FROM GETTYSBURG TO FALLING WATERS
When the battle of Gettysburg was ended and the shadows of night began
to gather upon the Rummel fields, the troopers of the Michigan cavalry
brigade had a right to feel that they had acted well their parts, and
contributed their full share to the glory and success of the Union arms.
They had richly earned a rest, but were destined not to obtain it until
after many days of such toil and hardship as to surpass even the
previous experiences of the campaign.
After a brief bivouac on the battle field, the brigade was moved to the
Baltimore pike whence, at daybreak, it marched to the vicinity of
Emmittsburg. There, on the morning of July 4, the two brigades of the
Third division reunited. The First brigade, under the lamented
Farnsworth, it will be remembered had been engaged the previous day upon
the left flank near "Round Top," under the eye of the division
commander.
Farnsworth, the gallant young officer who had been a brigadier general
but four days, had been killed while leading a charge against infantry
behind stone walls. His brigade was compelled to face infantry because
all of the confederate cavalry had been massed under Stuart against
Meade's right. It was intended that Custer should report to Kilpatrick
on the left flank but, as we have seen, he was providentially where he
was most needed, and where his presence was effective in preventing
disaster. The charge in which Farnsworth lost his life was ordered by
Kilpatrick and was unquestionably against the former's judgment. But he
was too brave a man and too conscientious to do anything else than obey
orders to the letter. His courage had been put to the proof in more than
a score of battles. As an officer in the Eighth Illinois cavalry and as
an aid on the staff of General Pleasonton, chief of cavalry, he had won
such deserved distinction that he, like Custer, was promoted from
captain to brigadier general on June 28 and assigned to command of the
First brigade of Kilpatrick's division when Custer took the Second. This
was done in spite of the fact that he was not a graduate of the military
academy or even an officer of the regular army. I knew him before the
war when he was a student in the University of Michigan, and a more
intrepid spirit than he possessed never resided within the breast of
man. It was but a day, it might be said, that he had worn his new
honors. He was proud, ambitious, spirited, loyal, brave, true as steel
to his country and his convictions of duty, and to his own manhood.
He did not hesitate for one moment. Drawing his saber and placing
himself at the head of his command, he led his men to the inevitable
slaughter and boldly went to his own death. It was a pity to sacrifice
such an officer and such men as followed him inside the confederate
lines. The charge was one of the most gallant ever made, though barren
of results. The little force came back shattered to pieces and without
their leader. The cavalry corps had lost an officer whose place was hard
to fill. Had he lived, the brave young Illinoisan might have been
another Custer. He had all the qualities needed to make a great
career--youth, health, a noble physique, courage, patriotism, ambition,
ability and rank. He was poised, like Custer, and had discretion as well
as dash. They were a noble pair, and nobly did they justify the
confidence reposed in them. One lived to court death on scores of battle
fields, winning imperishable laurels in them all; the other was cut down
in the very beginning of his brilliant career, but his name will forever
be associated with what is destined to be in history the most memorable
battle of the war, and the one from which is dated the beginning of the
downfall of the confederate cause, and the complete restoration of the
union. Farnsworth will not be forgotten as long as a grateful people
remember the name and the glory of Gettysburg.
Although General Judson Kilpatrick had been in command of the division
since the 30th of June, at Hanover, many of the Michigan men had never
set eyes upon him until that morning, and there was much curiosity to
get a sight of the already famous cavalryman. He had begun to be a
terror to foes, and there was a well-grounded fear that he might become
a menace to friends as well. He was brave to rashness, capricious,
ambitious, reckless in rushing into scrapes, and generally full of
expedients in getting out, though at times he seemed to lose his head
entirely when beset by perils which he, himself, had invited. He was
prodigal of human life, though to do him justice he rarely spared
himself. While he was not especially refined in manners and in
conversation, he had an intellect that would at times emit flashes so
brilliant as to blind those who knew him best to his faults. He was the
very type of one of the wayward cavaliers who survived the death of
Charles the First, to shine in the court of Charles the Second. He was a
ready and fluent speaker--an orator, in fact--and had the gift of
charming an audience with his insinuating tongue.
As closely as I can from memory, I will draw a pen-sketch of him as he
appeared at that time: Not an imposing figure as he sat with a jaunty
air upon his superb chestnut horse, for he was of slight build though
supple and agile as an athlete; a small, though well-knit form, dressed
in a close-fitting and natty suit of blue; a blouse with the buttons and
shoulder straps of a brigadier-general; the conventional boots and spurs
and saber; a black hat with the brim turned down on one side, up on the
other, in a way affected by himself, which gave to the style his own
name. This completed his uniform--not a striking or picturesque one in
any respect. Save for the peculiar style of hat, there was nothing about
it to distinguish him from others of like rank. But his face was a
marked one, showing his individuality in every line. A prominent nose, a
wide mouth, a firm jaw, thin cheeks set off by side whiskers rather
light in color, and eyes that were cold and lusterless, but
searching--these were the salient characteristics of a countenance that
once seen, was never forgotten. His voice had a peculiar, piercing
quality, though it was not unmusical in sound. In giving commands he
spoke in brusque tones and in an imperious manner. It was not long till
every man in the division had seen him and knew him well. In a few days
he had fairly earned the soubriquet "Kill Cavalry," which clung to him
till he left for the west. This was not because men were killed while
under his command, for that was their business and every trooper knew
that death was liable to come soon or late, while he was in the line of
duty, but for the reason that so many lives were sacrificed by him for
no good purpose whatever.
[Illustration: JUDSON KILPATRICK]
Well, on the morning of the Fourth, General Kilpatrick sent an order to
regimental commanders to draw three days' rations and be prepared for a
protracted absence from the army, as we were to go to the right and rear
of Lee to try and intercept his trains, and in every way to harass his
retreating columns as much as possible. We were all proud of our new
commanders, for it was evident that they were fighting men, and that
while they would lead us into danger, if we survived it there would be
left the consciousness of having done our duty, and the credit of
accomplishing something for the cause.
It must also be said that a strong feeling of "pride in the corps" had
taken root. Men were proud that they belonged to Kilpatrick's division
and to Custer's brigade, for it must not be supposed that the above
estimate of the former is based upon what we knew of him at that time.
We were under him for a long time after that. This was the first day
that we felt the influence of his immediate presence.
When it was known that Kilpatrick was to lead a movement to the enemy's
rear all felt that the chances were excellent for the country to hear a
good deal about our exploits within the next few days, and nobody
regretted it.
But before the start it began to rain in torrents. It has been said that
a great battle always produces rain. My recollection is not clear as to
the other battles, but I know that the day after Gettysburg the
flood-gates of heaven were opened, and as the column of cavalry took its
way towards Emmittsburg it was deluged. It seemed as if the firmament
were an immense tank, the contents of which were spilled all at once.
Such a drenching as we had! Even heavy gum coats and horsehide boots
were hardly proof against it. It poured and poured, the water running
in streams off the horses' backs, making of every rivulet a river and of
every river and mountain stream a raging flood.
But Lee was in retreat and, rain or shine, it was our duty to reach his
rear, so all day long we plodded and plashed along the muddy roads
towards the passes in the Catoctin and South mountains. It was a tedious
ride for men already worn out with incessant marching and the fatigues
of many days. It hardly occurred to the tired trooper that it was the
anniversary of the nation's natal day. There were no fireworks, and
enthusiasm was quenched not by the weather only but by the knowledge
that the confederate army, though repulsed, was not captured. The news
of Grant's glorious victory in the west filled every heart with joy, of
course, but the prospect of going back into Virginia to fight the war
over again was not alluring.
But possibly that might not be our fate. Vigorous pursuit might
intercept Lee on this side of the Potomac. Every trooper felt that he
could endure wet and brave the storm to aid in such strategy, and all
set their faces to the weather and rode, if not cheerfully, at least
patiently forward in the rain.
I have said that on that memorable Fourth of July there were no
fireworks. That was a mistake. The pyrotechnic display was postponed
until a late hour, but it was an interesting and exciting exhibition, as
all who witnessed it will testify. It was in the night and darkness
lent intensity to the scene.
Toward evening the flood subsided somewhat, though the sky was overcast
with wet-looking clouds, and the swollen and muddy streams that ran
along and across our pathway fretted and frothed like impatient coursers
under curb and rein. Their banks could hardly hold them.
During the afternoon and evening the column was climbing the South
mountain. A big confederate wagon train was going through the gap ahead
of us. If we could capture that, it would be making reprisal for some of
Stuart's recent work in Maryland.
Toward midnight we were nearing the top, marching along the narrow
defile, the mountain towering to the right, and sloping off abruptly to
the left, when the boom of a cannon announced that the advance guard had
encountered the enemy. The piece of artillery was planted in the road,
at the summit, near the Monterey house, and was supported by the
confederate rearguard, which at once opened fire with their carbines. It
was too dark to distinguish objects at any distance, the enemy was
across the front and no one could tell how large a force it might be.
The First Michigan had been sent to the right, early in the evening, to
attack a body of the enemy, hovering on the right flank in the direction
of Fairfield, and had a hard fight, in which Captain Elliott and
Lieutenant McElhenny, two brave officers, were killed. The Fifth and
Sixth were leading and at once dismounted and deployed as skirmishers.
Generals Kilpatrick and Custer rode to the place where the line was
forming, and superintended the movement. The Sixth, under Colonel Gray,
was on the right of the line, the road to its left. At least the portion
of the regiment to which my troop belonged was in that position. I
think, perhaps, a part of the regiment was across the road. The Fifth
formed on the left; the First and Seventh in reserve, mounted. There is
a good deal of guess work about it, for in the darkness one could not
tell what happened except in his immediate neighborhood.
The order "Forward," finally came, and the line of skirmishers advanced
up the slope, a column of mounted men following in the road, ready to
charge when opportunity offered. Soon we encountered the confederate
skirmishers, but could locate them only by the flashes of their guns.
The darkness was intense and in a few moments we had plunged into a
dense thicket, full of undergrowth, interlaced with vines and briars, so
thick that it was difficult to make headway at all. More than once a
trailing vine tripped me up, and I fell headlong. To keep up an
alignment was out of the question. One had to be guided by sound and not
by sight. The force in front did not appear to be formidable in numbers,
but had the advantage of position, and was on the defensive in a narrow
mountain pass where numbers were of little avail. We had a large force,
but it was strung out in a long column for miles back, and it was
possible to bring only a few men into actual contact with the enemy,
whatever he might be. This last was a matter of conjecture and
Kilpatrick doubtless felt the necessity of moving cautiously, feeling
his way until he developed what was in his front. To the right of the
road, had it not been for the noise and the flashing of the enemy's fire
we should have wandered away in the darkness and been lost.
The confederate skirmishers were driven back across a swollen stream
spanned by a bridge. The crossing at this point was contested fiercely,
but portions of the Fifth and Sixth finally forced it and then the whole
command crossed over.
In the meantime the rumbling of wagon wheels could be heard in the road
leading down the mountain. It was evident we were being detained by a
small force striving to hold us there while the train made its escape. A
regiment was ordered up mounted to make a charge. I heard the colonel
giving his orders. "Men," he said, "use the saber only; I will cut down
any man who fires a shot." This was to prevent shooting our own men in
the melee, and in the darkness. Inquiring, I learned it was the First
(West) Virginia cavalry. This regiment which belonged in the First
brigade had been ordered to report to Custer. At the word, the gallant
regiment rushed like the wind down the mountain road, "yelling like
troopers," as they were, and good ones too, capturing everything in
their way.
This charge ended the fighting for that night. It was one of the most
exciting engagements we ever had, for while the actual number engaged
was small, and the casualties were not great, the time, the place, the
circumstances, the darkness, the uncertainty, all combined to make "the
midnight fight at Monterey" one of unique interest. General Custer had
his horse shot under him which, it was said and I have reason to
believe, was the seventh horse killed under him in that campaign. The
force that resisted us did its duty gallantly, though it had everything
in its favor. They knew what they had in their front, we did not. Still,
they failed of their object, which was to save the train. That we
captured after all. The Michigan men brushed the rear guard out of the
way, the First Virginia gave the affair the finishing touch.
The fight over, men succumbed to fatigue and drowsiness. I had barely
touched the saddle before I was fast asleep, and did not awake until
daylight, and then looking around, could not see a man that I recognized
as belonging to my own troop. As far as the eye could reach, both front
and rear, was a moving mass of horses with motionless riders all wrapped
in slumber. The horses were moving along with drooping heads and eyes
half-closed. Some walked faster than others and, as a consequence, would
gradually pull away from their companions through the column in front;
others would fall back. So it came to pass that few men found themselves
in the same society in the morning with which they started at midnight.
As for myself, I awoke to wonder where I was and what had become of my
men. Not one of them could I see. My horse was a fast walker, and I soon
satisfied myself that I was in advance of my troop and, when the place
designated for the division to bivouac was reached, dismounted and
awaited their arrival. Some of them did not come up for an hour, and
they were scattered about among other commands, in squads, a few in a
place. It was seven o'clock before we were all together once more.
Then we had breakfast, and the men had a chance to look the captures
over and quiz the prisoners. The wagons were soon despoiled of their
contents and such stuff as was not valuable or could not be transported
was burned. Among the prisoners was Colonel Davis, of the Tenth Virginia
cavalry, who claimed that he led the charge against our position on the
third. He expressed himself very freely as having had enough, and said,
"This useless war ought to be ended at once."
During the day Stuart's cavalry appeared on our flank and we pushed on
to Cavetown, thence to Boonsborough, harassed all the way by the enemy.
We were now directly on Lee's path to the Potomac. At Smithburg there
was quite a skirmish in which the Sixth had the duty of supporting the
battery. My troop, deployed as skirmishers along the top of a rocky
ridge, was forgotten when the division moved away after dark, and we lay
there for an hour within sight of the confederate camp until, suspecting
something wrong, I made a reconnoissance and discovered that our
command had gone. I therefore mounted the men and followed the trail
which led toward Boonsborough. At the latter place Kilpatrick turned
over his prisoners and captured property.
On the 6th, along in the afternoon, we arrived in the vicinity of
Hagerstown. The road we were on enters the town at right angles with the
pike from Hagerstown to Williamsport, on reaching which we turned to the
left, the position being something like the following diagram:
North
Hagerstown
Boonsborough
East
Williamsport
South
Lee's reserve wagon trains were at Williamsport under General Imboden.
From Hagerstown to Williamsport was about five miles. We had Stuart's
cavalry in our front, Lee's whole army on our right, and only five miles
to our left the tempting prize which Kilpatrick was eager to seize.
Besides, it was necessary for Lee to reach Williamsport in order to
secure a crossing of the Potomac river.
The advance of his army reached Hagerstown simultaneously with
ourselves, but the skirmishers of the First brigade drove them back to
the northward, and then the Michigan brigade passed through and turned
southward on the pike toward Williamsport. The Fifth Michigan had the
advance and the Sixth the rear. The latter regiment had hardly more than
turned in the new direction when the boom of a cannon in front told the
story that the battle had begun.
General Kilpatrick had been attending to matters in Hagerstown. It was
evident that there was considerable force there and that it was
constantly augmenting. The opening gun at Williamsport called his
attention to a new danger. It looked as though he had deliberately
walked into a trap. In a moment I saw him coming, dashing along the
flank of the column. He was urging his horse to its utmost speed. In his
hand he held a small riding whip with which he was touching the flank of
his charger as he rode. His face was pale. His eyes were gazing fixedly
to the front and he looked neither to the right nor to the left. The
look of anxiety on his countenance was apparent. The sound of cannon
grew louder and more frequent; we were rushed rapidly to the front. The
First brigade followed and to the officer in command of it was assigned
the task of holding back Lee's army while the Michigan brigade tried
titles with Imboden. Buford, with the First cavalry division, was
fighting Stuart's cavalry to the left, towards Boonsborough, and on him
it depended to keep open the only avenue of escape from the position
in which Kilpatrick found himself.
[Illustration: AARON CONE JEWETT]
In a little time the two brigades were fighting back to back, one facing
north and the other south, and each having more than it could attend to.
Pretty soon we arrived on the bluff overlooking Williamsport. Imboden's
artillery had the exact range and were pouring shell into the position
where the brigade was trying to form.
Just before arriving at the point where we were ordered to turn to the
right through an opening in a rail fence, into a field, Aaron C. Jewett,
acting adjutant of the regiment, rode along the column delivering the
order from the colonel. During the Gettysburg campaign Jewett had been
acting adjutant and would have received his commission in a short time.
His modest demeanor and affable manners had won the hearts of all his
comrades. He had made himself exceedingly popular, as well as useful,
and was greatly beloved in the regiment. When he delivered the order the
pallor of his countenance was noticeable. There was no tremor, no
shrinking, no indication of fear; he was intent upon performing his
duty; gave the order and, turning, galloped back to where the shells
were flying thick and fast. When I arrived at the gap in the fence he
was there; he led the way into the field; told me where to go in; there
was no trepidation on his part but still that deathly pallor. As we
passed into the field a shell exploded directly in front of us. It took
a leg off a man in troop H which preceded us and had dismounted to fight
on foot, and I saw him hopping around on his one remaining limb and
heard him shriek with pain. A fragment of the same shell took a piece
off the rim of Lieutenant E.L. Craw's hat. He was riding at my side. I
believe it was the same shell that killed Jewett. He had left me to
direct the next troop in order, and a fragment of one of these shells
struck him in the throat and killed him instantly. As I moved rapidly
forward after getting into the field I did not see him again, and did
not know he was killed until after dark, when we had succeeded in making
our escape by a very narrow chance.
We were moved well over to the right--all the time under a furious fire
of artillery--and kept there until almost dark, fighting all the time
with the troops that were pushed out from Williamsport. In the meantime,
the firing and yelling in rear could be heard distinctly and it seemed
that at any moment the little force was to be closed in on and captured.
Finally, just after dark, it was withdrawn. Those on the right of the
road--the First and Sixth--the Fifth and Seventh being to the left, were
obliged to reach and cross the pike to make their escape. Weber
stealthily withdrew the battalion. He was the last man to leave the
field. When we were forming in the road, after rallying the skirmishers,
the enemy was in plain sight only a little way toward Hagerstown and it
seemed as if one could throw a stone and hit them. We expected they
would charge us, but they did not, and probably the growing darkness
prevented it. In fact, there was manifest a disposition on their part to
let us alone if we would not molest them.
We then marched off into a piece of woods and, the regiment having all
reunited, learned--those who had not known of it before--of Jewett's
death. His body was still where it fell. The suggestion was made to go
and recover it. Weber and his men made an attempt to do so, but by that
time the enemy had come up and taken possession of the field. This was a
terrible blow to all, to be obliged to leave the body of a beloved
comrade; to be denied the privilege of aiding in placing him in a
soldier's grave, and performing the last offices of affection for a
fallen friend.
The death of Jewett was a blow to the regiment the more severe because
he was the first officer killed up to that time. A portion of the
regiment had been roughly handled on the evening of July 2, at
Hunterstown--where Thompson and Ballard were wounded--and the latter
taken prisoner. A number of the rank and file were in the list of
killed, wounded and missing. Enough had been seen of war to bring to all
a realization of its horrors. Death was a familiar figure, yet Jewett's
position as adjutant had brought him into close relations with both
officers and men and his sudden death was felt as a personal
bereavement. It was like coming into the home and taking one of the best
beloved of the household.
After getting out of the Williamsport affair most of the night was taken
up in marching and on the morning of the 7th, the brigade was back in
Boonsborough where, remaining in camp all day, it obtained a much needed
rest, though the Fourth of July rain storm was repeated. Lee's army had
reached the Potomac, and not being able to cross by reason of the high
water, was entrenching on the north side. Meade's army was concentrating
in the vicinity but seemed in no hurry about it. During the day some
heavy siege guns, coming down the mountain road, passed through
Boonsborough going to the front. A big battle was expected to begin at
any moment, and we wondered why there was so much deliberation, when
Lee's army was apparently in a trap with a swollen river behind it. It
did not seem possible that he would be permitted to escape into Virginia
without fighting a battle. To the cavalry of Kilpatrick's division,
which had been marching and countermarching over all the country between
the South mountain and the Potomac river, the delay was inexplicable.
Every trooper believed that the Army of the Potomac had the confederacy
by the throat, at last, and that vigorous and persistent effort would
speedily crush the life out of it.
But no battle took place and, on the morning of the 8th, Stuart's
cavalry which was now covering Lee's front, was attacked in front of
Boonsborough by Buford and Kilpatrick, and a hard battle resulted. Most
of the fighting was done dismounted, the commands being deployed as
skirmishers. Custer's brigade occupied the extreme left of the line, and
I think the Sixth the left of the brigade. The enemy was also on foot,
though many mounted officers could be seen on their line. We had here a
good opportunity to test the qualities of the Spencer carbines and,
armed as we were, we proved more than a match for any force that was
encountered. The firing was very sharp at times, and took on the
character of skirmishing, the men taking advantage of every cover that
presented itself. The confederates were behind a stone fence, we in a
piece of woods along a rail fence, which ran along the edge of the
timber. Between was an open field. Several times they attempted to come
over the stone wall, and advance on our position, but each time were
driven back. Once an officer jumped up on the fence and tried to wave
his men forward. A shot from a Spencer brought him headlong to the
ground, and after that no one had the temerity to expose himself in that
way.
At this stage of the battle (it must have been about eleven o'clock in
the forenoon) a singular thing happened. It is one of those numberless
incidents that do not appear in official reports, and which give to
individual reminiscences their unique interest.
An officer, dressed in blue, with the regulation cavalry hat, riding a
bay horse which had the look of a thoroughbred, rode along in rear of
our line with an air of authority, and with perfect coolness said, as he
passed from right to left, "General Kilpatrick orders that the line
fall back rapidly." The order was obeyed promptly, though it struck us
as strange that such a strong position should be given up without a
struggle. We had not been under Kilpatrick long enough to recognize all
the members of his staff on sight, and it did not occur to any one at
the time to question the fellow's authority or make him show his
credentials.
The line left the woods and retreated to a good defensive position on a
ridge of high ground facing the woods, the enemy meantime advancing with
a yell to the timber we had abandoned. Then it was learned that
Kilpatrick had given no such order, but the "staff officer" had
disappeared and, when we came to think about it, nobody could describe
him very closely. He had seemed to flit along the line, giving the order
but stopping nowhere, and leaving no very clear idea as to how he
looked. There is but little doubt that he was an audacious confederate,
probably one of Stuart's scouts clothed in federal uniform, who made a
thorough tour of inspection of our line, and then, after seeing us fall
back, very likely led his own line to the position which he secured by
this daring stratagem. The confederates were up to such tricks, and
occasionally the yankees were smart enough to give them a Roland for
their Oliver.
It was presently necessary to advance and drive the enemy out of the
woods, which was done in gallant style, the whole line joining. This
time there was no stopping, but the pursuit was kept up for several
miles. I can hear gallant Weber's voice now, as he shouted, "Forward,
my men," and leaping to the front led them in the charge.
The Fifth Michigan was to our right, and Colonel Alger who was in
command was wounded in the leg and had to leave the field. We did not
see him again for some time, the command devolving upon Lieutenant
Colonel Gould who, in turn, was himself wounded a day or two later, and
Major Luther S. Trowbridge, who did such gallant fighting at Gettysburg,
succeeded to the command.
From the night of the 8th to the morning of the 11th there was an
interval of quietude. The cavalry was waiting and watching for Lee or
Meade to do something and, to the credit of the union troopers, it must
be said that they were eager for the conflict to begin believing, as
they did, that the war ought to end in a day.
July 11, early in the morning, an attack was made on the lines around
Hagerstown, which developed a hornets' nest of sharpshooters armed with
telescopic rifles, who could pick a man's ear off half-a-mile away. The
bullets from their guns had a peculiar sound, something like the buzz of
a bumble-bee, and the troopers' horses would stop, prick up their ears
and gaze in the direction whence the hum of those invisible messengers
could be heard. Unable to reach them mounted, we finally deployed
dismounted along a staked rail fence. The confederates were behind trees
and shocks of grain, at least half-a-mile away. They would get the
range so accurately that it was dangerous to stand still a moment. It
was possible, however, to dodge the bullets by observing the puffs of
smoke from their guns. The distance was so great that the puff was seen
some seconds before the report was heard, and before the arrival of the
leaden missile. By moving to the right or left the shot could be
avoided, which in many cases was so accurately aimed as to have been
fatal, had it been awaited. Once I was slow about moving. The scamp in
my immediate front had evidently singled me out and was sending them in
so close as to make it sure that he was taking deadly aim. I took my eye
off his natural fortress for an instant, when he fired, and before I
could jump, the ball struck a rail in front of me, and passing through
the rail, fell to the ground at my feet.
Most of the men were content to keep behind the fence and try and give
the confederates as good as they sent, aiming at the points whence the
puffs of smoke came. But there was one daring fellow, Halleck by name,
who climbed over the fence and amused himself shelling and eating the
wheat while he dodged the bullets. So keen an eye did he keep out for
the danger, that he escaped without a scratch. While he was there a man
named Mattoon, a good soldier, came up, and seeing Halleck, jumped over
with the exclamation, "What are you doing here?" "Just wait a minute and
you will see," said Halleck. Mattoon was a fat, chubby fellow, and in
just about "a minute" a bullet struck him in the face, going through the
fleshy part of the cheek and making the blood spout. "I told you so,"
said Halleck, who kept on eating wheat and defying the sharpshooters,
who were unable to hit him, though he was a conspicuous target. The
secret of it was he did not stand still, but kept moving, and they had
to hit him, if at all, like a bird on the wing which at the distance was
a hard shot to make.
The entire day was passed in this kind of skirmishing, and it was both
dangerous and exciting. The men had lots of fun out of it, and only a
few of them were shot, though there were many narrow escapes.
On the morning of July 14, the Third cavalry division marched over the
Hagerstown pike, into Williamsport. There was no enemy there. Lee had
given Meade the slip. His army was across the Potomac, in Virginia once
more, safe from pursuit. As he reined up his faithful steed upon the
northern bank of the broad river, the union trooper looked wistfully at
the country beyond. Well he knew that Lee had escaped, like a bird from
the snare, and could march leisurely back to his strongholds. Visions of
the swamps of the Chickahominy, of Bull Run, of Fredericksburg, of
Chancellorsville, passed before his mind as with pensive thought he
gazed upon the shining valley of the Shenandoah, stretching away to the
southward in mellow perspective. He wondered how long the two armies
were to continue the work of alternately chasing each other back and
forth across this battle-ground of the republic. The wide, majestic
river, no longer vexed by the splashing tread of passing squadrons, with
smooth and tranquil flow swept serenely along, the liquid notes of its
rippling eddies seeming to mock at the disappointment of the baffled
pursuer. The calm serenity of the scene was in sharp contrast with the
stormy passions of the men who sought to disturb it with the stern
fatalities of war. The valley, rich with golden harvests, presented a
charming dissolving view, melting away in the dim distance. On the left,
the smoky summits of the Blue mountains marked the eastern limits of
this "storehouse of the confederacy," the whole forming a picture in
which beauty and grandeur were strikingly blended.
But this reverie of the soldier was soon rudely disturbed. Word came
that they were not all across after all. Five miles below, at Falling
Waters, in a bend of the river, was a ford where a portion of
Longstreet's corps was yet to cross on a pontoon bridge. Kilpatrick
started off in hot haste for Falling Waters, determined to strike the
last blow on northern soil. The Sixth Michigan was in advance, two
troops--B and F--under Major Weber, acting as advance guard. Kilpatrick
and Custer followed Weber; then came Colonel Gray with the remainder of
the regiment.
The march from Williamsport to Falling Waters was a wild ride. For the
whole distance the horses were spurred to a gallop. Kilpatrick was
afraid he would not get there in time to overtake the enemy, so he
spared neither man nor beast. The road was soft and miry, and the horses
sank almost to their knees in the sticky mud. For this reason the column
straggled, and it was not possible to keep a single troop closed up in
sets of fours. At such a rapid rate the column plunged through the muddy
roads, Weber and his little force leading.
On nearing Falling Waters, the column turned to the right through a
wood, which skirted a large cultivated field. To the right and front,
beyond the field, was a high hill or knoll on which an earthwork had
been thrown up. Behind the earthwork a considerable force of confederate
infantry was seen in bivouac, evidently taking a rest, with arms
stacked. As a matter of fact, for it will be as well to know what was
there, though the general in command made very little note of it at the
time, there were two brigades--an entire division--commanded by General
Pettigrew, one of the men who participated in Pickett's charge at
Gettysburg.
On sighting this force, Custer ordered Weber to dismount his men,
advance a line of skirmishers toward the hill and ascertain what he had
to encounter. Kilpatrick however ordered Weber to remount and charge the
hill. At that time no other portion of the regiment had arrived so as to
support the charge.
Weber, knowing no law for a soldier except implicit obedience to orders,
first saw his men well closed up, then placed himself at their head and
giving the order "Forward," emerged from the woods into the open field,
took the trot until near the top of the slope, close to the earthworks,
and then with a shout the little band of less than a hundred men charged
right into the midst of ten times their number of veteran troops. The
first onset surprised and astonished the enemy, who had mistaken Weber's
force for a squadron of their own cavalry. The audacity of the thing
dazed them for a minute, and for a minute only.
Weber, cutting right and left with his saber, and cheering on his men,
pierced the first line, but there could be but one result. Recovering
from their surprise, the confederate infantry rallied, and seizing their
arms, made short work of their daring assailants. In a few minutes, of
the three officers in the charge, two--Weber and Bolza--lay dead on the
field, and the other--Crawford--had his leg shattered so it had to be
amputated.
The two brave troops were more than decimated, though a considerable
number succeeded in escaping with their lives.
This charge which Kilpatrick in his official report characterized as
"the most gallant ever made," was described by a confederate eye-witness
who was on the hill with Pettigrew and who wrote an account of the
affair for a southern paper several years ago, as "a charge of
dare-devils."
[Illustration: PETER A. WEBER]
In the meantime, just as Weber's command was repulsed, the other
squadrons of the regiment began to arrive, and were hurried across the
field to the foot of the hill, and there dismounted to fight, dressing
to the left as they successively reached the alignment and opening fire
with their Spencers at once. But having disposed of the two mounted
troops, the confederates filled the earthworks, and began to send a
shower of bullets at those already formed or forming below.
My troop was the fourth from the rear of the regiment, and consequently
several preceded it on the line. When I reached the fence, along the
side of the field next the woods, I found Lieutenant A.E. Tower, who
since the death of Jewett had been acting adjutant, at the gap giving
orders. He directed me to take my command across the field, and form on
the right of that next preceding. I had ridden so rapidly that only a
few men had kept up the pace, and the remainder were strung out for some
distance back. But taking those that were up, and asking the adjutant to
tell the others to follow, I dashed into the field, and soon found that
we were the targets for the enemy on the hill, who made the air vibrant
with the whiz of bullets. It was hot, but we made our way across without
being hit, and reached the place where the regiment was trying to form,
under fire of musketry from the hill, and getting badly cut up. Reining
up my horse, I gave the order, "Dismount, to fight on foot" and,
glancing back, saw my men coming in single file, reaching to the
fence--probably an eighth of a mile--and the rear had not yet left the
woods. The two leading sets of fours which alone were closed up obeyed
the order and, dismounting to direct the alignment, I stepped in front
of my horse, still holding the bridle rein in my right hand, when a
minie bullet from the hill in front with a vicious thud went through my
right foot, making what the surgeon in Washington afterwards said was
the "prettiest wound I ever saw."
I tried to stand but could not. The foot was useless. Private
Halleck--the same who was eating wheat at Hagerstown a few days
before--jumped to my rescue and helped me off the field.
Back of our position some distance, say 500 yards, was a log house in an
orchard. To this we directed our steps, I leaning on Halleck's shoulder,
and hopping along on the unhurt foot. The most uncomfortable experience
I had during the war I believe was during the passage across the open
field to the orchard. Our backs were to the foe and the whistling
bullets which came thick and fast all about served to accelerate our
speed. I expected every moment to be shot in the back. One poor fellow,
already wounded, who was trying to run to the rear, was making
diagonally across the field from the right. As he was about to pass us a
bullet struck him and he fell dead in his tracks. Halleck succeeded in
getting to the house, where he left me with the remark: "You are all
right now, captain, the boys need me and I will go back on the line."
And back he went into the thickest of it, and fought gallantly to the
end of the engagement, as I learned by inquiry afterwards.
After a little, the confederates drove our line back beyond the house,
and it was, for perhaps an hour, on the neutral ground between friends
and foes. Shells from the opposing batteries hurtled around, and I did
not know what moment one of them would come crashing through the
building. A hospital flag had been displayed above it, which saved it.
Finally, sufficient force arrived to give our people the best of it, and
the enemy was driven in confusion to the river, losing about 1,500
prisoners, one or two pieces of artillery and many small arms. General
Pettigrew was killed by Weber or one of his men. Until the battle was
over I did not know what fearful losses had befallen the regiment. The
total casualties were 33 killed and 56 wounded. The loss in officers was
heavy: Major Weber, killed; Lieutenant Bolza, commanding troop B,
killed; Lieutenant Potter, troop C, wounded and prisoner; Captain Royce,
troop D, killed; Captain Kidd, troop E, wounded; Lieutenant Crawford,
troop F, lost a leg; Lieutenant Kellogg, troop H, wounded and a
prisoner.
The story of "The Michigan Cavalry Brigade in the Gettysburg Campaign,"
properly ends with the death of General Pettigrew and Major Weber at
Falling Waters. No more brilliant passage at arms took place during the
war for the union, and it is a pity that some more able historian could
not have written the story and immortalized the men, both dead and
living who had a part in it.[15]