and vivid descriptions of action, so completely hide the actual feelings
of the _men_ engaged that the inexperienced may be pardoned the thought,
that, having donned the insignia of a soldier, a man instantly becomes
filled with martial ardor, and eager to face the most withering fire of
musketry or artillery. But the reality is far different; very few men
are so constituted, or are so reckless of their lives, that they can
listen to the unearthly screech of the shell or the crash of solid shot,
mingled with the sickening thud of grape and bullets, without a shiver
of weakness creeping through their systems, and a helpless knocking of
their knees together. It is a military fact that lines of combatants as
they go into position are not made up of heroes, and regiments which won
renown in such scenes of carnage as Fredericksburg, or Gettysburg, or
the Wilderness, were composed of plain, quiet men, who were
faint-hearted and homesick when forming in front of flashing batteries
or heavy bodies of opposing troops. It was only when completely
involved _in_ the struggle, after the madness of excitement had overcome
the real man, that they proved themselves to be, what we now know them,
heroes. But it very often happened that troops were placed in positions
where neither glory nor honor could redound to them, however brave they
might be, and where the results of such movements were not at all in
keeping with the loss of life incurred. This little sketch covers
somewhat such an occasion, where troops comparatively new in the service
were ordered to perform work which seemed uncalled-for and extra
hazardous, and of so little consequence that no record will ever be made
of it, although lives were lost in its accomplishment. An inside view is
simply given of the true feelings and actions of men at such times, and
necessarily lacks the glow of enthusiasm which is thrown around the
picture of the historic battle. But to the story.
If there was one feature in the South which annoyed the Federal
commanders more than another it was the railroad system. Through its
medium they were enabled to supply their armies from the great
plantation centres where war was unknown. With a railroad at the back of
each army, they were enabled to move with small wagon trains, and could
utilize troops that would otherwise have been detached as guards. By its
potent power, also, the troops were hurried from point to point of the
Confederacy, thus keeping the Federal armies so long outside the charmed
circle of the seceded States. With worn-out rails, scant supply of
carriage-material, and wheezy engines, they performed herculean labor
throughout the war. Consequently it became the favorite pastime and the
almost sole business of Union cavalry to destroy or attempt destruction
of railroad communication. Thousands upon thousands of valuable lives
were sacrificed in such movements, and without any material damage to
the fighting centre of the Confederacy.
Our department commander, becoming infatuated with this method of making
war upon the South, was urging his corps towards a well-known railroad
junction one clear, cool day in December, '62. We were some fifty miles
from our base, and bodies of the enemy were continually harassing our
line of march, sometimes meeting us in sharp conflict, and at all times
impeding our progress by road-obstruction. Already the killed and
wounded were counted by hundreds, and the coveted goal still far away.
As we plodded wearily along, wondering what would happen next, one of
the division staff dashed up to our brigadier and ordered him to detach
one of his regiments and send it to support cavalry that had seized a
bridge some miles to our right. It was the fortune of our regiment to be
detached for the service, and we marched into a wood-road, rather
depressed in feelings, and sadly missing that sense of security which
the fellowship of a large body of men gives to the soldier. On we went
for about three miles through dense woods that chilled one's very marrow
with their gloom. Occasional glimpses of bits of blue sky through the
overarching branches were the only reminders that the outside world
remained as it used to be. Once or twice we passed small openings in
which some poor white had located, and where half-naked children were
the only signs of civilization, or, rather, uncivilization, till, at
last, under the guidance of a scout, we filed into a clearing about a
quarter of a mile from the bridge. Through the woods we could see two
guns planted in the road at the bridgehead, and a squadron of dismounted
cavalry supporting them. The smoke rising from the partially burnt
timbers, and the frequent interchange of rifle and carbine shots, with
now and then the roar of artillery, gave ample evidence that business
would soon be lively in that locality. The outlook was not at all
enlivening; our regiment was small in number, the woods dark and
treacherous,--the main army adding mile upon mile to the interval
between us,--and we were very forcibly impressed that even
railroad-smashing, in plenty of company, was far better than
bridge-burning with such lonesome surroundings.
While chewing the cud of reflection, and anxiously considering the
situation, a major of cavalry appeared from the woods calling for
assistance, and cold perspiration covered us as our captain was ordered
to place his company under the major's direction. Command was given to
"Fall in," which we did with very solemn faces, and whisperings went
through the ranks that we guessed it was all up with us; but the order
to "March" called us to duty and we proceeded down the road accompanied
by a battery, which had at that moment arrived and proved a welcome
addition to our meagre force. Halting in a clump of trees, a short
distance from the river, we divested ourselves of all luggage and then
made our way through the woods to the edge of a field that bordered on
the river bank; quietness reigned as we deployed as skirmishers, and
just before we advanced, the cavalryman pleasantly informed us that when
the line struck a certain stump, we should get abundant notice of our
Confederate friends' proximity. Not in the least overjoyed at this
information, we crept slowly forward, all eyes and ears, and as the
extreme left came into line with the stump, the heavens opened, or at
least we thought they had, and six pieces of artillery sent their
compliments in the shape of so many barrelsful of grape. One grand
_whir-r-r-r_ went over us, around us, and, in imagination, through us;
it took but the sixtieth part of a minute for fifty men to flatten
themselves upon the earth and wish they had never gone to the war. No
time was wasted in examining the topography of the position, or in
looking for safer quarters, our military discipline showing itself in
the unanimity with which we then and there dropped as one man. In the
short interval between the first and second discharges of grape, one of
those incidents occurred which often turns the seriousness of battle
into a seeming frolic. While considering the expediency of advancing,
our attention was drawn to the antics of several cattle, which had been
quietly grazing near by, now so thoroughly astonished at the strange
proceedings that they were literally attempting to carry out the old
Mother Goose rhyme of "jumping over the moon." With tails stiff as
crowbars and hind legs higher than their heads, they were cavorting
around the field, bellowing with fright, and making such an extremely
ludicrous spectacle, that, in our excited condition, it was more than we
could bear, and almost hysterical laughter weakened us so that we were
hardly able to move. But the range of the enemy's guns was too accurate
to admit of a long stay in this locality, so we pushed on, rolling or
crawling, to the thin line of trees by the river, continual discharges
of grape adding increased momentum to our movements, and solid shot from
our own battery crossing us so closely that it made the neighborhood
more dangerous than social. Drawing long breaths of relief at last,
behind the partial shelter of a rail fence, we began to make as close
investigation of our opponents across the stream as the difficulties of
the position would allow. We found the country thickly inhabited, every
stump and tree sheltering its quota of men in gray, and six ugly-looking
cannon at work upon our position with a rapidity and precision that was
certainly commendable to them, if not fully appreciated by us. However,
we soon lost our fears and misgivings in our eagerness to make the
climate as warm for them as they had so far made it for us, and we
settled down to our work with a vim that would have made old veterans
envious. The river was so narrow that every movement on either side was
visible, and, lying flat upon the ground, we fired for hours at any
signs of life, and were continually answered by the _zip-zip_ of bullets
as they flew past our heads, or buried themselves in the rails above us.
Thus the conflict continued; grape and solid shot tore frantically over
us, plowing up the dirt and crashing through the woods in the rear,
filling our ears with the most frightful din. Our greatest difficulty
was in loading, for if so much as a hand was exposed to view, such a
rain of lead would be sent our way that it took some minutes to assure
one's self that he was not killed. Once in a while, the word would be
passed along, "George is wounded," "Ned is killed," or, "Serg't Smith"
has a hole through his arm, and we would instinctively get closer to the
ground and flatten ourselves out as thin as possible. Hunger and thirst
also began to tell on us, and we longed for the darkness to come, but
our opponents with their larger force held us to our work, seeming loth
to have us depart.
About dusk the order was given to fall back quickly and quietly, but how
to do it safely in the face of a regiment of Confederates was a puzzle
to be solved; edging backward till at fair distance from the fence, we
suddenly rose and scampered, in knots of two or three, at break-neck
speed for the other side of the field, with bullets and grape buzzing
around us like angry wasps. When, at length, we gathered, shivering with
the cold, around our pile of blankets, and felt hungrily in the
emptiness of our haversacks for one remaining cracker, the prevailing
feeling was that "we wanted to go home," but, to our intense disgust, we
were ordered to eat our hardtack, if so fortunate as to have any, and,
as soon as sufficiently dark to conceal our movements, to picket the
river bank near the bridge and be ready to support the battery in any
attempted night surprise. This we felt to be an outrage on good nature,
and so expressed ourselves in language not at all polite. We were tired
and hungry, and the night cold and sharp, but orders are orders and must
be obeyed, and we moodily wended our way to our various stations.
It was a good time to illustrate those lines of Tennyson,--
"Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why."
Nevertheless we were not at all in harmony with the poem, but felt
perfectly willing and wholly competent to instruct our commanders on the
correct way to handle troops. As we pushed on through the underbrush and
debris of the forest, the smallest stick trod upon would crack like a
rifle-shot, and the unearthly howl of a dog, in the yard of a hut near
by, made our hair stand on end as it echoed through the woods. The hours
passed tediously as we peered through the darkness across the sluggish
stream to the opposite side; but a little after midnight movements of
the enemy, which they did not try to conceal, awakened our fears; the
noise of bodies of men moving from different points, mingled with the
sound of voices and frequent shouts, led us to feel that life would be
safer and pleasanter behind our battery, when an officer came from the
rear and ordered us to come out in a hurry. We didn't stand upon the
order of going, but "got, right smart,"--not a word of fault was found,
nor a complaint made, out of harmony with the officer's wishes. Company
was formed at once, and the retreat up the road commenced, many an eye
peering back into the darkness to see if the expected pursuit had begun;
and had we waited an hour longer, our march would have been towards the
prison-pens of Georgia, for our opponents then crossed the bridge with a
force that would have swept us away in a moment; and the longer we live
the happier we feel that our curiosity remained unsatisfied. Upon
reaching the regiment we learned that our corps, having been unable to
accomplish the object in view, as so many other expeditions failed to
do, were in retreat, with heavy forces fresh from Lee's army in pursuit,
and that it behooved us to cover the three-mile interval in double-quick
time if we would join the procession in safety. We had been without
rations all day, and for drinkables had only the water that lay in
puddles by the roadside; but, wearied as we were, we kept pace with the
other companies, muttering bitter imprecations against everybody in
general, as we stumbled into holes or tripped over sticks in the intense
darkness of the forest road. At early dawn we fell into the line of the
retreating corps, but not till near midnight did the army halt with the
feeling that it had placed safe distance between it and our adversaries.
Then we 'broke ranks for rails,' and, with coffee and pipes, sat beside
the cheering blaze recounting the incidents of the engagement. Our
little encounter, so insignificant beside the story of great battles,
was yet full of interest to us, and some were missing from our ranks
who would never again respond to their country's call. To them and
theirs it was the great battle of the Rebellion; to us, who live to tell
of it, only an episode of army life.
A TOWN MEETING-HOUSE,
AND TOWN POLITICS IN THE LAST CENTURY.
BY ATHERTON P. MASON, M. D.
Nearly a century ago the little town, now the prosperous city, of
Fitchburg, Mass., was the scene of a fierce contest that lasted a
decade. Never in the history of the town was there contention so bitter
or opposition so determined as that shown in the ninety-nine town
meetings held during the years 1786-96. The cause of this tempest in a
teapot was the location of a new meeting-house.
At that time the "center of the town" was in the easterly part of the
township, in the vicinity of the present Union Passenger Depot. Here
were located the rather shabby yellow meeting-house, Cowdin's tavern,
Dea. Ephraim Kimball's mill, Joseph Fox's "red store," and several
dwelling-houses. Westward from this ran a country road (now Main Street)
along which were scattered half a dozen houses. West of the present
junction of River and Main Streets there were almost no habitations
until reaching the high land, now known as Dean Hill, about 1-3/4 miles
distant. This high land was early settled by farmers, because of the
excellent soil, and comparative freedom from early frosts. Here were two
taverns, a blacksmith's shop, a store, and a number of dwellings. These
people in the west were considerably removed from the river, which at
that time was regarded as a curse to the town, and were desirous of
being separated from Fitchburg in order to escape the heavy tax annually
levied to maintain bridges. Moreover the west was then the more
flourishing settlement, and its inhabitants began to feel that they
ought to have a meeting-house of their own, and not be obliged to travel
to the easterly part of the town to attend church,--in a word they felt
rather abused at being considered a suburb.
Early in 1785 one of the articles in the town-meeting warrant was, "To
see if the town will take into consideration the request of Jacob Upton
and others, to see if the town will set off the inhabitants of the
north-westerly part of Fitchburg, with their lands and privileges, free
and clear from said Fitchburg, to join the extreme part of Westminster,
with the north-easterly part of Ashburnham, to be incorporated into a
town, to have town privileges, as other towns." Had this request been
granted a new meeting-house would have been built near Upton's tavern;
but it was promptly dismissed. Baffled, but not dismayed, the
petitioners came to the town meeting held in May, 1785, with a
proposition to annex to Fitchburg "about a mile or more in width of
land, with the inhabitants thereon, of the northerly part of the town of
Westminster," and these additional people were "to join the inhabitants
of said Fitchburg to build a meeting-house on Ezra Upton's land." This
scheme was very artful, but the wise men of the east saw that such a
move would throw the balance of power into the hands of the west, and
therefore voted it down.
These two defeats stirred up the people of the west, and they determined
to carry their point in some way. In March, 1786, they petitioned "that
Rev. Mr. Payson have liberty to preach some part of the time in the year
in the westerly part of the town." This was certainly a modest request,
but was denied, the people of the east evidently thinking that if they
yielded an inch they might, at no very distant date, have to travel two
or three miles.
All this, however, was but a skirmish. The date of the beginning of the
real contest was Sept. 12, 1786, when, it was voted "to build a new
meeting-house in the centre of the town, or in the nearest convenient
place to the centre." It was thus agreed that a new house was to be
built, but _where_ to build it was not easily determined. The maxim,
large bodies move slowly, was verified in this instance, for, although
there was much private sputtering in regard to the location, no further
public action was taken for two years. Meanwhile Jedediah Cooper and
Jacob Upton, the two tavern keepers in the westerly part of the town,
despairing of any redress, determined, together with some of their
neighbors, to have a meeting-house among themselves at any rate. They
accordingly erected in the course of time a shabby structure, just
within the limits of the town, which was used to some extent for
preaching; but the proprietors did not take much care of it, and its
dilapidated appearance earned for it the name of the "Lord's Barn." It
was sold and taken down about sixty years ago, and the proceeds of the
sale (about thirty-six dollars) were divided among the proprietors.
Sept. 9, 1788, the subject was again brought before the town by means of
an article in the warrant,--"To see if the town will erect a
meeting-house in the centre of the town, or receive any part of
Westminster that shall be willing to join with us, and then erect a
meeting-house in the nearest convenient place to the centre." This
article was put into the warrant by the people of the west, whose
underlying object was the formation of a new town, while the rest of the
inhabitants were strenuously opposed to this project. No action was
taken on this article at this meeting. A few days later, Sept. 23, a
meeting was called, at which a committee, consisting of Moses Hale,
Oliver Stickney, Daniel Putnam, Jacob Upton, and Asa Perry, was
appointed "to find a place to erect a meeting-house in the most
convenient place to accommodate the inhabitants of the town of
Fitchburg." The result of the investigation made by these five gentlemen
was that two of them found the most convenient place to be in the west,
two in the east, and the remaining member was upon the fence. A town
meeting was held, Oct. 2, to hear the report of this committee, and when
it had been given it was rejected, and the gentlemen were promptly
discharged from further services in that direction. A motion was then
made to place the new house on the site of the old one: this was
negatived. Then, "after much consideration," as the record says, it was
voted "to erect the new meeting-house in the nearest convenient place to
the centre." Such brilliant progress must have been altogether too
gratifying, for a few minutes later it was voted "to reconsider all
votes hitherto passed relating to this matter." At this stage in the
proceedings the meeting was adjourned to nine o'clock of the next day.
On the following morning the parties proceeded to business. It was first
moved to place the new house where the old one then stood; this was
again negatived. It was then moved to place it "on the hill near Phineas
Sawyer's house, on the land belonging to the heirs of Mr. Ezra Upton"
(in the westerly part of the town). The meeting was divided on this
motion, "to find a true vote," as the record states, and thirty-two
voted in favor of it and seventeen against it. So by a vote of nearly
two to one it was decided to place the new house in the west, and it
looked as if everything was going on swimmingly. A committee was chosen,
consisting of Reuben Smith, Asa Perry, Phineas Sawyer, Elijah Carter,
and Jacob Upton, "to be invested with power to agree with the owners of
the new frame erecting for a meeting-house (that of Jacob Upton and
others before mentioned) in the north-westerly part of the town, if that
appear cheapest for the town,--otherways are invested with power to
provide materials and timber for building a new meeting-house in the
prudentest manner for said town on said plat of ground." This committee
was instructed to report progress at the next town meeting.
This was a bitter pill for the east to swallow. Resolved on retaliation,
the east called a town meeting immediately "To see if the town will
comply with a request of a number of the inhabitants of Fitchburg, to
grant that they, together with their respective estates and interests,
may be set off from Fitchburg and annexed to Lunenburg." This request
was denied. The honest people, who, for the sake of peace and
reconciliation had favored the west at the previous meeting, were now
thoroughly alarmed. They held the balance of power, and were in a very
unpleasant predicament. If they voted to place the new house in the
east, the west threatened to form a new parish; and if they favored the
west, the east evinced strong symptoms of returning to the parent town
of Lunenburg.
Meanwhile, undaunted by this sudden squall in the east, the committee
had bargained for the frame of the new meeting-house being erected in
the north-westerly part of the town, prepared a site for the new house
on the land of Ezra Upton's heirs, and done sundry other wise things.
Nov. 17, 1788, a town meeting was called to listen to the report of this
committee. Their excellent progress was set forth with great confidence,
whereupon the meeting gravely voted not to accept the report, and added
insult to injury by summarily discharging the committee from further
service. This was done by the peacemakers who were at their wits' ends,
and this time threw their influence into the eastern scale. At this
meeting a committee was chosen to find the centre of the town. After a
survey, the centre was found to be on the land of one Thomas Boynton,
about five hundred feet north of the pound. Their report was accepted at
a town meeting held Dec. 18, 1788, and a committee, consisting of Thomas
Cowdin, Phineas Hartwell, Oliver Stickney, Daniel Putnam, and Paul
Wetherbee, was chosen to bargain for a site in the most suitable place.
This committee bought twenty-two and a half acres of land, a little
south of the pound, of Boynton, paying therefor two dollars and
thirty-three cents per acre, and the town approved this action.
The west, not thinking this location near enough, resorted to the old
scheme of forming a new town, and called two meetings for that purpose,
thereby scaring the conscientious peacemakers nearly out of their wits;
but for some reason or other the men of the west did not put in an
appearance, and these two meetings were uncommonly peaceable. The
petitions were dismissed. The reason of their non-appearance at these
meetings probably was that the people of the west, who all this time
were carrying on their plans vigorously but quietly, as will soon be
seen, wished to lull the rest of the town into a sense of security.
At a meeting held Nov. 2, 1789, the town voted "to erect a new
meeting-house on the land purchased of Thomas Boynton," and a committee
was chosen to take the matter in charge. Two weeks later the town voted
to reconsider all former votes; so that at the end of four years the
town was in the same position regarding this matter as when it began
operations, with the exception of owning twenty-two and a half acres of
real estate. The cause of this singular action was the culmination of
the move on the part of the west, alluded to above. The people of the
west, together with portions of Westminster, Ashburnham, and Ashby, had
presented to the General Court a powerful petition for an act of
incorporation into a town.
"This petition set forth in glowing colors the delightful situation of
the contemplated town--how nature had lavished all her skill upon
it--how admirably adapted for a township by itself was the noble swell
of land--and that nothing in nature or in art could exceed the grand and
imposing spectacle of a meeting-house towering from its summit, while
beneath the said swell was a region of low, sunken land which almost cut
off the petitioners from intercourse with the rest of mankind.[B]"