farther in advance than the position it occupied when it was relieved by
the Sixty-first and Sixty-fourth N. Y., that the Irish brigade did not,
up to the time it was so relieved, pass over any ground that had been
occupied by the enemy and on which they had left any of their battle
flags. The battle flags captured by the Sixty-first and Sixty-fourth New
York were taken from the sunken road. No one ever heard me say a word in
derogation of the bravery of the Irish brigade. It was manifested at
Antietam, and on a score of other battlefields. The glorious history of
the second corps could not be written with its deeds left out. The Irish
brigade stood in its tracks and took its terrible punishment at Antietam
as heroically as did anything of Wellington's at Waterloo. Having said
all this, the fact remains the brigade was NOT tactically well placed.
Had it advanced to where the Sixty-first and Sixty-fourth later went, it
would have done much greater execution, and with smaller loss to
itself. The action of Barlow at Antietam proved beyond question his
exceptional military ability.
On my way home after Gettysburg, I spent one night in the Citizens'
hospital in Philadelphia. My cot was next to a Pennsylvanian's, who had
lost a leg at Chancellorsville. When he learned I was of Barlow's
regiment, he told me that about the finest sight he ever saw on the
battlefield was seeing Barlow lead his command into action at Antietam.
He was where he had a full view of the display. The regiments were in
line of battle, and he, with sabre in hand, was ahead of the line. Such
is the plain fact, as all who were there can testify.
On the 19th of September, Gen. McClellan was informed that during the
night Lee had pulled out, and placed the Potomac between him and us. The
Army of Northern Virginia crossed the river at Shepardstown. Thus ended
their proud invasion of Northern States.
We remained in our position for a number of days, burying the dead,
picking up the fragments, and getting ourselves together. The after view
of a battle field is a horrible sight--wreck, ruin and devastation are
on all sides; fences removed, buildings more or less torn and
demolished, wagons smashed, arms scattered about, artillery disabled,
horses and mules piled up and swollen almost beyond recognition. All
this shows the havoc of battle, but the sight that appals is the human
dead. Dead, dying, and wounded in various ways. The spectator must
callous his heart, or, if fairly human, he will be overwhelmed. There
were places on this battlefield where the ground was literally strewn
with those "beyond the fighting," swollen, grimy, unnatural, in all
sorts of situations and positions. On the fence next to the cornfield,
and just beyond the sunken road, were a number of Confederates hanging
over the top rail, shot dead while trying to pass it. There they hung,
like bundles of old clothes over a line.
"Gen. McClellan reported that he lost on the 16th and 17th 2,010 killed,
9,416 wounded and 1,043 missing--a total of 12,469. * * * * * McClellan
reported that 2,700 of the Confederate dead were counted and buried by
his officers, and that a portion had been previously buried by their
comrades." (The Antietam and Fredericksburg, Palfry, page 127.)
Doubtless the killed, wounded and missing of the two armies would
aggregate 25,000. The Second corps was the heaviest loser on the Union
side, its casualties amounting to 5,138. (Walker 120)
On the 22d of September the army moved, the Second corps headed for
Harpers Ferry, a distance of ten or twelve miles. We forded the Potomac
just above the destroyed railroad bridge, and came to land opposite the
ruins of the United States Armory. We went through the town and formed
camp on Bolivar Heights. The time spent at this place was the soft kind
of soldering. Supplies were abundant. Drill, guard, picket and police
duties were light, and we all had a thoroughly good time. The scenery
hereabouts is grand. Maryland, London and Bolivar Heights come together,
and from the tops of their heights to the river level is hundreds of
feet. The passes worn by the Shenandoah and Potomac are through the
solid rock and the gorges are very deep and rugged.
Our picket line was a mile or two out toward Charlestown. While on one
of these picketing details, while the first relief was on, Frank Garland
suggested that, if possible, we slip through the line, go to the front
and see if we couldn't pick up something good to eat. We succeeded in
passing the pickets and pointed for a farm house a half mile ahead. For
a time no one responded to our knocks and helloes. At last a plump, red
cheeked modest girl, of perhaps sixteen, appeared. We enquired for
apples and told her if she would fill our haversacks, we would be glad
to pay for them. She took them and soon returned with them filled with
eatable apples. We paid her the price charged and started back. We
admitted to one another that it was not a prudent act and would go hard
with us if we should be picked up. On our way back Garland glanced to
the left, and said, "There's reb cavalry!" I looked, and there, perhaps
an eighth of a mile away, was a squad of horsemen, coming on a canter
toward us. We were near a substantial rail fence on the right, and for
it we sprang with all our powers. We went over it like circus
performers, and put in our best strides for our line. I think it was
Garland that first discovered that the "men on horseback" were negro
farm hands. They had seen our lively retreat and accurately interpreted
the cause, and they were with their mouths open as wide as their jaws
would admit, haw-hawing near the point of splitting. On this discovery
we slowed down, and sauntered toward our picket line as unconcerned as
possible, but the pickets had seen the performance, and at first had
been misled as we were. As we came in we proposed to go straight to the
reserve where the detail from our regiment was. The officer in charge
refused this and sent us under a guard of two men and a corporal to
headquarters. We steered the corporal to the shelter tent of Capt. Bull
and explained the situation to him. He took it in, and, with a large
assumption of military dignity, informed the guard that he would relieve
them of any further duty in the matter, and they could go back to the
front. Garland and I were glad to divide our apples with Bull and the
others who knew of our adventure. It was one of the worst scares I had
in the service, and cured me of any attempt at foraging outside the
lines.
Gen. Walker says, "The only episode which interrupted the pleasant
monotone of rest and equipment, after the fatigues of the Manassas and
Antietam campaigns, was a reconnaissance conducted by Gen. Hancock with
the first division Oct. 16th down the valley to Charlestown, with the
view to discovering whether the enemy were there in force." We met a
battery supported by cavalry, which fell back as we advanced. The
captain of this battery was B. H. Smith, Jr. and was wounded. We found
him in a house at Charlestown with a foot amputated. We spent the night
in Charlestown, and while there many of the boys visited the tree where
John Brown had his taking off Dec. 2, 1859.
On the 25th of October, I wrote a letter home from which I quote, "The
whole regiment cannot turn out over 50 or 60 charter members. I will
give you a list of Co. "C," which left Hamilton but little over one year
ago full of hope and great expectation. Today we have present Capt.
Broady, broken in mind and body by hardship and disease; Serg. Isaac
Plumb, well and in good spirits; Serg. C. A. Fuller, ditto; Serg. D. W.
Skinner, suffering from old wound, and who will be discharged; Portner
E. Whitney, pioneer, good soldier; George Jacobs, private, cooking for
the company; Junius Gaskell, sick most of the time; Charles Richards,
paroled prisoner, sees no duty; Freeman Allen has a bad leg; Rufus
Rundell, in quartermaster's department--always has been; John Boardman,
drummer. Where are the other 80? Some 10 or 11 killed, three times that
number wounded, 10 dead of disease, 8 or 10 discharged, and the
remainder sick in hospitals. Ike and myself are the only ones of that
ninety odd, who have been in every engagement with the regiment, and he
was not carrying a gun at Fair Oaks. Lieut. Keech is the only line
officer who has been in all the regiment's battles. This may seem
incredible, but it is nevertheless true--some would miss this battle and
some that, and so, but one has missed none."
On the 29th of October, 1862, our army broke camp and moved in the
direction of Warrenton, which place we reached on the 11th of November.
In making this march the Sixty-first skirmished over the mountains at
Snecker's Gap, driving back a body of cavalry that was observing, if not
holding this position. From the ridge of the mountain we had a view that
in my judgment could not be equaled in Europe.
While the army was at Warrenton the order came removing McClellan and
appointing Burnside. For one I was glad of any change--it seemed to be
that no one could be more inefficient than McClellan. I remember so
expressing myself which was not a popular notion. One old Irishman of
Co. A, turned on me in hot anger, and asked, "Why do you say that? What
do you know about war, you little damned pie eater!"
In a few days we started out and reached Falmouth, a hamlet nearly
opposite Fredericksburg on the Rappahannock river on the 17th of
November. There were but a handful of rebels on the other side of the
river. There was no attempt to ford it, and we went into camp, while
Lee's army soon concentrated about Fredericksburg. Our camp was located
in the woods, which we partially cleared, converting the timber into
walls for our huts, which we covered with our shelter tent canvass. In a
few days we had comfortable quarters. Part of the time the weather was
quite cold. Snow was on the ground, and the brook that ran near by was
more or less covered with ice. I remember going down to this brook one
Sunday morning with Portner E. Whitney. We took off our clothing and had
a bath in that ice cold water. We were in this camp for several weeks,
and in it had first rate good times. Near to us was a Pennsylvania
regiment, (I forget the number) in which a "revival of religion"
prevailed. Meetings were held continuously and it was reported that many
were converted. I think this regiment suffered severely in the great
slaughter of the 13th of December.
Quite early in December indications multiplied that a movement was
contemplated. Three days rations were ordered to be kept constantly in
the haversacks. Charles Lowell, our hospital steward, told me that the
surgeons had received orders to put in good condition the operating
instruments, and frequent inspections made sure that enough ammunition
was in the boxes.
On Thursday, Dec. 11th, at 4 a. m., reveille beat, after roll call the
men were told that they must be ready to break camp on short notice. At
6 a. m. the regiment formed on the color line, ready to move. While we
were thus waiting, I was smoking my briarwood pipe, and, at what I
supposed was the end of the smoke, I threw out the ashes and put the
pipe in my breeches pocket. In a short time I was conscious of a change
of temperature in that locality, and hastily brought to view the pocket
and pipe. Doubtless some of the fire remained in the bowl, which got out
and set fire to that part of my clothing. I had no trouble in
extinguishing this ignition, but the pocket was gone and my leg had a
raw spot.
At this time the Army of the Potomac was organized in three grand
divisions as follows: Right Grand Division, Sumner's, embracing the
Second and Ninth corps; Center Grand Division, Hooker's, Third and Fifth
corps; Left Grand Division, Sixth and First corps. Gen. D. N. Couch
commanded the Second corps; Hancock the First Division, and Caldwell the
First brigade of the corps.
While in this camp that we were about to leave I had the honor to be the
object to which a brief utterance was directed by Gen. Hancock. I was
then a sergeant, and had been ordered to brigade headquarters with a
squad of men for guard duty. On the day in question, Gen. Sumner
reviewed his Grand Division. After the guard had got to its place, one
of Caldwell's staff came to me and said, "When the general comes along
you will fall in your guard and present arms." I had some eight or ten
men with me, and told those not on duty to be on hand to fall in when so
ordered. Presently I heard a horse coming down the road on a sharp
gallop, and soon saw that it was Gen. Hancock with a single orderly.
Evidently he was not on the lookout for a little guard to salute him,
but I fell in the men as briskly as possible. The general noticed what I
was doing, and had to wait a moment for the guard to present arms, which
it did all right. Hancock returned the compliment, and then said to me,
"If you want to salute, sir! you must be a 'damned sight quicker' than
this!" If I had dared to, I would have answered, "Don't you worry
yourself, Winfield Scotty, I don't want to salute you, and wouldn't now,
if I had not been ordered to."
Of course I kept my mouth shut. It would have been bad policy to have
expressed my sentiments.
As I have stated, shortly after 6 a. m. our column started. We made a
roundabout march of a few miles and finally halted, under cover of high
ground, nearly opposite the city of Fredericksburg. All this day a
furious cannonade was maintained by our side, and from big guns mounted
on the crest back of the river. The effort was to clean the enemy out
from the neighborhood of the river bank, so that we could lay our
pontoon bridges. This was not successful, and in the attempt to do this
work our men were picked off, so that it was found to be impracticable.
At length the Seventh Mich. and the 89th N. Y. were rushed into the
pontoon boats and rowed and poled over. Once on the other shore they
drove away the sharpshooters, and the bridge at our front was then laid.
We remained that night on the Falmouth side of the river. The next
forenoon the Second corps crossed the river. Our division was marched
along the side of the river, to the lower end of the city, and then we
stacked arms.
Some of our men inspected the near by houses on their own motion, and
from one they brought out a jar of fresh tried lard. I had a chance at
it and spread it on my hard tack, as I would butter at home. I have had
my share of good butter and love it, but I never tasted bread greasing
equal to that new lard.
Towards night we were marched back to the site of the railroad bridge,
and billited in the grist mill near said bridge. One of our men procured
a duck, I was let into the mess, and in some way we cooked and disposed
of it before rolling up in our blankets for a good night's rest. We
turned out early the next morning, (the disastrous 13th) and after
breakfast, lead by Col. Miles, we went through the city to the last
street. Here our little regiment was deployed as a sort of picket line.
To the front half or three-quarters of a mile ran the top of a line of
hills, parallel to our street. Not so much as the crack of a pistol had
broken the silence of the morning. We lounged about, viewed from between
the houses the supposed location of the enemy, went into the houses next
to where we were posted, and helped ourselves. Not a soldier in gray was
to be seen, save here and there a sentry watching from the top of their
earth works. One of our boys was inspecting the contents of the house of
a doctor, I forget his name. Presently he called to me and inquired if I
didn't want some books. I said "Yes." He tossed me from the window a
fine volume of Byron's poems, and the two volumes of Dr. Kane's Arctic
Explorations. I sat on the curbing looking over this plunder, when, all
at once, a number of big guns went off, and very soon thereafter shot
and shell came thundering through the houses, across our street, and
into the houses behind us. I hurriedly dropped my spoils, and made quick
tracks for the other side of the street, where there was, perhaps,
better protection. This artillery outburst was due to the appearance of
our troops, moving out of the city and towards the strong position of
the enemy.
In a few minutes Col. Miles assembled the Sixty-first and marched it
back into the next street, where we stood in line ready for the word
"Go!" In this position nothing could be seen, but the shots and shells
of our adversaries came thick and dangerously near, though none were to
my knowledge effective. While we were here I noticed one of our
recruits, a German, who was literally unnerved by fear. His countenance
was distorted by terror, and he was shaking in every limb. I think it
was impossible for him to march. I do not remember ever seeing him after
that time. For myself I confess that I never exerted more will power to
make my legs move in the right direction than just here. Without
pretending to have military judgment, as I viewed the intrenched
position of the Confederates, I said to myself, "we will fail to carry
those heights."
At length the order came to move, and the head of our column started for
the street that led to Marye's Hill. Turning into it we advanced
rapidly. My recollection is, that as the road leaves the city, it makes
a slight curve, and as we came to that spot the whole view was opened up
to us. I know the road was littered with some dead, and cast off
blankets and knapsacks. For a ways the road slightly descends, and then
you come to a considerable stream of some sort, it may be a waste weir,
from the Falmouth dam. This stream was bridged, and a part, if not all,
of the flooring of it had been removed. I remember we, partially at
least, crossed on the stringers. At this point the enemy concentrated a
hot artillery fire. I think the Sixty-first got over without much
damage, but the head of the regiment following took in several shells
that caused heavy loss. We pressed forward to a point part way up the
hill to the front, when the order was given "On the right, by file into
line!" This deployed us in line of battle to the left of the road we had
been advancing on. The rise of ground was sufficient to protect us from
the enemy, while we were thus forming. Hancock rode his horse up and
down the line between us and the foe.
While we stood here, one of the ghastly sights of war was almost under
my feet. A soldier lay nearly where I ought to have stood. A shell had
gone through his body, and in its passage had set fire to his clothing,
and there his corpse lay slowly cooking. There was no time to do
anything.
At least one line of battle had preceded us, and, I suppose, had been
used up. Now the order came for us to advance, which we did, probably in
brigade line of battle. I cannot say how many regiments there were in
it. I know we advanced till within musket range of the rebel rifle pits,
when we were halted and ordered to lie down. We did not fire, but the
enemy did from their pits and they picked off some of our men. After a
short time we were ordered to stand up. I then noticed that sergeant
Israel O. Foote of my company was lying on the ground wounded, and
evidently in pain. Our column was right faced and put in motion. We
advanced parallel to the rebel line, and under their fire. We soon came
to the road. Here there was a house or two, and the building, or
buildings, had some soldiers in it, or them. We crossed the road--the
Sixty-first under Miles did--and brought up in a yard or garden patch
that had a high tight board fence on two sides of it. Here we were
directed to lie down. The fence hid the enemy from our sight, but the
distance to their nearest line of rifle pits was short. Occasional
projectiles from cannon and muskets came our way, so that most of us
were willing to hug the ground.
George Joyce of Co. C was with the regiment, just returned from hospital
partially recovered from a wound received at Malvern Hill. Joyce was a
unique character, small of stature, illiterate, an adroit forager, and,
if you didn't know him, you might take him for a mere braggadocio. But
such was not the case. He was destitute of fear, or, if he ever
experienced the sensation, he overcame it. At Glendale the Colonel
ordered the line forward. A soldier said "We will follow the colors."
Joyce was a private, and how he happened to have them I do not know, but
he did, and he marched forward, brought the staff down with a bang and
said, "There's your colors, come up to them!" The line moved up, and
Barlow made him orderly sergeant of (I think) Co. F then and there.
Joyce was back with a stiff arm, so that he could not carry a gun, but
while most of us were hugging the ground, he stood up and worked his
jaw. He said, "Lie low boys. I'll let you know if anything happens." And
so he was on the watch. Presently a solid shot came his way. It passed
so near his foot, that, while it made no visible abrasion, his foot
began to swell so that he had to cut his boot off, and he had to hobble
back.
It was said at the time that Col. Miles, satisfied that the only thing
to do to amount to anything, was to make a rush and take this first
picket line, had sent back his conclusion, and requested permission to
charge the line with his regiment. About this time an accommodating
rebel bullet cut his throat, letting out a liberal quantity of fresh
bright blood. This so put him _hors de combat_ that he had to leave the
field, somewhat to the longevity account of the Sixty-firsters there
present. So we continued in this lowly attitude till after Hooker's men
made another vain assault over the ground we had occupied. Then, toward
sundown, we were withdrawn, and marched back into the city, and took up
our quarters for the night in the same grist mill we occupied the night
before.
So far as we could see, nothing was done the next day, Sunday. But
little, if any, fighting was had on Monday. After dark Monday evening
our regiment, under command, I think of Capt. Kettle, was marched back
as far to the front as we had occupied Saturday, but to the right. Here
we were placed in rifle pits that would hold half a dozen each. There
was a space of eight or ten feet between each pit. Here we were very
close to the enemy--we could hear their movements, and they ours. I
should think it was as late as 3 o'clock a. m. of Tuesday when we were
withdrawn, and silently made our way to the city, and through it, and to
the pontoon bridge we crossed the Friday before. We were nearly the last
to cross. Shortly afterward the bridge was taken up, and the
Rappahannock again flowed between the hostile camps.
In this battle the only original members of Co. C present with the
company were Sergt. I. O. Foote, killed; Geo. Jacobs and myself. Isaac
Plumb had been commissioned and transferred to another company and
Whitney was with the pioneers.
We marched directly to our old camp. We found things as we left them,
and we proceeded, as far as we could with what was on hand, to restore
the camp to the condition it was in before we broke it on the 12th.
Many of the men had disposed of shelter tents and blankets during the
worthless movement, so that some of the huts had no covering. The next
day Gen. Sumner rode up to our camp and had some talk with the men. He
asked why some of the huts were not covered with canvass. We said, "We
dumped them when we went into the fight." He replied, "You should have
stuck to your tents and blankets!" This was the last time I saw the old
man. He left the army in January, 1863, and died in bed about three
months later at his home in Syracuse, N. Y. He was a great Corps
Commander.
Burnside's next _fiasco_ was called his "stuck in the mud" campaign. In
this case he was to cross the river to the right about where Hooker did
four months later. In this movement the centre and left broke camp while
Sumner's Grand Division remained to take care of the enemy's right at
Fredericksburg. A terrible storm ended the movement almost before it was
begun, and we remained comfortable in camp.
Shortly after this Burnside resigned, and Gen. Joseph Hooker was
appointed Commander of the Army of the Potomac. Hooker had been named
"Fighting Joe Hooker." As a rule I think, the men were pleased with the
change.