but wounded so that they could not help themselves. A sergeant by the
name of Marshall, as I now remember, was badly wounded through the
thigh. Another man and I attempted to carry him back. I found that my
gun was an obstruction and I laid it down, thinking I could come back
and find it, or some other. We carried our comrade to the rear, where
quite a number were placed, among them Capt. E. M. Deming, who was
suffering from a broken leg. We were close friends, having been together
in the winter of '60 and '61 in the Academic Department of Madison
University. I stopped to have a little talk with him, believing that
there was to be no more fighting that night.
Presently my attention was called to the fact that there was a fresh
lining up of men where we had just fought. It was not so dark but that
the outline of a body of men could be distinguished in the open. At once
the firing from both sides was resumed as brisk as ever. Later on I
learned that a part of the 81st Pa. had come to our aid.
I was not long in sensing that my position was not military. Some of my
regiment must be in that line, and I was some rods to the rear, and
without a gun. I did not propose to go hunting for a lost gun in that
darkness and under fire. In looking about, I discovered a gun standing
against a tree. I took it, saw that it was loaded, and then conceived
the notion that I might make a flank attack on the rebels by myself. The
line of battle on each side was but a few rods in length. Where I stood
the trees were not thick, and I was a little to the right of the firing.
I made an advance movement that brought me nearly up to the line of our
men, but, as I said, to their right. I decided that Providence had
favored me in providing a good-sized stump just beyond and in the line I
proposed to fire. I brought my gun to an "aim," waited for a flash from
a Confederate gun, and pulled the trigger. About as soon as could be,
after the flash of my fire, came quite a volley of bullets singing
around my head, from the enemy's line. I moved closer to my stump for
more complete protection, when to my dismay, I found it to be only a
body of tall grass. I did no more firing from that position, but fell
back in good order.
The fighting soon ceased and our men retired and took position in the
road in the woods, but near to the open field. We lay down on our arms.
After a while the enemy came up where their wounded were, and we could
hear them call out the regiments to which they belonged as they were
picked up. Finally matters quieted down and most of us went to sleep.
At the time we called this the battle of Charles City Cross Roads. I
think the accepted name at present is Glendale. This position had been
during the day desperately attacked by the Confederates and heroically
defended by the Federals. If the enemy had succeeded in their purpose
they would have cut off a large section of our army and captured
property of great value. In my account of the fight written at the time
to my people I said, "Barlow got us together in line and found that a
good deal more than half of the men were gone, and pretty much all of
the officers. Captains Deming, Spencer and Moore lost legs, and Angell
was wounded. Lieut. Crawford and Adjutant Gregory were wounded. Col.
Barlow and Lieuts. Keech and Morrison were the only officers with us,
and some of these had very close calls, all of them had bullet holes in
their clothing. Barlow's horse was killed and Keech's scabbard was
battered up with one or more bullets. But forty men were together
unharmed at the end of the contest."
That my account of this fight may not stand alone as a stubborn and
desperate one, I will quote from the account of it as found in
Appleton's Annual of 1862. While it may be obnoxious to the charge of
gushiness, to those who were in this fight, by daylight, or in the
night, I think scarcely anything can appear exaggerated. It is as
follows:
"The advance of the Confederate force was actively resumed early in the
morning. Generals D. H. Hill, Whiting and Ewell, under the command of
General Jackson, crossed the Chickahominy by the grapevine bridge, and
followed the Federal retreat by the Williamsburg and Savage Station
road. Generals Longstreet, A. P. Hill, Huger and Magruder took the
Charles City road with the intention of cutting off the retreat of the
Federal forces. At the White Oak Swamp the left wing under General
Jackson came up with the Federal force under Generals Franklin and
Sumner, about 11 a. m. They had crossed the stream and burned the bridge
behind them. An artillery fire was opened on both sides, which continued
with great severity and destruction until night. The result of this
battle was to prevent the further advance of the enemy in this
direction, which was the single line of road over which trains had
passed.
"Late, on the same day, a battle was fought between the forces of Gen.
Heintzelman and the main force of the enemy, which attempted to advance
by the Charles City road to cut off the retreat. This force was led by
Generals Longstreet, A. P. Hill and Huger. The former, however, being
called away, the command devolved on Gen. Hill. As the masses advanced
upon the Federal batteries of heavy guns, they were received with such a
destructive fire of artillery and musketry as threw them into disorder.
Gen. Lee sent all his disposable troops to the rescue, but the Federal
fire was so terrible as to disconsert the coolest veterans. Whole ranks
of the Confederate troops were hurled to the ground. Says an actor in
the conflict: 'The thunder of cannon, the cracking of musketry from
thousands of combatants, mingled with the screams of the wounded and
dying, were terrific to the ear and to the imagination.'
"The conflict thus continued within a narrow space for hours, and not a
foot of ground was won by the Confederates.
"Night was close at hand. The Federal lines were strengthened and the
confidence of the Confederates began to falter. The losses of his
exhausted and wornout troops in attempting to storm the batteries were
terrible. Orders were given to Gen. Jackson to cover the retreat in case
the army should have to fall back, and directions were sent to Richmond
to get all the public property ready for removal. The Federal forces,
perceiving the confusion, began step by step to press forward. The
posture of affairs at this time is thus related by a Confederate
officer: 'The enemy, noticing our confusion, now advanced, with the cry,
'Onward to Richmond!' Many old soldiers who had served in distant
Missouri and on the plains of Arkansas, wept in the bitterness of their
souls like children. Of what avail had it been to us that our best blood
had flowed for six long days? Of what avail all our unceasing and
exhaustless endurance? Everything, everything seemed lost, and a general
depression came over all our hearts. Batteries dashed past in headlong
flight; ammunition, hospital and supply wagons rushed along, and swept
the troops away with them from the battlefield. In vain was the most
frantic exertion, entreaty and self sacrifice of the staff officers! The
troops had lost their foot-hold, and all was over with the Southern
Confederacy!
"In this moment of desperation Gen. A. P Hill came up with a few
regiments he had managed to rally, but the enemy was continually
pressing nearer and nearer! Louder and louder their shouts and the
watchword, "On to Richmond!" could be heard. Cavalry officers sprang
from their saddles and rushed into the ranks of the infantry regiments
now deprived of their proper officers. Gen. Hill seized the standard of
the 4th North Carolina regiment, which he had formerly commanded and
shouted to the soldiers, "If you will not follow me, I will perish
alone!" Upon this a number of officers dashed forward to cover their
beloved general with their bodies; the soldiers hastily rallied, and the
cry, 'Lead on, Hill; head your old North Carolina boys!' rose over the
field.
"And now Hill charged forward with this mass he had thus worked up to
the wildest enthusiasm. The enemy halted when they saw these columns,
in flight a moment before, now advancing to the attack, and Hill burst
upon his late pursuers like a famished lion.
"A fearful hand to hand conflict now ensued, for there was no time to
load and fire. The ferocity with which this conflict was waged was
incredible. It was useless to beg the exasperated men for quarter; there
was no moderation, no pity, no compassion in that bloody work of bayonet
and knife. The son sank dying at his father's feet; the father forgot
that he had a child--a dying child; the brother did not see that a
brother was expiring a few paces from him; the friend heard not the last
groan of a friend; all natural ties were dissolved; only one feeling, of
thirst, panted in every bosom--REVENGE.
"Here it was that the son of Maj. Peyton, but fifteen years of age,
called to his father for help. A ball had shattered both his legs. 'When
we have beaten the enemy then I will help you,' answered Peyton, 'I have
other sons to lead to glory. Forward!' But the column had advanced only
a few paces further when the Major himself fell to the earth a corpse.
Prodigies of valor were here performed on both sides. History will ask
in vain for braver soldiers than those who here fought and fell. But of
the demoniac fury of both parties one at a distance can form no idea.
"Even the wounded, despairing of succor, collecting their last energies
of life, plunged their knives into the bosoms of foemen who lay near
them still breathing.
"The success of Gen. Hill enabled other generals to once more lead their
disorganized troops back to the fight, and the contest was renewed along
the whole line, and kept up until deep into the night; for everything
depended upon our keeping the enemy at bay, counting too, upon their
exhaustion at last, until fresh troops could arrive to reinforce us. At
length, about half past ten in the evening, the divisions of Magruder,
Wise and Holmes, came up and deployed to the front of our army."
As I have suggested, the foregoing quotation is a somewhat florid
account of desperate, prolonged fighting.
The following account of the 61st's fight at Glendale is taken from the
_Portland Daily Press_. It is the narration of a leading actor in the
battle, and was given at the annual meeting of the Maine Commandery of
the Loyal Legion held at Riverton, May 3d, 1899.
"This paper will deal chiefly with my personal experiences as subaltern
and Captain in the Sixty-first N. Y. Volunteers during the first and
last days of June, 1862, in the Peninsular Campaign, Virginia.
"Omitting the narrative of the regiment's participation in the battles
of Fair Oaks, Peach Orchard, Savage Station and White Oak Swamp, we come
to the battle in which the writer received the wound which crippled him
for life.
"As we drew near to the battlefield of Glendale, we came to a place
which tried the courage of us all. I shall never forget that scene. The
road ran through an open field which was dotted here and there with dead
and wounded men. There were all the grim tokens of the rear of a
desperate battle, straggling men, cannon without horses and with broken
carriages, battle smoke in the air, and the sound of a gun which was out
of sight in front accompanied by the howl of grape shot. We halted here
a few moments to give the stragglers time to come up, and to give all a
chance to breathe after our exhausting march. Besides the men that were
lying around us wounded, others were coming out of the woods in front
limping and bleeding. They greeted us with such cheering assurances as
"You'll get enough in there," "Better throw away them knapsacks, you
won't want 'em in there."
"Before us there was a dark forest of great hemlocks, and I can see yet
the lurid light of the setting sun through the trees and the powder
smoke; and I remember that the question came into my mind, "I wonder if
I shall ever see another setting sun." I did not, of course, give any
outward sign of such thoughts. I had enough to do to inspire my men with
courage, telling them we must sell our lives at a high price. But I have
heard some of the regiment, who went through many subsequent battles,
say that that was the dismalest battle they ever saw.
"Down into the narrow road, through the dark hemlocks we passed. It was
full of powder smoke, which with the dark foilage, shut out most of the
daylight that remained. There was a solitary gun away off on our right,
whose occasional boom sounded like a knell.
"We came out of the woods on the right side of a clear field where a
portion of the afternoon battle had raged, and lay down by the side of
the road, conscious that we were in a ticklish place. There was
occasional firing over us into the field, and once in a while a bullet
dropped near us. But this soon ceased and the battlefield, as a whole,
was quiet, and I began to hope that the battle was over. But our colonel
was of another mind. He had reported for orders to Gen. Robinson of
Kearney's division. The twilight was deepening and the stars were out,
when the order came, "Get up men, STEADY NOW, FORWARD, March!" Every man
sprang to his feet. Quickly we were over the fence with bayonets at a
charge, and when we were well in the field the regiment made a half
right wheel towards a piece of woods on the other side. I was neither
depressed nor elated, but it was a relief to be in motion with my
company. I was simply in the line of duty, responsible for myself and my
company. I remember how finely the regiment marched across that field
through the shadows and the smoke to unknown horrors beyond. We advanced
to within two or three rods of the woods and lay down. It was too dark
by this time for us to see whether the woods were occupied or not, but
after a brief interval we learned all about it. While we were all on the
qui vive, wondering what would come next, a voice broke forth from the
woods clear and distinct, "What regiment is that?" Every heart stood
still. Who would answer? And what would he say? To my astonishment and
dismay one of our men piped out, "Sixty-first New York." Then came the
blustering reply, "Lay down your arms, or I'll blow you all to hell."
Instantly we were on our feet, and by the time the orator in the woods
had finished speaking his little piece our men had poured in a volley
before they were ready for us. This must have seriously damaged them,
for their return volley was lighter than I expected. There was nothing
for us to do however, but to fall back a few rods, loading and firing.
We soon halted however, and settled down to the grim game of give and
take in the growing darkness. The flashes of their muskets were all that
our men had to guide their aim. It was dismal business. Our line grew
thinner, and I noticed that my company was melting away before me.
Anxious to hurt somebody I drew my revolver and emptied one barrel into
the woods, but then considered that I might want the rest for closer
work before we got through, and put it up again. Soon I felt a smarting
pain in my left knee and sat down a few paces apart to see what made it.
Finding it only a buckshot I hastened back to my company, but it took
that buckshot wound six weeks to heal. It seems to me now as if I had
not been back with my company more than a minute when crash came a blow
on my right leg, just above the knee, like the blow of a huge club.
There was no mistaking that. I dropped because I had to, and I lay flat
on my back so as to avoid other bullets, and waited for further
developments. Those were solemn moments for me, and yet not so terrible
as one might suppose. They were not at all dreadful. I was just waiting
to see if I was going to die from loss of blood, not knowing but an
artery was severed. I distinctly remember thinking that I would hardly
turn my hand over for the choice, whether to rise presently to a new
heavenly home, or to struggle back through unknown sufferings to my old
earthly home. But after a few moments the instinctive desire to live in
the body prevailed. I saw that I was not going to bleed to death, so I
called a couple of men to carry me back to the road away from the firing
line. In doing this, one of them put his arms under my knees, and the
pain in the wound soon became so frightful that I begged them to lay me
down and let me die. They carried me to the road however, a short
distance, and there left me.
"So there I lay on my back, looking up to the quiet stars and listening
to the combat which was still going on. This is a narrative of personal
experiences and feelings, designed for family use, and so it is in order
for me to tell how I felt as I lay there. It might be expected that I
should say that I was longing to be back in the fight impatient to be
leading my brave men up to the muzzles of the enemy's muskets. But if I
were to say so I would lie. As I lay there, I was not all smitten by a
fit of the heroics nor anything of that kind. I was tired, almost
exhausted by the exertion and excitement of the day, two days in fact.
And it felt fine to just lie still there and rest. As long as I kept
still my wound did not pain me much. I hated bullets and had no appetite
for glory or promotion, and it was a relief to lie there out of range of
the detestable mines. Moreover, I had full confidence that my men would
give a good account of themselves, whether I was with them or not. There
was satisfaction too, in feeling that I was through, that I had kept in
the line of duty until I was shot and disabled, and that I had given to
my country all that she asked of me in the shooting line of endeavor,
and could now take up life again on a new basis. To be sure there were
some chances against my getting safe home again, but I had a cheerful
confidence that I should be able to pull through somehow. I have often
been amused while thinking of my feelings as I lay there across the
middle of the road. The prevailing sensation was one of relief. I was no
cow-boy or rough-rider. I was just an ordinary patriot and student,
ready to bleed and die if need be for my country, but never spoiling for
a fight. And I know that many of my bravest comrades were made of the
same stuff.
"My greatest want just then was water, and that I couldn't get it until a
rebel supplied me next morning. Even when our regiment came back to the
road where I lay, or what was left of it, no one could get a drop for
me. Colonel Barlow came to me after the fighting was over, and showed
all the tenderness of a brother, letting me see a side of his nature
that I had never known anything about before. He deplored the fact that
there was no way by which he could have me carried off and kept within
our lines. And so, after having me moved to the side of the road, and
after my friends had come and talked with me and bade me good-bye, that
splendid little regiment marched away about two o'clock in the morning,
and left me to reach home, nearly dead, after about twenty-four days, by
the way of Libby prison.
"The Sixty-first New York left about one-third of their number dead or
wounded on that field, including six out of its nine officers, of whom
three lost one leg each, and one of them died in Libby prison. Only a
month of fighting and its numbers were reduced from 432 to about 150.
"Dropping now the personal narrative, let us in the briefest sketch,
follow that plucky little regiment under its peerless commanders.
"See them the very next day at Malvern Hill, again enduring the pounding
of artillery until nearly night, and again in open field engaging the
enemy under cover of the woods until they had fired 90 rounds per man
and were all ready to charge with bayonets if required.
"See them at Antietam, with the ranks replenished from the hospital and
recruiting offices, under the cool and skilful leading of their colonel,
getting advantage of a whole rebel brigade where there was a deep cut in
the road, and, after slaughtering many of them, actually capturing about
three hundred prisoners, more than they themselves numbered. There they
lost their intrepid colonel, Barlow, by a desperate wound and subsequent
promotion.
"But he was succeeded by a soldier equally brave and gallant, Lieut.
Colonel Nelson A. Miles, who in the battle of Fredericksburg led them to
the useless slaughter at the foot of Marye's Heights, until a bloody
wound in his neck spared the regiment a desperate attempt to get a
little nearer than other regiments to the invincible lines of the enemy.
"See them at Chancellorsville, with Miles again leading in a brilliant
fight on the skirmish line.
"See the devoted little company in the Wheat Field at Gettysburg, hardly
a company all told now--only 93--baring their breasts to the storm of
Confederate bullets and leaving 62 of their number, two-thirds, among
the killed and wounded.
"Nearly a year later, after 600 recruits had made it nearly a new
regiment, see it keeping up its old reputation for hard fighting in the
Wilderness campaign, losing 36 at Corbin's Bridge and 13 at Po River,
and then at the famous Bloody Angle at Spottsylvania, having a place of
honor and peril in one of the two leading brigades which scaled the
rebel works and took between three and four thousand prisoners. Then see
them at Cold Harbor sacrificing 22 of their number in a bloody repulse
in that useless slaughter.
"In the siege of Petersburg see them in repeated engagements. At Ream's
Station, when one regiment after another of recruits gave way, Walker
tells us that Gen. Miles, commanding a division, 'calling up a portion
of his own old regiment the Sixty-first New York which still remained
firm, threw it across the breastworks, at right angles, and commenced to
fight his way back, leading the regiment in person. Only a few score of
men--perhaps 200 in all--stood by him; but with these he made ground,
step by step, until he had retaken Dauchey's battery, and had recaptured
a considerable portion of the line, actually driving the enemy into the
railroad cut.'
"At last at Farmsville, only a day before the end of the struggle, this
regiment sealed its devotion to the flag by the loss of four killed,
including one captain, and twelve wounded.
"In the round up of Lee's army culminating at Appomatax, two divisions
of the corps were commanded by Sixty-first men. Barlow commanded one and
Miles the other, and between them they fought the last infantry battle
of the Army of the Potomac."
"In Colonel Fox's admirable analysis of the Regimental Losses during the
Civil war, he shows that the Sixty-first New York came very near having
a place among the forty-five regiments that lost over two hundred men,
killed or mortally wounded in action during the war. Its actual loss was
193, including 16 officers. He says: 'The Sixty-first had the good
fortune and honor to be commanded by men who proved to be among the
ablest soldiers of the war. They made brilliant records as colonels of
this regiment, and, being promoted, achieved a national reputation as
division generals. The Sixty-first saw an unusual amount of active
service and hard fighting. It served through the war in a division that
was commanded successively by Generals Richardson, (killed at Antietam),
Hancock, Caldwell, Barlow and Miles, and any regiment that followed the
fortunes of these men was sure to find plenty of bloody work cut out
for it."
In the place we were marched to we lay down. Very soon the fifty men
under Captains Broady and Mount, who had been detached, joined the forty
or so of us making all told a fighting force of from ninety to one
hundred men. Most, if not all the men, except those on guard, went to
sleep.
About two o'clock a. m. of July 1st, we were quietly awakened and
cautioned to make no noise. The order to move was whispered and we
started silently.
A good part of our way was over a road through the woods. No artillery
or wagon trains were in the way, and we shoved along at a good pace.
Most of the canteens were empty before the last battle, and now the men
were suffering for water nearly as much as it was possible for them to.
I do not know of any of our troops following us, and it is my belief
that we were the last of the Army of the Potomac to go over this road,
as we were, the following December to cross the pontoon bridge at
Fredericksburg.