LIFE AS CHAPLAIN
One of Edward's schoolmates at Cornwall, writing of him, said: "We met
again on a most memorable evening in the early days of the war, when
with two young ladies, one of whom became his wife, we rowed out on the
Hudson River, under the shadow of Storm King, while the whole sky from
west to east flamed with crimson-tinted clouds, that seemed a portent
of the scenes to follow. When we reached the dock on our return the
evening papers brought the details of the battle of Bull Run, fought on
the previous day."
I remember Edward's intense excitement on his return home that night,
and his remark that if he were only through his seminary course he
would join the army as chaplain. From that time I believe the purpose
was constantly in his mind; and the next year, 1862, although his
studies were not then completed, he became chaplain of the famous
Harris Light Cavalry, under the command of the gallant Kilpatrick,
later Brigadier and Major General, who was always my brother's firm
friend.
The following testimony to Edward's work among the soldiers was written
upon the field by a correspondent of the New York _Tribune_.
"Chaplain Roe, of the Second New York (Harris Light) Cavalry, is a
man whose praises are in the mouth of every one for timely and
efficient services. He is always with the regiment, and his whole
time is devoted to the temporal and spiritual welfare of the men.
He is their friend, adviser, and counsellor, and commands the
respect of all who know him--something that cannot be said of every
chaplain in the army."
[Illustration: E. P. ROE AS A STUDENT.]
The _Observer_ of that year also published a letter written by a
private in the Harris Light Cavalry to his parents. In it is found this
reference to their chaplain.
"To-day is Sunday, and, as a great exception, it has appeared like
Sunday. This morning we had service at headquarters, the chaplain
of our regiment officiating, and I think I can safely call him a
pious army chaplain, which I cannot say of any others that _I_ ever
knew; and notwithstanding the little respect most chaplains have
shown to them, and still less encouragement, this one, by his mild,
gentle, manly, humble, and Christian-like demeanor, has won the
respect of all with whom he has had intercourse, from the most
profane and vulgar to the most gentlemanly, which few chaplains
have been able to do. In a fight he is seen encouraging the men; in
the hospital administering to the soldier's wants, both spiritually
and bodily. Last winter, during the worst days of a Virginia
winter, I have seen him going from camp to camp, distributing his
books and papers; and with his own earnings he would buy delicacies
that a poor sick soldier would otherwise in vain long for. These
and other innumerable like acts have gradually caused every one to
at least respect him, and some to love him. His name is Rev. E. P.
Roe, Chaplain Harris Light Cavalry. I have been informed that he
had just graduated when he came into the army. I think Dr. P----
may know him. I believe he is a Presbyterian. If you had any idea
what a chaplain had to contend with, in order to lead a consistent
life, you might then understand why I speak so of him.
"S."
While with this regiment Edward acted as weekly correspondent for the
New York _Evangelist_. A few of his letters to that paper are here
reprinted, in the hope that they may still be found of interest. They
are characteristic of the writer and give a clearer idea of his life at
this time than can be obtained in any other way.
"CAMP HALL'S HILL, Oct. 15, 1862.
"MESSRS. EDITORS:--Till within a few days past we have been
enjoying splendid weather, days as warm and sunny as those of June,
and moonlight nights so clear and beautiful that one could sit at
his tent door and read ordinary type with perfect ease and
pleasure. Of course we improved such favourable weather and held
our prayer-meetings nearly every night. I shall never forget one
religious service that we had last week.
"As usual a large fire was kindled in front of the chaplain's tent,
and the men, having disposed of their suppers, were beginning to
assemble. Soon the musical "church-call" sounded to hasten the
lagging ones, and by the time our exercises commenced about two
hundred were present. Our meetings are of a free and general
character, open to all who are willing to take part in them. We
commence by singing two or three hymns or patriotic songs in
succession, the sound of music calling the men together. A prayer
is then offered, after which I endeavor by some anecdote or
illustration to force home the truth and necessity of a Saviour
upon the minds of those present. The Christian members of the
regiment then follow in prayer, singing, and exhortation, till we
are dispersed by the roll-call. We have interruptions in this, our
usual programme, of such a nature, and with such frequency, that we
have great reason to be thankful and encouraged. They are
occasioned by the stepping forth of soldiers in front of the fire
who have hitherto been silent in our meetings, and who either ask
the prayers of Christians that they may be led to the Saviour, or
calmly and firmly state their intention to enlist under the banner
of the Cross, and urge their comrades to do likewise.
"Towards the close of the service I have mentioned, three young men
rose up together, and calmly and firmly one after another stated
their resolution, with God's help, to live a Christian life. O that
some of our cold, half-hearted professors could have been here
then. Would to God that the voices of those young soldiers, as they
urged with simple and earnest eloquence their comrades to come to
the Saviour likewise, might be heard throughout all the churches of
the North, and sound in every prayer-meeting, in our land. Such
earnest tones and words would soon disperse the moral and religious
apathy that seems to reign undisturbed in many localities, for they
would prove that the Spirit of God was present. It was a scene that
would have moved the coldest heart, and stirred the most sluggish
nature. The starry sky, the full moon overhead flooding all the
landscape with the softest and most beautiful radiance, the white
tents covering the hillsides, the large fire blazing fitfully up,
surrounded by two hundred or more men who might readily be taken at
first glance to be a band of Spanish brigands, all conspired to
make a picture that any artist would wish to copy. But as you
listened to the words of those young men, and the earnest prayer
and songs of praise that followed, all such fanciful thoughts of
banditti and romance would melt away, and the strange, peculiar
costume of those present would become simply the ordinary dress
that the rude taste or necessity of the men during their campaign
had led them to assume, and the dark-bearded faces, made still more
sombre and sinister by the partial light, would resolve themselves
into the bronzed honest features of our American soldiers, now
expressive of solemn thought and feeling. Never was a sound more
unwelcome and discordant than the roll-call which broke up that
assembly.
"After the roll-call a group generally lingers around the fire, and
I often find in it those who wish to be spoken with on the subject
of religion. So it happened this night. A soldier chanced to be
passing by our encampment, and, attracted by the sound of music,
stopped at our meeting. A few days before he had received a letter
from home stating that his mother was very ill and not expected to
live many days. He knew he should never see her again, and his
heart was tender and sad. Thus prepared for the truth by the
Providence of God, his steps were directed to us, and as he sat
there and listened to those three young men as they stated their
resolution from thenceforth to serve God, he too resolved to be a
Christian, and has since found peace in believing. I told him how
our prayer-meeting had been started by two or three Christian
soldiers meeting openly for prayer, and that the same happy state
of things might be brought about in his regiment in a similar
manner. He promised that the prayer-meeting should be commenced.
"The 18th of this month (October) was as beautiful and bright a
Sabbath morning as ever dawned on Virginia. Though the day and all
nature spoke of peace, yet men would not hearken, for it was soon
evident that our brief repose was again to be broken. The Third
Division of cavalry was encamped on the northwestern edge of the
old Bull Run battlefield. The day before we occupied the
battlefield itself. The earlier part of the day was spent by the
different regiments in preparing to march, and by noon the
concentration of the entire command began. Distant outposts,
regiments on picket, and scouting parties were drawn in, and soon
after the battle-flags of General Kilpatrick, General Davies, and
General Custer were seen fluttering through forests or over hills
in the direction of the Warrenton and Alexandria pike. Following
them were long lines of cavalry and artillery, and above all, a
bright October sun that gave to the scene anything but the grimness
of war. As evening approached we came out on Warrenton pike.
General Davies' brigade had the advance, and part of the Harris
Light Cavalry was thrown out as skirmishers. It soon struck the
enemy's pickets, and then a running fight was kept up until within
a short distance of Gainesville. Our flying artillery took
advantage of every high position to send a shell shrieking after
the enemy. It was now dark night. The head of our column had
advanced up within a short distance of the point where the railroad
crossed the pike before entering the village. For a short time
there had been an ominous silence on the part of the rebels, and it
became necessary to send forward part of the Harris Light Cavalry
to find what had become of them. The detachment moved on to cross
the railroad embankment, when suddenly, from over its top, at a
given signal, a line of fire at least three hundred yards long
flashed out into the night, and a perfect storm of bullets rained
over their heads. Fortunately the enemy fired too high to do much
execution, and only a few were wounded. Our boys returned the
volley, and then retired to a small piece of woods, and for a time
a hot skirmish was maintained. Having no knowledge of the force
that might be concealed in the place, and the position being too
strong to be carried by a night assault, further operations were
deferred till morning. The 1st Virginia were left on picket close
to the enemy and the rest of the command fell somewhat back and
went into camp.
"To one not familiar with army life in the field, our mode of
encamping that night would have been extremely interesting and
suggestive. We were in the face of the enemy, which is no place for
careless security. Each brigade was placed by itself, supporting
the batteries which were put in position ready to be used at a
moment's notice. The horses of each regiment were drawn up in ranks
and tied to stakes driven into the ground for the purpose. Each man
slept at the head of his horse, which he kept saddled, and part of
the time bridled. Within three minutes the entire division could
have been out in line of battle. I have known our regiment to
saddle their horses, lead out from the woods, form ranks, count
four and stand ready to charge into anything that might oppose,
within just three minutes by the watch. In the rear of this warlike
array the ammunition wagons and ambulances were parked in regular
order, the team horses standing ready harnessed. Thus Kilpatrick's
little fighting division lay there that night like a panther
crouched ready to spring. During the night wagons came up with
rations, which were soon distributed. The groupings around the
fires, after this, were picturesque in the extreme. Some of the
men, shrouded in their great military overcoats, stood quietly
warming themselves, throwing out immense shadows that stretched
away till lost in the surrounding darkness. The dusky forms of
others might be seen passing to and fro in the preparation of their
rude meal of fried pork and hardtack, while the flickering blaze
revealed the burly forms of a still greater number reposing upon
the ground in all varieties of attitude. At last the entire
division, except the vigilant pickets and sentinels, was wrapped in
slumber. At four o'clock the bugle sounded reveille, and the camp
was soon all astir. Soon after we saw a flash in the direction of
the enemy, and listened breathlessly a moment for the report of
rebel cannon, but the long interval and distant heavy rumble that
followed satisfied us that a storm other than that of war was about
to break over us; and soon it came, with high cold winds and
drenching rain. As we cowered around our smoking, dying fires in
the dim twilight of that wild October morning--ah! then we thought
of being tucked away in snug feather-beds under the old roof-tree
at home; but there was no repining, though we all knew that on the
coming night many would sleep colder than ever before--so cold that
nothing but the breath of God could give warmth again.
"But we were not long left to reflection of any kind, for regiment
after regiment now began to take position upon the line of march.
General Custer's brigade had the advance. Soon scattering shots and
an occasional boom of a cannon told us that we had again found the
enemy. But no stand was made until we reached Broad Run, and there
the firing became rapid and sharp. Our brigade now came up and was
placed in position, and the battle became general. Every now and
then a shell would whiz over our heads and explode, inspiring
anything but agreeable emotions. Several charges were made on both
sides. I wonder if it is possible to give any idea of a rebel
charge. Their cries and yells are so peculiar, so wild, shrill,
feverish, so ghastly (I had almost said ghostly), for the sounds
seem so unreal, more like horrid shrieks heard in a dream than the
utterances of living men. The shouting of our men is deeper and
hoarser, and partakes more of the chest tone in its character, but
the rebels charge with a yell that is something between the shriek
of a woman and the scream of a panther. At times you can close your
eyes and imagine that some fierce conflict of another age is
passing before you in a dream, so strange and unnatural does it
seem to see men engaged in mortal combat. We finally dislodged the
enemy from their very strong position and advanced across Broad
Run. General Custer took a strong position on a hill above the
stream, while General Davies was ordered with his brigade to
advance as far as possible toward Warrenton, for General Kilpatrick
had received written orders to move out as far as he could upon
this road in order to discover the force and intentions of the
enemy. The surgeons and ambulances halted in a field between the
two brigades. I stayed with them, and was trying to get a feed for
my horse, which was evidently beginning to feel the effects of long
marches and short rations, when suddenly I heard firing nearly
opposite us, on our left flank. At first I thought it was a mere
skirmish with some rebels left in the woods and discovered by our
men; but the firing became more rapid every moment, and soon
General Custer's battery began to shell the woods most vigorously.
I saw that the woods were full of men, but could not distinguish
ours from the rebels. Two or three aids galloped by in the
direction General Davies had taken.
"One remarked in passing, with an ominous look and shake of his
head, 'You had better be getting out of here,' which was not a very
comforting suggestion to those who had no orders to 'get out of
here' or where to get to. It was very evident that something was
wrong, and that matters were getting serious. Wagon and ambulance
drivers, surgeons and their attendants, contrabands with their led
horses--in short, all of us--were like a covey of startled quails,
their heads up, aware of danger, but not knowing which way to fly.
We could not very well show fight, for a charge by a wagon train
would be almost as great a novelty as General Kilpatrick's
attacking gun-boats with cavalry, which he actually did last summer
on the Rappahannock, and destroyed them, too. But we, not at all
envious, were glad to receive orders to retrace our steps; for
nothing is so uncomfortable for a soldier as to hear firing in his
rear. We were proceeding leisurely and in good order, when an
orderly rode rapidly up to our front and turned us off on a by-road
through the woods, with an injunction to move rapidly and come out
on the main pike near Gainesville. Away we went in the direction of
Thoroughfare Gap, the wagons banging and bouncing over stones and
stumps, through streams and mud-holes, as we followed the
sinuosities of a narrow wood-road which finally led into the open
fields. Here I felt like crying and laughing both--crying with rage
at what I then considered our disgraceful retreat; but when I
afterwards learned what odds we were contending against, I was
satisfied that the best generalship was displayed in rapid retreat.
And gravity itself would have laughed at the figure we cut.
Contrabands and camp followers were careering by in all states of
panic. Many had lost their hats in coming through the woods, and it
seemed in some cases now that their wool fairly stood upon end,
while they, rolling their eyes over their shoulders in the
direction of the enemy, exhibited only their whites to the observer
in front. Here might be seen an unfortunate darkie hauling on a
stubborn mule that with its wonted perversity wanted to turn around
and run the other way; there a man trying to raise a horse that had
fallen with him; while 'Git up, dar; git up, I tell yer,' resounded
from every side. Some poor mules and some led horses fairly got
frantic, for what with the beating they received, and with tin
kettles rattling and captured chickens cackling between their legs,
it was enough to distract any brute; so they kicked and floundered
till they burst their girths, and galloped away rejoicing in their
freedom. But the comic was soon lost in the tragic. The pursuing
enemy was now closing upon us from all sides. The rear guard, which
was the Harris Light Cavalry, made many a gallant stand, but what
could a few men do against twenty times their number? With many it
became a sad race for life and liberty. But before dusk we had the
satisfaction of effectually checking the enemy. For the first time
in my life I found myself rallying a body of men in a fight.
Officers and men coming in rapidly, we soon had a respectable line
formed and the enemy's advance was now decidedly checked. Captain
Elder, who had brought off all his guns in safety, planted them on
an eminence, and soon they were thundering defiance to the baffled
enemy. Shell after shell screamed over our heads and exploded. Soon
after a part of the First Corps came up, formed a line of battle,
and relieved our thinned and wearied ranks. We retired to the
friendly shelter of a neighbouring forest, and that deep sleep
which follows great excitement and exertion quietly stretched us
out as motionless and unconscious seemingly as the lifeless forms
of our brave comrades that lay cold and stark along the line of our
bloody retreat."
"Many changes and much marching and counter-marching have taken
place since the soldiers of the Harris Light Cavalry gathered
nightly under the old apple tree, or in front of the chaplain's
tent, during the warm moonlight evenings of September and October.
The rich autumn foliage that then made even poor old desolated
Virginia look beautiful has dropped away, and stern winter,
rendered all the more grim and forbidding by the ravages of war,
now reigns supreme. Many of our number, also, like the leaves, have
dropped away. Some, having obtained and squandered their bounty,
have treacherously deserted and sneaked away like thievish hounds.
The bullet, accident, and sickness have each conspired to lessen
our number, and many a noble-hearted fellow who was always first
and foremost in all a soldier's duty is now languishing in some
hospital, or sleeping beneath the sod that last sleep from which no
bugle call shall waken him.
"It seems as if God was teaching us to look to himself, and not to
men, for among those that sickness has for the present removed from
our number were three who were the very stay and central pillars of
our regimental church. Especially do I feel the loss of Brother
Farber, who was as noble a specimen of a Christian soldier as it
has ever been my fortune to meet. Uniting culture of heart and mind
with a happy disposition, a shrewd and quick perception of
character, and a manner that made him popular with all, he was just
such an ally as the chaplain needed in the ranks. Though he made
his religion respected by all, he also made it attractive, and his
society was not shunned, even by the wildest spirits of the
regiment. His cheerful smile and words were better than medicine in
the hospital, and I almost always found him there when off duty.
Nearly two months ago he left us for a hospital in Washington, sick
with the typhoid fever, contracted doubtless by over-fatigue in his
care of the sick and bodies of the deceased, and by breathing air
tainted with disease. I have since received a letter from him
stating that he was very sick, and that the surgeon said it would
be months before he could join the regiment again, if ever. For
aught I know his warfare may now be over and he at rest, for I have
received no answer to my reply to his letter. Brothers Vernon and
Stillwell are also away sick. Only pastors, and they not fully, can
realize the loss that such men are to a chaplain. He has so few
capable, warm-hearted co-adjutors in a regiment as a general thing.
There is such a torrent of evil influences rushing in on every
side, that he sorely feels the need of men possessing firm and
established Christian characters, who would quietly and
consistently stand up for, and live religion on all occasions. Here
he has none of the conventionalities and restraints of society to
aid him, and even the heavenly influence of Christian parents, of
pure sisters, and loving wives is weakened by distance, absence,
and sin. But in grappling with the many and powerful demoralizing
influences and vices of camp life, one soon learns that but little
can be accomplished except by the direct aid and interposition of
the Holy Spirit, for nothing short of the grace of God can enable
the soldier to resist the evil that assails him on every side.
"While I was on a brief business visit to the North, the regiment
had joined the advance, and on my return I found it out in the
neighborhood of Warrenton. After waiting a few days in what
remained of our old camp, I found an opportunity of going out to
the front with Captain Cook, of our regiment, and a small squad of
men. The ride out to Rappahannock Station, where our regiment was
last heard from, was full of novelty and interest to one who had
never been on a long march before. Captain Cook is a gentleman as
well as a good soldier, and his familiarity with the historic
region through which we passed made him an exceedingly agreeable
companion. The evening of the second day of our journey, which was
Sunday, found us considerably beyond Manassas. A dismantled house
stood on the brow of a hill in a grove some distance from the road.
We rode up to it and concluded to spend the night there. Though it
was half ruinous, without windows and doors, and the floor covered
with rubbish of every description, but a few moments sufficed to
make it sufficiently comfortable for a soldier's purpose. A fire
blazing on the hearth, the rubbish cleared away, a blanket hung
over the windows and doors, made our night quarters complete. Then
gathering around the fire, each broiled his slip of bacon on the
end of a stick, and enjoyed this rude repast far better than many a
well appointed banquet in the North, for 'hunger was our sauce.'
After supper we had, as it were, family prayers. The old
dilapidated mansion, the costume, arms, and varied expressions of
the soldiers as they lounged around listening to the Word of God,
all brought into view by the flickering blaze that roared within
the chimney, made a scene that any artist might wish to copy.
"After marching all the next day we joined our wagon train at dusk,
near Rappahannock Station, and found that we were just in time, for
the whole army was on the move to Fredericksburg. Joining the
train, I marched half the night with them in the darkness and rain.
As there was no shelter near, the next day was spent in the rain
under a tree; and an attack on the wagon train being expected on
the following night, my slumbers were neither very sound nor long
continued. But such is the wonderful vitality that life in the open
air gives, that one soon recovers from loss of sleep and fatigue.
Our regiment moved down to Brook's Station, where it remained doing
picket duty till it joined the advance on Fredericksburg.
"Our brigade, with our beloved and lamented General Bayard in
command, was drawn up on a hillside preparatory to marching, and I
assure you that the long lines and dense masses of cavalry made a
splendid and imposing appearance. It was nearly night before we
filed off towards Falmouth. The night was dark and misty and the
roads broken and wild. Sometimes we would plunge down into a deep
gully, at others scramble up the slippery and frozen sides of a
steep hill. Every now and then horse and rider would be down, to
the great merriment of all witnesses. But the joke became too
serious when a horse fell and broke one poor fellow's leg.
"Seen through the mist and darkness, the long extended column,
winding among the broken hills, now coming out in bold relief on
the brow of one of them, and then descending again into the valley
or the gloom of some forest, had a shadowy and phantom-like
appearance, and seemed more like a procession in a dream than a
goodly number of well armed troopers on a march. Especially was
this spectral effect heightened when a distant part of the column
would pass within the lurid glare of some brilliant camp-fire.
After floundering through streams and quagmires, and filing through
gorges that reminded one of the old Indian ambuscades, we turned
off into a forest to encamp for the night. Selecting a tree from
under which the snow had partially melted away, a few of us built a
fire, then spread our blankets and slept on the ground in the
clear, frosty starlight as well as on the softest couch our limbs
had ever pressed. Long before daylight, the bugle sounded 'boots
and saddles,' and the woods soon resounded with the customary
martial clamor of an encampment.
"Suddenly every sound was hushed, for the distant boom of the two
guns that opened the battle of Fredericksburg broke upon our ears.
The silence was succeeded by wild shouts of enthusiasm, and soon we
were on our way to the scene of action. The sharp rattle of
musketry now began to mingle with the report of cannon. As we
approached the river the roar of the artillery was truly grand and
awful. I can only compare it to a very violent thunder-storm,
wherein you hear, at one and the same time, the rumble and mutter
of some peal dying away in the distance, the heavy, jarring roll
more near, and the loud stunning explosion from the flash overhead.
Our cavalry was crowded on a plain in the rear of our batteries. We
did not know that the rebels were not replying to our guns, and
expected every minute they would get our range. As we remained
undisturbed, I concluded that our distance from the river was much
greater than I had first supposed; but when the order came to
march, and we filed off, by twos, down towards the river, past our
batteries, I expected every moment to see the head of our column
broken and shattered by shot and shell. I have heard much about
"lazy soldiers and large pay," but I thought at that time that the
soldier who marches steadily and determinedly forward on such
occasions earns in five minutes all the pay he ever gets. But the
heavy cannonading was only from our own guns, for the rebels were
reserving their fire. We soon found that our orders were not to
cross, but to go down the river and do picket duty on the extreme
left flank. As we marched along, a shell from one of our batteries
on a hill above me passed directly over my head. As it hissed by,
it gave me an idea of the infinitely short space of time in which
many of our poor boys are dashed into eternity.
"The early dawn of Saturday morning saw us returning to the
battlefield. About nine o'clock we mounted the hill, and formed
upon the plain on the opposite side of the river. As we were taking
our position, I heard a whizzing sound, and saw the earth torn up
by a solid shot quite near me. They soon screamed over our heads
and fell all around us; but, as a general thing, the enemy fired
too high. A few hundred yards to our front, the shells were
bursting constantly. We remained on the plain all that day and
night, the fire in front of us sometimes slackening, and sometimes
ceasing altogether. We often cast anxious glances at some rebel
batteries quite near us on the right, and often wondered why they
did not open upon us, for if they did, they could have swept us
from the plain in a few moments. Either our batteries occupied
them, or they reserved their fire for some purpose. A little after
noon, we heard that General Bayard, our division commander, was
mortally wounded. Soon after word came that cavalry was needed. Two
regiments of the enemy were running, it was said, and the Harris
Light Cavalry was wanted to follow them up. Off dashed our men in
close column, at full gallop, to the place designated, the surgeon
and myself going to the hospital to prepare for our wounded. As we
started, the road over which the regiment had just passed, and
directly in front of us, was torn up by a solid shot. Whose earnest
prayers were heard that day, and the Harris Light Cavalry saved
from almost a massacre? The order for cavalry had to pass through
three different hands before it reached us, and by the time our men
arrived at the spot it was discovered that the enemy's retreat was
only a feint, and that batteries were so arranged as to place the
party who should follow them between two fires. Our regiment
approached near enough to the trap, and were exposed to a
sufficiently hot fire, for a few minutes, to be satisfied that if
they had charged, as was intended, but few would have returned.
"At the hospital we found poor Bayard. Of all the ghastly wounds I
saw that day his was the most awful. It needed but a glance to see,
as he calmly stated to those who visited him, "that his days on
earth were numbered." If his wound had been a mere scratch, he
could not have been more cool, quiet, and collected. He talked
calmly of his death as of a settled thing, and only inquired
particularly how much time he had left on earth. He was told,
'perhaps forty-eight hours.' He did not live twenty-four. My heart
sank within me as he gave me his hand in farewell, and I almost
murmured, 'Why are the best taken?' The large house to which the
wounded were brought was now filled with mutilated and dying men.
Cries and groans resounded from every apartment. Ghastly and bloody
wounds met the eye in every direction. Some had their eyes shot
out; the tongues of some were swollen out of their mouths; some had
their bodies shot through; others were torn and mangled by shell
and solid shot, and all were crowded wherever there was any space.
The surgeons were hacking off limbs and arms by the dozen. The odor
of blood was oppressive. One man called me to him, thinking I was a
surgeon, and said that one of his wounds had been dressed, but he
found that he had another, which was bleeding rapidly. Another poor
fellow held up his arm to me, with a great bulging hole in it, and
asked with an expression of pain and anxiety that I could scarcely
endure, whether I thought he would have to lose it? Such is the
horrid reality of war behind the painted scenes of honor, glory,
and romance. However cold an ear the poor fellows may have turned
to the story of the Cross when in health, as a general thing they
were ready enough now to listen to the offers of mercy. One wounded
boy had his leg taken off just as he was entering the hospital,
which building was under fire all day, and was repeatedly struck.
The scene from the windows of the hospital was truly splendid as
night came on. Innumerable camp-fires gleamed from the hillsides,
and occasionally the darkness was lighted up by the flash of
cannon. But weariness, and the knowledge that our own regiment
might be engaged the next day, caused me to seek a place of rest.
The medical department of our brigade had been rendered small by
the absence of some of its members, and it might be that our duties
on the morrow would be very arduous. The ground outside the
hospital was so tramped up, muddy, and filled with horses, that it
was impossible to sleep there. But there was a stone alley-way
under the hospital, filled with tobacco in the leaf, part of it
lying on the ground, and part drying overhead. One end of this
place was already filled with wounded men, but the surgeon in
charge said that the other would not be occupied before morning,
and that I had better stay there. As a light came I saw something
white lying near the wall. I first thought it was a dog, and going
up, I stirred the object with my foot. On looking closer, I found
that it was a ghastly pile of arms and legs from the
amputating-room. But I had seen so much of blood and horror during
the day that I had grown callous. I quietly spread my blanket
within ten feet of the bloody heap, and listened sadly to the
shrieks and groans from the hospital above till I fell asleep. The
re-opening of the battle on Sunday morning awoke me, and as I was
rolling up my blankets, a shell bursting near warned me to hasten.
I joined the regiment, and with it recrossed the river. We have
since been doing picket duty on the Rappahannock.
[Illustration: E. P. ROE AS CHAPLAIN, AGE 26.]
"Many a careless, light-hearted soldier wore an anxious, troubled
look that day, as we stood facing the rebel batteries, and many a
loud-mouthed, coarse, swearing fellow was quiet and pale. But I saw
no flinching or skulking. You at the North, who cosily read about
battles in an arm-chair, know little of a man's sensations who
stands in front of the enemy's guns. He hears shot and shell scream
and explode over and around him. Before him arises the sulphurous
smoke of the conflict. From out of that obscurity he knows that at
any moment some swift messenger of death may be speeding on its way
to his heart. He thinks of unfinished plans, of bright prospects
and hopes for the future. His home, its beloved inmates, and the
forms and features of those friends that hold the chief places
within his soul rise up before him, and he knows that at any moment
he may be snatched from all these, and lie a mangled, bleeding
corpse upon the ground. And then come graver and still more solemn
thoughts of the shadowy world beyond, and 'conscience, which makes
cowards of us all,' awakes. In the mad excitement and tumult of a
charge, everything is forgotten. When patiently standing under
fire, everything is remembered, and this, of all that the soldier
has to do and endure, is the most difficult and dreaded."
An occasional amusing incident would occur, however, to relieve the
gloom of these tragic times. I remember hearing my brother tell of one
that took place while crossing a narrow pontoon bridge. A mule, ridden
by a contraband, and having a number of kettles strung on one side of
the saddle and on the other some chickens that had been captured from
henroosts along the march, suddenly became stubborn when about half-way
across the bridge, and resisted all efforts on the part of his rider to
make him move on. He was blocking the way for the whole troop. An
officer, seeing the situation, shouted the order: "Charge mule!"
Instantly half a dozen men rode up and with the points of their sabres
convinced the animal of the necessity for a speedy advance. He started
off at a dead run, scattering the rattling kettles and squawking hens
by the wayside, the poor contraband holding on with arms clasped around
the mule's neck, while the troopers followed in wild pursuit, amid
shouts and laughter.