickets on both
sides amusing themselves by throwing stones across it.
Some writer in describing the picturesque scenery in this locality says:
"There is a young river meandering through its center, towards which slope
down beautiful banks of mud on either side, while the fields are
delightfully variegated by alternate patches of snow and swamp, and the
numerous roads are in such condition that no matter which one you take you
are sure to wish you had tried another instead."
All the mud and bad roads on the Peninsula could not bear the least
comparison with that of Falmouth and along the Rappahannock.
It was now December and the weather was extremely cold, yet the constant
rains kept the roads in the most terrible state imaginable.
On riding along the brink of the river we could see distinctly the rebel
batteries frowning on the heights beyond the city of Fredericksburg, and
the rebel sentinels walking their rounds within talking distance of our
own pickets.
On the eleventh the city was shelled by our troops. The pontoon bridges
were laid amid showers of bullets from the sharpshooters of the enemy,
who were ensconced in the houses on the opposite bank. However, the work
went steadily on, notwithstanding that two out of every three who were
engaged in laying the bridges were either killed or wounded. But as fast
as one fell another took his place.
Soon it was deemed expedient to take care of those sharpshooters before
the bridges could be finished. Several companies filed into boats and
rowed across in a few minutes, the men of the Seventh Michigan leading the
van, and drove the rebels from the houses, killing some and taking many
prisoners.
The bridges were soon completed, the troops marched over and took
possession of the city. Headquarters were established in the principal
building, and a church and other large buildings were appropriated for
hospital purposes.
The following is an extract from my journal, written on the battlefield
the second day after we crossed the river:
BATTLE-FIELD, FREDERICKSBURG, VA.,
_December 13, 1862_.
In consequence of one of General H.'s staff officers being ill I have
volunteered to take his place, and am now aide-de-camp to General H. I
wish my friends could see me in my present uniform! This division will
probably charge on the enemy's works this afternoon. God grant them
success! While I write the roar of cannon and musketry is almost
deafening, and the shot and shell are falling fast on all sides. This may
be my last entry in this journal. God's will be done. I commit myself to
Him, soul and body. I must close. General H. has mounted his horse, and
says Come--!
Of course it is not for me to say whose fault it was in sacrificing those
thousands of noble lives which fell upon that disastrous field, or in
charging again and again upon those terrible stone walls and
fortifications, after being repulsed every time with more than half their
number lying on the ground. The brave men, nothing daunted by their
thinned ranks, advanced more fiercely on the foe--
Plunged in the battery's smoke,
Fiercely the line they broke;
Strong was the saber stroke,
Making an army reel.
But when it was proved to a demonstration that it was morally impossible
to take and retain those heights, in consequence of the natural advantage
of position which the rebels occupied, and still would occupy if they
should fall back--whose fault was it that the attempt was made time after
time, until the field was literally piled with dead and ran red with
blood? We may truly say of the brave soldiers thus sacrificed--
Their's not to reason why,
Their's not to make reply,
Their's but to do and die.
Among the many who fell in that dreadful battle perhaps there is none more
worthy of notice than the brave and heroic Major Edward E. Sturtevant, of
Keene, New Hampshire, who fell while leading the gallant Fifth in a charge
upon the enemy. He was the first man in New Hampshire who enlisted _for
the war_. He was immediately authorized by the Governor to make
enlistments for the First New Hampshire Volunteers, and was eminently
successful. He held the commission of captain in the First Regiment, and
afterwards was promoted major of the Fifth.
One of the leading papers of his native State has the following with
regard to him: "He was in every battle where the regiment was engaged,
nine or ten in number, besides skirmishes, and was slightly wounded at the
battle of Fair Oaks. He commanded the regiment most of the time on the
retreat from the Chickahominy to James river. The filial affection of the
deceased was of the strongest character, and made manifest in substantial
ways on many occasions. His death is the first in the household, and deep
is the grief that is experienced there; but that grief will doubtless be
mitigated by the consoling circumstance that the departed son and brother
died in a service that will hallow his memory forever. A braver man or
more faithful friend never yielded up his spirit amidst the clash of arms
and the wail of the dying."
I well remember the desperate charge which that brave officer made upon
the enemy just before he fell, and the thinned and bleeding ranks of his
men as they returned, leaving their beloved commander on the field,
reminded me of the "gallant six hundred," of whom Tennyson has written the
following lines:
Stormed at with shot and shell,
They that had struck so well
Rode through the jaws of death,
Half a league back again
Up, from the mouth of hell--
All that was left of them.
I have since had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with the bereaved
family of the deceased, and deeply sympathize with them in the loss of one
so noble, kind, and brave.
Major Sturtevant was the son of George W. Sturtevant, Esq., and nephew of
Rev. David. Kilburn--one of the pioneers of Methodism--whom thousands will
remember as a faithful and efficient minister of the Gospel.
During the progress of that battle I saw many strange sights--although I
had been in many a fierce battle before. I never saw, till then, a man
deliberately shoot himself, with his own pistol, in order to save the
rebels the satisfaction of doing so, as it would seem.
As one brigade was ordered into line of battle, I saw an officer take out
his pistol and shoot himself through the side--not mortally, I am sorry
to say, but just sufficient to unfit him for duty; so he was carried to
the rear--he protesting that it was done by accident.
Another officer I saw there, a young and handsome lieutenant, disgrace his
shoulder-straps by showing the white feather at the very moment when he
was most needed.
I rode three miles with General H. to General Franklin's headquarters, the
second night we were at Fredericksburg, and of all the nights that I can
recall to mind that was the darkest. On our way we had numerous ditches to
leap, various ravines to cross, and mountains to climb, which can be
better imagined than described. It was not only once or twice that horse
and rider went tumbling into chasms head first, but frequently.
As we passed along, we stopped at the headquarters of General Bayard
(General of Cavalry) a few minutes--found him enjoying a cup of coffee
under a large tree, which constituted his headquarters. We called again
when we returned, but he was cold in death, having been struck by a stray
shot, and died in a short time. He was killed just where we had left him,
under the tree. He was a splendid officer, and his removal was a great
loss to the Federal cause. His death cast a gloom over his whole command
which was deeply felt.
Of the wounded of this battle I can say but little, for my time was fully
occupied in the responsible duties which I had volunteered to perform;
and so constantly was I employed, that I was not out of the saddle but
once in twelve hours, and that was to assist an officer of the
Seventy-ninth, who lay writhing in agony on the field, having been seized
with cramps and spasms, and was suffering the most extreme pain. He was
one of the brave and fearless ones, however, and in less than an hour,
after having taken some powerful medicine which I procured for him, he was
again on his horse, at the general's side.
On going to the Church hospital in search of Doctor E., I saw an immense
shell which had been sent through the building and fell on the floor, in
the centre of those wounded and dying men who had just been carried off
the field, and placed there for safety. But strange to say, it did not
burst or injure any one, and was carried out and laid beside the mangled
limbs which had been amputated in consequence of contact with just such
instruments of death. I saw the remains of the Rev. A. B. Fuller, Chaplain
of the Sixteenth Massachusetts, as they were removed to the camp. He was
faithful to his trust, and died at his post.
On one of my necessary rides, in the darkness of that dreadful night, I
passed by a grave-yard near by where our reserves were lying--and there,
in that hour of darkness and danger, I heard the voice of prayer ascend. A
group of soldiers were there holding communion with God--strengthening
their souls for the coming conflict. There are, scattered over the
battle-fields and camping-grounds of this war, Bethels, consecrated to
God, and sacred to souls who have wrestled and prevailed. This retirement
was a grave-yard, with a marble slab for an altar, where that little band
met to worship God--perhaps for the last time.
But among all the dead and wounded, I saw none who touched my heart so
much as one beautiful boy, severely wounded; he was scarcely more than a
child, and certainly a very attractive one. Some one writes the following,
after he was sent to a hospital:
"Among the many brave, uncomplaining fellows who were brought up to the
hospital from the battle of Fredericksburg, was a bright-eyed and
intelligent youth, sixteen years old, who belonged to a northern regiment.
He appeared more affectionate and tender, more refined and thoughtful than
many of his comrades, and attracted a good deal of attention from the
attendants and visitors. Manifestly the pet of some household which he had
left, perhaps, in spite of entreaty and tears. He expressed an anxious
longing for the arrival of his mother, who was expected, having been
informed that he was mortally wounded, and failing fast. Ere she arrived,
however, he died. But before the end, almost his last act of consciousness
was the thought that she had really come; for, as a lady sat by his pillow
and wiped the death-dews from his brow, just as his sight was failing, he
rallied a little, like an expiring taper in its socket, looked up
longingly and joyfully, and in tones that drew tears from every eye
whispered audibly, 'Is that mother?' Then drawing her toward him with all
his feeble power, he nestled his head in her arms, like a sleeping child,
and thus died, with the sweet word, 'Mother,' on his lips."
Raise me in your arms, dear mother,
Let me once more look
On the green and waving willows,
And the flowing brook;
Hark, those strains of angel music
From the choirs above!
Dearest mother, I am going,
Truly "God is love."
A council of war was held by our generals, and the conclusion arrived at
that the enterprise should be abandoned, and that the army should recross
the Rappahannock under cover of darkness. Everything was conducted in the
most quiet manner; so quiet, indeed, that the enemy never suspected the
movement, and the retreat was accomplished, and the bridges partially
removed, before the fact was discovered.