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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF THE WAR OF 1861
As Private, Sergeant and Lieutenant in the Sixty-First Regiment,
New York Volunteer Infantry
by
CHARLES A. FULLER
Prepared from data found in letters, written at the time from the field
to the people at home.
[Illustration: Charles A. Fuller
Late of the 61st N. Y. V. Inf.]
News Job Printing House, Sherburne, N. Y.
1906
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
March 1st, 1861, I started for Cleveland, Ohio, to enter the law office
of Boardman & Ingersoll as a law student. I was in that city at the time
of the inauguration of President Lincoln.
After Sumpter was fired on I was anxious to enlist and go to the front
with the "Cleveland Grays," but trouble with my eyes induced me to
postpone my enlistment. After the President issued his call for 300,000
additional troops, I learned that Lieut. K. Oscar Broady, a recent
graduate of Madison University, who had seen some military service in
Sweden, his native country, was raising a Company for the War, in which
many Hamilton and Sherburne men were enrolled. Isaac Plumb, one of my
most-thought-of friends, was in the number; there were others--Edgar
Willey, Israel O. Foote, Fred Ames, and more whose names I do not now
recall. I decided to wait no longer, but seek the enemy with the men of
this Company.
I left Cleveland Sept. 5th, 1861, and reached Utica Saturday afternoon
in time to find that the stage down the valley had gone, and I must
remain there until Monday morning, or use some other means of locomotion
southward to Sherburne. The question I asked myself was, "Why not test
your leg gear NOW, and see what you can do as a foot-man?" I answered
"All right," and started out, though it was well into the afternoon.
That evening I reached Oriskany Falls, a distance of about 20 miles. I
camped for the night at the hotel, but was up the next morning before
the hotel people. I left the price of the lodging on the bar, and
started south. It was about 24 miles to Sherburne, which I reached
about noon. I supplied the commissary department from houses along the
road.
My father and mother had no hint that I had left Cleveland. When I
entered the house my mother said, "Why, Charlie Fuller, you've come home
to go to war." She was the daughter of a man who was in the
Revolutionary Army when but sixteen years of age, and she had always
been proud of the fact, and she was, I am sure, gratified that she had a
boy desirous of imitating the example of her deceased father.
On my way through Hamilton, I had left word what I was there for, and I
was assured that Lieut. Coultis would soon be down to enroll me.
The next day he was on hand; he had, I believe, been in a militia
company; at all events, he appeared in the toggery of a militia officer.
He said he was authorized and prepared to "swear me in." I told him I
was ready for business, and then and there took the oath. I tried to
feel easy and appear unconcerned (whether or not I succeeded to outward
appearance I can not say) but I know that inside there was more or less
of a lump to swallow, for, to some extent, I realized that it was _not_
a picnic.
I was home for a week, in which time four men joined me. They were Lewis
R. Foote, Porter E. Whitney, Newel Hill and Albert H. Simmons. To show
what war does, the following summary is a fair sample--Foote, wounded at
Fair Oaks, discharged; Whitney, several times wounded, lastly in the
Wilderness Campaign, 1864, transferred to the Veteran Reserve Corps;
Hill, discharged early for physical disability; Simmons, detailed to
Commissary Dept., discharged on account of physical disability; Fuller,
discharged on account of wounds.
Monday, Sept. 16th, 1861, our squad of five left Sherburne for Hamilton.
We were there until Thursday, when we started for Staten Island, the
headquarters of the forming regiment. Coultis had about thirty men. We
reached the rendezvous about 11 o'clock Friday and received a warm
welcome from old friends on the ground.
This forming regiment was located on ground within the present enclosure
of Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island. Spencer W. Cone had the Colonel's
Commission, and his regiment had the fancy name of "Clinton Guards,"
whether in honor of George, or DeWitt, I do not know, and perhaps Cone
didn't.
The explanation of Broady's connection with Cone's regiment,
undoubtedly, is this: The father of Spencer W. Cone was a Baptist Doctor
of Divinity, of Baltimore, Md. Probably he was known to, and a friend of
the managers of Madison University. Quite likely it was assumed that so
good a man as Cone. D. D., would have a son of ability and piety, well
calculated to lead his men to victory, or, if to death, the death of the
righteous; and, so, I assume, it was regarded as a fortunate
circumstance that the young men who had been connected with Madison
University were to go into this man's regiment.
Mr. Cone was one of those (what Simeon Cameron is alleged to have
characterized a writer) "damned literary fellers." He had been a
contributor to the New York Mercury, and other periodicals. He had a
penetrating and quite powerful voice, and displayed in his person some
of the pomp and circumstance of war, and, to the novices in his camp, he
was for a time regarded as a "big injun." Events proved this to be
unfounded and, before the regiment really met the enemy, he ceased to be
the Colonel. At this time one Manning wore the uniform of
Lieutenant-Colonel, and one Lynch that of Major.
A quarrel was worked up among the officers, and, it was said, that Cone
proposed to leave it to the line officers whether he should continue as
Colonel, or step aside for another. The vote was taken and Cone was
loser. Then he refused to abide by the result. He was ordered to leave
camp and refused. Hands were laid on him to compel his withdrawal, he
resisted with oaths and froth and a show of fight; but he was overcome
by superior force and exported from the camp. I think Maj. Lynch assumed
command. After a few days the camp was moved a number of miles to a
place called Silver Lake. This move was on Saturday.
The next morning some of the officers were informed that Cone was on the
road to this new camp with authority to take command and to place in
arrest all of the officers who had aided in his displacement. There was
a great scampering on the part of these officers, and soon they were
conspicuous by their absence. In a little while the valiant Cone
appeared on the color line, and ordered the men to turn out; his order
was obeyed. Then he showed authority for taking command of the regiment,
and he offered to pardon all who had been in the movement against him,
if they would return and promise to be good in the future. The
skedadling officers got the word, came back, were forgiven, and resumed
their places; that was the last the regiment knew of Manning and Lynch.
The Monday following the regiment moved back to its old quarters near
the fort, and remained there till ordered to Washington. In this
unfortunate fiasco the regiment lost about two hundred men by desertion,
from which depletion it never recovered. When ordered to the seat of
war, I think there were not much above 700 men, and the regiment never
saw the time when it had full ranks--that fact alone accounts for its
not being in the list of those that lost two hundred in battle. I
believe the number killed in action, or who died in a short time from
battle wounds, was 193, or seven short of the number. When brigaded, my
recollection is, that it was at least one hundred and fifty men short of
the number of any other regiment. It had the same number of officers
that the other regiments had, and, with them, the loss in killed
equalled, I believe, the losses in the 5th New Hampshire, which has the
distinction of having lost the most men killed in action of any infantry
regiment on the Union side in the War of the Rebellion.
Francis C. Barlow was appointed Lieut-Col. in place of Manning, and
Capt. Massett was promoted to Major. In each case a good exchange.
Barlow did not appear for duty at Staten Island and was not generally
known to the regiment until it went into Camp at Kendall Green in
Washington, D. C.
Saturday, Nov, 9th, 1861, orders were issued to break camp. The men's
knapsacks were loaded down with things necessary and things that _could_
be dispensed with, (which were thrown away when real campaigning was
entered upon.) No doubt an average knapsack at this time would weigh
from twenty-five pounds and upwards. The regiment left its formation
camp for the front about seven hundred strong. We took a steamer and
landed at Perth Amboy. There we took cars for Washington, reaching
Philadelphia during the night, and were at once marched to a citizens
lunch barracks, where the regiment at one time was substantially fed.
From an early date in the War the patriotic citizens of Philadelphia did
this to every regiment that passed through the city. New York and
Philadelphia differ in many ways. In 1861, and during the following
years of the War, there was an antipodal difference between these cities
in their regard for and treatment of the Union Soldiers. In Philadelphia
the troops were, in going out, you might almost say, banqueted, and when
the wounded began to come back from the front great hospitals were run
by the voluntary services of the best women in the city. I had personal
experience in each of these ways showing appreciation of the work of the
soldier. I have never heard anyone accuse New Yorkers of making any
systematic effort to cheer the boys on as they went out, or care for
them as they came back wrecked by disease or torn by the missiles of the
enemy. The city of New York is entirely too practical to be diverted by
patriotic sentiment, if, as a municipality, it has any.
About 8 a. m., Sunday, we left the city of Brotherly Love and reached
Washington at 9 p. m. The regiment was marched into a large building
capable of housing a thousand men, called the "Soldiers' Rest," located
at the terminus of the Baltimore & Ohio R. R. Monday, Nov. 11th, the
regiment was marched into an open field not far from the Capitol and to
the right of it as the city is entered. This field was called Kendall
Green. For years it has been solidly built upon.
Lieut.-Col. Barlow in this camp first made himself known to the
regiment. He was not at first sight an impressive looking officer. He
was of medium height, of slight build, with a pallid countenance, and a
weakish drawling voice. In his movements there was an appearance of
loose jointedness and an absence of prim stiffness. At once schools and
drills were established for commissioned and non-commissioned officers
and rumor credited Barlow with their establishment. Discipline became
stricter: the duties of the soldier were better explained, and the men
sensibly improved. There was no doubt to whom is due the credit for the
change. In a short time there was a feeling in the air that the strength
of the regiment lay in the person of the Lieut.-Colonel. Francis C.
Barlow was a great soldier. He was, in my judgment, fully equal for a
corps commander. He knew the details of his business; he had the
military instinct; and he was fearless. At first, from his exacting
requirements and severity he was quite disliked, if not well hated; but,
as time went on, and it was seen that he knew more than any other man,
or set of men, in the regiment--that he knew how to work his men to the
best advantage, and would see that they had what the regulations
prescribed, and, that, when danger was at hand, he was at the head
_leading_ them, this animosity was turned into confidence and
admiration.
Thursday, Nov. 28th, the regiment broke camp at Kendall Green and
started with overloaded knapsacks for Alexandria, by the road, some
eight or ten miles distant. The Potomac was crossed on Long Bridge, the
road ran by the partly built Washington Monument. The march was a hard
one, largely on account of the men being loaded like pack peddlers.
At Alexandria the regiment took cars and was run out a distance of six
or seven miles on the Orange & Alexandria railroad to a point called
Springfield Station. This was a place consisting of an old wood-colored
house. The men were ordered out, and, as the tents were not expected up
that night, preparations were at once begun to make brush huts for
bivouacing. Some time had been spent and the work nearly done when the
long roll began to beat. The men at once took their places behind their
stacked arms. Col. Cone was rushing about in a highly excited manner,
holding a revolver in one hand and his bridle reins in the other,
resolved, no doubt, to die bravely, if need be. There was not a round of
ammunition in the regiment. I never learned that there was a show of the
enemy. Perhaps it became known at headquarters that we had no loading
for our guns. At all events, a train was sent out to take us back to
Alexandria. We got back without accident, and spent the night in the
round house.
The next day we marched out on the turnpike running near the railroad
about three miles, and made a camp called Camp California. It was at the
foot of the hill on which Ft. Worth was built. If I am not mistaken, our
regiment, which had been numbered the 61st, was the first one on the
ground of the brigade that was to be here formed. In a short time the
others arrived and were as follows: 5th New Hampshire, 4th Rhode Island,
81st Pennsylvania, each of them having a larger membership than ours.
Brigade General O. O. Howard was assigned to the brigade, which was No.
1 in Sumner's Division. Corps were not yet formed.
Besides guard mountings and dress parades, five or six hours a day were
consumed in company, regimental and brigade drills. The men were worked
hard, and, by this time it was generally understood that learning to be
a soldier was no loafing business.
The first time we saw Nelson A. Miles was in this camp. He then was a
fine looking young man on the staff of Gen. Howard.
As the Fall weather came on the men generally took colds that were of
the coughing kind; the full strength of cough music was heard at night,
when other sounds were hushed. Then, seemingly, every man tuned it up
with his own peculiar sort and tone of cough. The concert surpassed in
volume that coming from a large frog swamp in the flush of the season.
Many became down sick and were sent to hospital. Those who stood the
exposure gradually toughened and became proof against such sickness.
One night after tattoo the long roll began to beat. Officers and men
hurriedly dressed, snatched their arms and accoutrements and formed in
the company streets. As soon as a company was ready it started for the
color line, and, as soon as the regiment was formed, it started on a
brisk walk towards the front, or in the direction of our pickets. When
once fairly under way the order was to "step out," and finally, to
"double quick." We went in the direction of Edson's Hill, where our
picket reserves were stationed. It was a distance of several miles and
was travelled in a short time. It proved to be a sham alarm, and was got
up to see how we would perform if it were a genuine affair. For one, I
made that midnight march expecting to meet the enemy.
As we were going up the hill where the camp fire of the picket reserves
were burning, I heard what I took to be a powerful human groan; I said
to myself "this, indeed, is bloody, brutal war," and I was, as best I
could, nerving myself to face the enemy and do my duty in the deadly
fray. We reached the top of the hill in safety, and there, sitting and
sprawling around their camp fires, were our men wholly unconcerned. I
determined to know what there was concerning the wounded man whose groan
I had heard and I went back where I had heard the sound of pain and
found a six-mule team. In going by it had been unobserved. I concluded
on this discovery that the outcry of my wounded man was nothing more
than the grunting and braying of an ass, and I was relieved.
About the first of January, 1862, orders were issued for the detail of
recruiting parties from every regiment to go to the States for the
purpose of getting new men to make good the losses in the field. For
this purpose, from the 61st N. Y., Lieut. Wm. H. McIntyre of Co. C was
named to command the party. With him were Lieut. Blowers, Co. F,
Corporal Jenks and myself of Co. C, and two or three other men whose
names I have forgotten. We left camp Monday, Jan. 21st, 1862. We
reported to Maj. Sprague, U. S. A., at Albany. He granted us a few days
furlough and we all visited our homes.
Our recruiting headquarters were at, or near, 480 Broadway, New York. No
bounties were offered, and, while we all did our best, the result was
nearly a failure. Not more than a dozen good men were secured. Our party
was heartily sick of the job and sincerely desired to be returned to the
regiment.
About the 1st of April a movement was made by the Army of the Potomac.
At this time army corps had been formed. I think Sumner's, the Second
Corps, had but two divisions. The First, Richardson's in which was
Howard's brigade; Meagher's, or the Irish brigade, and French's; the
Second was commanded by Sedgwick. I believe the corps, division and
brigade commanders were as good as any in the army of the Potomac. The
first move of the army was on to Centerville, and the Bull Run
battlefield. The enemy fell back. Then McClellan changed his base to the
peninsula between the York and James rivers.
April 15th, 1862, the recruiting office was closed and our party started
for the regiment. We stopped at Fortress Monroe and procured rations.
From there took a steamer up the river about 20 miles to Shipping Point.
We found our regiment some miles further to the front.
When we reached camp we received a soldier's welcome from the boys. They
showed what a few weeks of exposure would do for the outside of a man;
skin and clothes; they were tanned, ragged and lousy.
As we were back from the entrenchments some distance, our efforts were
mainly directed to building corduroy roads.
Sunday, May 4th, orders came to pack and be ready to move at once. Soon
it was reported that Yorktown had been evacuated. We did not get into
motion, finally, until the 5th, and then went out but a short distance,
when a halt was made until about dark when we again started and went
through the rebel defenses. It had rained some during the day and this
Virginia mud was a difficult thing to stand on, especially if the
standing was on an incline. A slow and laborious march was continued
until midnight, or past. When we halted many of the men had fallen out
on the march, but came up in the morning. After breakfast a short
distance was made; then a halt was ordered; then came the news that
Williamsburg had been taken, and the enemy were retreating up the
peninsula. The Second Corps, or our division of it, returned to Yorktown
and went into camp the next day, which was Wednesday. We remained in
this camp until the next Sunday, when we took transports up the York
river to West Point, at which place we unshipped Monday, May 12th, and
went into camp. I remember that this locality was pleasanter than the
country about Shipping Point and in front of Yorktown.
A division of our men had a brush with the enemy here a few days before
our arrival. Quite a number of our men were so sick at this place that
they were sent back to Yorktown, and one, at least, of the number died.
I refer to Charles Smith, a genial, good man.
Thursday, May 15th, reveille beat at 2 a. m., and we marched at 4 a. m.
At first it was fine marching, but towards noon a drenching rain set in,
and in a short time we were wet to the skin. We made fourteen miles. We
went into camp in a piece of woods. While here quite a number of the men
were taken with a sudden dizziness, and would fall while drilling. The
first orderly of my company was William H. Spencer. He was promoted to
First Lieutenant of Deming's Company, and later on to the Captaincy of
Brooks's Company. His promotion advanced my best friend, Isaac Plumb,
Jr., to first sergeant. For some weeks he had been suffering from a low
fever, and Arthur Haskell was acting orderly. In this camp he was taken
with this strange disease and sent back, and I was made acting orderly,
in which office I acted until after the battle of Fair Oaks.
Sunday, the 18th, we again started and marched five miles and went into
camp. By this time the men had become somewhat familiar with Gen I. B.
Richardson, their division commander. He was a large, heavy, powerful
man, a West Pointer, and commanded, I think, the Second Michigan at Bull
Run. He put on no military style: generally he was clothed in a
private's blouse, which, if I remember correctly, did not have on
shoulder straps. His speech, when not aroused, was slow and drawling; he
did not appear to care for salutes and the men began to regard him as
one of them; he had their confidence and affection, and they willingly
followed him. As our regiment was marching this day, he was along side
of it, and a newspaper man who had some previous acquaintance with him,
remarked: "If you have got as good a division as you had regiment at
Bull Run, it will make some dead rebels before long." The general
smiled and drawled out, "I guess they'll do."
Monday, the 19th, we marched about five miles and camped, it was said,
near New Kent Court House. There is a little church on a hill not far
from this camp, and the story was current that Washington was connected
with some affair that took place there, I have forgotten what it was.
This camp was but a short distance from White House, where, it was said,
the Confederate General, Lee, had large possessions.
Wednesday, the 21st, we marched at 6 a. m., and made ten miles and went
into camp on the York and Richmond Railroad, about eighteen miles from
Richmond. Saturday, the 24th, we marched in the direction of Cold
Harbor, a point, rather than a place, and about seven miles from
Richmond. Indications multiplied that before long the two great armies
would lock horns, and prove which was the best man of the two.
On the 26th, Porter, with a part of the fifth corps, had a brush at
Hanover Court House. Our people took quite a number of prisoners, and,
on their way back, passed by our camp. They gave us to understand there
were a sufficiency left back to do up the business for us.
Wednesday, the 28th, the 61st was taken out in the vicinity of Fair
Oaks, as a guard to an engineer, who was mapping out the roads. They
came in sight of rebel camps, and were treated to a few harmless shells.
I was not with the regiment, being in charge of the camp guard.
On the afternoon of May 31st, heavy cannonading was heard on our left,
across the Chickahomeny river. For a week, or more, the men had been
constantly under arms, so to speak. Three day's rations were kept in the
haversacks; arms and ammunition were frequently inspected; orders were
given warning the men to be in their places and prepared to move at a
moment's notice; so, when the first sound of battle was heard, the men,
almost of their own accord, formed on the color line, equipped for a
march, where ever it might be to. In a few minutes aides were going from
division to brigade, and from brigade to regimental headquarters, and
soon the regiments had their orders to march.
For some days before there had been heavy rains which had raised the
Chickahomeny river from a low, sluggish stream into a broad, deep, swift
running river. As soon as the army got into its then position; by which
it was divided by the river, several bridges were built to more
effectually reunite the army. The Second Corps had two such bridges,
Richardson's being some distance below Sedgwick's. Each division was
started for its own bridge. Richardson's was two feet under water; the
leading brigade forded through on this bridge, waist deep in the water.
Our brigade was ordered to cross on Sedgwick's bridge. It was floored
with small logs laid side by side on log stringers. This bridge seemed
to be resting on the water and as we marched over it some of the logs
would roll and dip in a manner to shake confidence in its stability, but
we crossed on it all right.
I remember seeing a brass gun stuck in the mud on the other side, and
the men working to release it. All of this time the sound of battle was
ringing in our ears, and its volume indicated that it was one of
consequence.
This change of bridges delayed the first division. Sedgwick got up in
time to take a hand in the fight of May 31st, but it was after dark and
not far from 9 o'clock when our division stacked arms. Some of our men
went over the battle field that night and helped care for the wounded.
My duties as acting orderly required my constant presence with the
company. All was painfully quiet; we did not so much as hear a sound
from a wounded man.
The next morning at four o'clock, the men were quietly ordered up. No
fires were allowed, so the breakfast was moistened with cold water.
After eating, the companies were equalized, and after furnishing a
detail to some of the other companies, Company C had forty-one men,
indicating that there were four hundred and ten muskets present for duty
in the regiment. We were on a part of the battlefield of the day before,
and there was considerable of the debris of the battle lying about. The
brigade--Howard's--was closed in mass by regiments, the 61st on the
left. The waiting for a battle to open is always a trying time for
troops. When a movement, or action, is under way the dread leaves. So
now, while we were standing with arms in hand watching for the first
sign, and straining to catch the first sound we were an anxious
multitude.
After a while a section of Pettit's battery was placed at a corner of
the field we were in, and by the woods, presently a few shots were
fired--possibly as a signal--then came a scattering musketry fire, then
a volley on the right of the line, then a rapid increase, and soon the
most tremendous infantry fire I ever heard. There was no cannonading,
but it was the fearful crash of musketry, where thousands of guns on
each side were getting in their work as rapidly and viciously as
possible. Orders were now received for the advance of our brigade, and
the regiments started out on the double quick. Action of any kind,
though it took us towards the enemy, was welcomed. In a short time the
railroad was reached, and the 61st was deployed along the track. I
cannot assert of my own knowledge, but presume the other regiments of
the brigade were in line of battle on this track.
At this point the railroad ran through a piece of woods, and we, though
facing occasional bullets from the enemy, could see but a short distance
ahead of us. While in this place waiting further orders, Col. Barlow,
himself, went forward into the woods to learn more of the situation.
From the stray bullets coming over some of our men were hit. It came to
the mind of one, or a few ingenious men in the ranks, that a recumbent
posture would conduce to safety, and he, or they, at once took it. This
hint was taken up by others, and in a very short time every man was flat
on his belly. Presently the Colonel appeared, and, perhaps, looked twice
for his regiment he had left standing. He at once roared out, "Who
ordered you to lie down? Get up at once." And every man was on his feet.
Then the order came, "Forward, guide center. March!" and we entered the
woods.
At this point the timber was quite heavy; there was considerable small
growth, and under foot it was swampy. It was impossible to maintain a
good line. In such an advance the naturally courageous will press
forward, and the naturally timid will hang back, and the officers and
file closers have their hands full to urge up the laggards.
In my place as orderly I was directly behind Lieut. Wm. H. McIntyre,
commanding my company. Next to me, on the left, was Corporal Willey, an
old friend from my town. As we were working our way to the front he
spoke to me, and said, "Charley, am I hurt much?" I looked up and saw
the blood running down the side of his face, and that a part of his ear
had been shot away. I said, "No, nothing but a part of your ear is
gone," and we pressed forward.
Soon we came upon the 52nd N. Y., I think of French's Brigade, lying on
the ground in line of battle. I suppose they had exhausted their
ammunition and were waiting for our appearance. We passed over them, and
advanced a few rods, when the order was given to halt. Then strenuous
efforts were made by our officers to get the men up in the ranks and to
dress the line; while this was going on no firing was had on either
side. I did not see a rebel, and did not think one was within musket
shot. Lieut. McIntyre stood in the Captain's place, and I immediately
behind him in the place of first sergeant. Suddenly a tremendous volley
was fired by the enemy at short range, which was very destructive.
McIntyre sank down with a deathly pallor on his countenance. He said,
"I'm killed." I stooped down and said, "Lieutenant, do you think you are
mortally wounded?" He replied, "Yes, tell them I'm killed." He never
spoke again.
A corporal in the next company was shot through the head and fell on to
McIntyre's body. I drew up my gun, fired, and then threw myself down
behind these two bodies of my friends, loaded my gun, raised up and
fired it. This process I repeated until the firing ceased. It was a
ghastly barricade, but there was no time for the display of fine
feelings. The call was to defeat the enemy with as little loss to
ourselves as possible.
I cannot say how long this firing continued, but the time did come when
our shots were not replied to, and it was evident we had a clear front.
While the firing was in progress I saw a sight that in all of my
subsequent experiences was not equalled in shockingness. Sanford Brooks,
a stalwart man of my company, and from my town, was shot through the
head. The bullet entered at the side and just behind the eyes, and went
through in such a manner as to throw the eyes fairly out of their
sockets. The wound did not produce instant death, but destroyed his
reason. The blow did not fell him to the ground--he stood upright with
his gun clinched in one hand, his sightless eyes bulged out of his head,
and he staggering about bereft of reason. He lived for a day or two,
talking constantly of camp life, and the things that were on his mind
before this fatal shot.
After the firing had ceased, orders were given to get together and
change position. I did not know that Second Lieutenant Coultis was
wounded, and called for him. I was informed that he had been wounded
early in the battle and had gone to the rear. This left me in command of
the company, and I gathered up the fragments and marched them off.
Illustrating the liability of false information and impressions to stand
for facts, is the belief entertained by Gen. O. O. Howard, that Lieut.
McIntyre helped him off the field when he was wounded in this battle.
Some years ago the General wrote an interesting series of articles for
the _National Tribune_ concerning his campaigns. In describing the
battle of Fair Oaks, he stated where he was when he received the wound
that necessitated the amputation of his right arm. In the course of his
statement he said that Lieut. McIntyre helped him off the field. This I
knew beyond peradventure to be a mistake, and I wrote the _Tribune_ an
account of the matter so far as McIntyre was concerned, and said my
object in so doing was to help put some man in the right who might claim
that he had done this service for Gen. Howard.
(In June, 1897, the class of 1894 of Colgate University set up a tablet
in the library building in memory and in honor of the sons of the
University who had fallen in the war of 1861. Gen. Howard was hired to
be present and deliver an address on the occasion. In it he referred to
McIntyre and said, after telling how he was aided by McIntyre at Fair
Oaks, "He gave his life for me." I was present and heard him make this
statement. I took the trouble to write him a full statement of the
affair and tried to convince him that he was wholly mistaken in
supposing that McIntyre aided him personally that day. In reply I
received a short letter to the effect that he so well knew every
officer in the 61st that it could not be possible that he was mistaken.
I showed this letter to a number of our officers, who knew nearly as
well as I do that Gen. Howard is wrong, in fact. I need not add, that
without exception they agree with my recollection of the matter.
Probably no event of consequence will ever hinge on the truth or error
of my statement of this matter.)
Doubtless, as in other human affairs, every person has experiences in
battle peculiar to himself and his individual temperament. In this first
real meeting of the enemy, my own, imperfectly described, were as
follows: As soon as the first volley was fired all dread and sense of
personal danger was gone, the death of the two men, one in front and the
other to the right of me produced no shock of horror. I seemed to regard
it as the to-be-expected thing, and, as I have above said, I loaded and
fired my gun from behind their dead bodies as unconcerned as though it
had been in a sham battle. I now remember, that when the firing ceased,
I was unaware of the strain and excitement I had been under, until we
were ordered to move, when I found that I was in a tremble all over.
The Confederates had planned wisely, but they failed in working their
combination, and were, I believe, fairly beaten. Before this battle,
Col. Barlow was rated highly for his _military scholarship_, after the
battle he was recognized by his superior officers as _one of the bravest
of the brave_.
In this battle the regiment lost over twenty-five per cent. of the
number present, including the Lieut.-Col., two captains and several
lieutenants. (Fox's "Regimental Losses" makes the number 110).
Later in the day word came to me that a wounded man wanted to see me. I
went back a few rods and there found my personal friend and townsman,
Edgar J. Willey--the man who had lost a part of his ear before we became
engaged. He had been hit several times, but the one mortal wound was
through his lungs. Every breath he drew was an effort, and the inhaled
air in part went out of the wound with a sickening sound. As I came up
to him he smiled and held out his hand. I expressed deep sorrow for his
condition, but he said it was all right, he had no regrets. He told me
that he could live but a little while, and requested me to write to his
people and say that he hoped they would not mourn for him. His bible
was opened and lying on his breast. He lived for a day or two, and was
buried on the field where he fell fighting, like the brave soldier he
was.
After the battle the sun came out with southern vengeance. We left our
tents and camp equipage at our late camp, and, to make the situation
more comfortable, and to guard against sun stroke, the men began to put
up bough huts, and before night we were tolerably protected.
The army was in a state of expectancy, wondering whether the enemy would
make a fresh attack, or whether we would press forward and follow up
what had been gained. If we had known better, as we came to, the halting
(not to say cowardly) make up of the commanding general, we would have
taken it for granted that we were to sit down and intrench and wait the
pleasure of the enemy for a change in the situation.
There was no serious attack for several weeks. The lines were formed and
fortified; breast works, with a ditch in front, were built, with here
and there a small fort, or redoubt, in which a part of the field
artillery was placed.
Picket duty came about twice a week. The lines were near together; and
the men were ugly. No chance was missed on either side for firing at a
man in sight, and every day more or less were killed or wounded, on the
line.
To guard against surprise, the men were aroused and called out by 3:30
a. m., and took their places behind the works, guns in hand, and there
stood till sunrise.
As our camp was in the Chickahomany swamp, the water generally was bad,
and soon made itself felt in the health of the men. Hot coffee was
served to the men as they stood in line, and later, rations of whiskey
were issued to dilute the water with.
So long as there is a trace left of this line of breastworks, the exact
location of the camp of the 61st can be fixed, as it was just in rear of
the line, and half of the regiment was on one side of the railroad track
and the other half on the other.
Stonewall Jackson was on his way to aid Lee. On June 26th he appeared,
and the Confederate attack opened on our right at Mechanicsville.
Friday evening, the 27th, a part of our division was sent to Porter's
aid. He commanded the right wing of the army.
Saturday, the 28th, orders were received for all sick to be sent to the
hospital, and for all extra baggage to be turned into the quartermaster.
At about 10 a. m. we struck tents and marched down the line to the left,
and went to work throwing up rifle pits at right angles with the line of
works. This, was, I suppose, in anticipation of the enemy getting
possession of the redoubt to the right and raking the line. After a
little this was abandoned and we went into the woods in the rear. There
we cleared the ground so that a line of battle could be formed. We
remained in this position till after dark, when we returned to the old
camp ground behind the works. We simply lay on the ground with
accoutrements on ready to act in a moment. All night long baggage and
artillery trains were rumbling to the rear. The great siege guns that
were mounted at this point were loaded on cars and their carriages
burned.
By this time there was no doubt in our minds that McClellan's proud
advance had come to a halt, in fact, that the pendulum was swinging the
other way. About daylight Sunday morning, the 29th, our division began
moving up the railroad track away from Richmond and in search for
another base. We soon came to the commissary depot of the army. Here
were piled millions of dollars' worth of supplies--hundreds of thousands
of rations were to be cremated, the torch had been applied to the mass
and the work of destruction was well under way. Some of our men slid out
of the ranks and went to this stock of stores and helped themselves to
whatever they saw that they wanted. They came back with their rubber
blankets loaded with sugar; which they divided among their comrades.
After some maneuvering, our brigade was formed in a piece of woods, and
we fought what was called the Battle of Peach Orchard. The only loss we
sustained here was from the enemy's artillery. Their advance was stayed
sufficiently for our retreating troops, and trains to get by; then our
corps fell back to Savage Station, where we again formed line of battle
and awaited the approach of the enemy. Before dark a determined attack
was made. It was handsomely repulsed.
It has been stated that at this place Gen. Heintzelman, commanding the
third corps, told Sumner that the orders were to fall back; thar Sumner
protested, and insisted that the Army of the Potomac should retreat no
further, but, on the contrary, should attack the Confederates; that
Heintzelman finally had to tell the old man that, having delivered the
orders, he could act on his own responsibility, as for himself he would
fall back as directed; and that Sumner replied he supposed he would have
to follow, but he had not been brought up to retreat from a victorious
field.
Those who are ready with reasons for faults and failures in the affairs
of mankind, may now lay it to Providence the selection of McClellan as
commander of the Army of the Potomac, on the ground that a brave and
competent general would have defeated the rebels too soon, and
reconstruction would not have been as thorough as it was in the end,
owing to the more complete exhaustion of the Confederates. For myself, I
have no opinions on such deep subjects. I simply know his selection as a
fighting commander was a terrible blunder.
We remained at Savage Station till about 9 p. m., when the retreat
movement through White Oak Swamp began. It was very dark. It had rained
sufficiently to make the roads very slippery, and, in addition to their
being filled with infantry, there was the artillery, and hundreds of
baggage wagons to be got over this piece of road before daylight. Owing
to the condition of the soil, almost everyone had frequent falls. The
column moved at a snail's pace, probably on an average of not over a
mile an hour. We were on our feet all night, crossing the corduroy
bridge that spanned the stream at the further side of the swamp as
daylight began to show in the East. The ground beyond the swamp was a
bluff some 20 or 30 feet above it, and on the brow of it our guns were
placed later in the day. Back of the bluff was a large, open field,
which was literally packed with artillery and baggage wagons. We were
marched into position and allowed to lie down. For one, I was so nearly
exhausted that I got onto the ground without taking off my knapsack, and
at once went off into sleep. About 8 a. m. we were called up and made
our breakfast. At this time the baggage wagons were getting out as fast
as possible.
About 11 a. m. our pickets reported the advance of the enemy, and in a
short time two or three of their batteries opened a lively fire. There
were then, perhaps a hundred wagons in this open field. The shelling had
a quickening effect in clearing it of all teams permitted to go to the
rear.
Our batteries were quickly placed in position and returned the fire. A
portion of my brigade, including my regiment, was placed in support of
this artillery. While the cannonading was going on, Colonel Barlow was
sitting on his old bay horse near to the guns, observing the situation
as cooly as if it had been a sham battle. We lost at this place a number
of men. This artillery fight lasted I should say for an hour, then
tapered off. We still lay behind the guns, and in support of them until
near sundown. Then the retreat was resumed. I think the 61st N. Y. was
among the last to leave the position.
It was a scorchingly hot day. The sun was never brighter. No air
stirred, but the light soil, powdered into fine dust, rose up in clouds
that made the march a hardship. For a time we moved slowly, hearing
cannon in the distance. Presently, for some reason, the order came to
"Step out," which meant quicker time and longer strides; and a little
later the order was to "double quick." Pretty soon we passed squads of
cavalry posted along the road, that didn't seem to be doing anything in
particular. In those days the cavalry was not what it came to be under
Sheridan.
Further on we came to fragments of infantry that showed they had been
where war was in practice. Many wounded were about, and disabled
artillery was numerous. Before us was a piece of heavy woods; just
before entering it on the right, was a long, story-and-a-half building,
that was I think, but I am not certain, a tavern. About this building
were many wounded--very likely it was in use as a hospital.
The regiment entered the woods on the double quick. The road was arched
over head by the meeting of the outstretching limbs. As darkness was
coming on, it looked like entering a tunnel. Men, singly and in squads,
were making their way to the rear, some sound and whole, but many with
wounds. As we met these men we were greeted with statements, prophecy
and advice. I remember hearing, "This is a tough one." "You'll catch
hell, if you go in there!" "You'd better dump those knapsacks, you'll
not want them at the front!" I had made up my mind to that effect, and
was putting my hand back to unhook the knapsack strap when Isaac Plumb
came up to me and asked what I was going to do. I replied that I was
going into the fight without incumbrances. I was impressed with the
belief that we were to have a desperate struggle, and, I think, I never
felt more like it than I did at this time. I pitched the knapsack to one
side, and Plumb did likewise.
I think our regiment had on the field about two hundred men divided for
working purposes into four companies. One of these field companies of
some fifty men, under Captains Mount and Broady, were not with us. They
had been detached and sent off on some special work, so that Barlow had,
I judge, one hundred and fifty men. The first company was commanded by
Captain Wm. H. Spencer. He was when he enlisted in Broady's company, a
student in the freshman class of Madison University. He was appointed
orderly sergeant of Company C., and retained that place until his
promotion to a lieutenancy in Deming's Company I. On the death of
Captain Brooks he was made captain of Company G. He was one of the best
officers in the regiment. I was at the head of the regiment as we were
now advancing along this wooded road. Suddenly the head of a column came
in sight and very near to us, and at once the head files of this
regiment sent a volley into our regiment. The effect was to make the
61st fall back on itself, so to speak. Col. Barlow was some ways down
the line, and there was imminent danger of a stampede on our part for a
few seconds. Some of us near enough to the head of the column to take in
the situation, enlightened the other regiment and our men, as to the
facts, and we passed one another without further damage. I do not know
that anyone was hurt by this unfortunate fire, but there were a number
of close calls. I remember that one man had his canteen shot away, and
others bullets through their clothing.
The further we advanced the clearer came the sound of battle. As we were
thus pressing on, I well remember Capt. Spencer saying, as he grimly set
his teeth, "Men, we will sell our lives as dearly as possible!" I
believe every man of us regarded it as a desperate adventure.
Further on we came to a cleared field of considerable size, in which
there were, I believe, one or two small, old buildings, perhaps negro
houses. Just before reaching the open field we turned off to the right
and came in on the right hand side of the field, and lay down behind the
rail fence. While in this situation, a general officer came up and had a
talk with Barlow. From what I heard at the time and have since read, I
am of the opinion it was Gen. Kearney. I heard him say, "Colonel, you
will place your men across that road, and hold it at all cost." Barlow
replied, "General, you know I have but few men." "Yes," he said, "but
they are good ones." The general, whoever he was, then went off. Barlow
at once ordered the men up, and to advance. The fence was passed, then a
right wheel made, an advance of some rods, and we were near to the edge
of the field and directly across the road. The order was given to lie
down. Shortly after this was executed, a voice came out of the woods in
front of us, and very near by. It was too dark to see anything, but our
ears took in every word of the question asked, "What regiment is that?"
At once an Irishman replied, "Sixty-first New York." Then came the
command, "Lay down your arms, or I'll blow every one of you to hell."
That sentence was scarcely out of his mouth, when Barlow roared, "Up and
at them, men."
The command was instantly obeyed. We got in the first volley, and it was
doubtless effective. Some of our wounded left on the ground and captured
next day, reported, when we next saw them, that there was a large number
of dead rebels close up to the line of our field.
As soon as our volley had been delivered the men of their own accord
dropped back a rod or two, lined up and went steadily at work. As I have
suggested, it was too dark to see anything within the woods, and, if the
enemy could see anything of us, it was just a line.
Our fire was at once returned. As soon as our empty muskets could be
loaded the men would take a quick aim at a flash in the woods and let
drive. The enemy did the same. In no battle that I was in, did the
bullets sing about my head as they did here. No doubt this came from the
aim drawn on the flash of my musket. This steady, rapid firing continued
till it ceased from the woods, and we concluded that we were victors.