PURSUIT OF LEE'S ARMY.
Scenes of the field of Gettysburgh--The rebel hospitals--The
sightless rebel soldier boy--The Sixth corps at
Fairfield--"Hurrah for the Union"--Kilpatrick's handiwork--At
Waynesboro'--On picket--A division of militia--The Vermonters at
Funkstown--The army at Funkstown--Meade's failure to attack--New
York riots--Return to Virginia.
The battle was over and the invading army which had suffered such a
crushing defeat, had only to gather up its shattered remnants and
hastily retrace its steps southward. We were in no condition to renew
immediate hostilities. Every man and every gun had been brought into
service. Never before had all of our army been fought at once. At
Gettysburgh, every man of the infantry reserve, and every gun of the
reserve artillery had been brought into action. The men were exhausted
by their tedious marches and hard fighting, while our ammunition was
well nigh spent.
During the night of the 4th of July, Lee's army retreated, and on the
morning of the 5th, our Sixth corps, Sedgwick's cavalry as the corps was
called, was sent in pursuit on the Fairfield road. The battle-field was
horrible. Dead men were thickly strewed over the fields with their faces
blackened, and eyes starting from their sockets; and upturned, swollen
horses lay, sometimes in groups of six or eight, showing where some
battery had suffered fearfully. As we passed the scene of the conflict
on the left, at the foot of Round Top, was a scene more than usually
hideous. Blackened ruins marked the spot where, on the morning of the
third, stood a large barn. It had been used as a hospital. It had taken
fire from the shells of the hostile batteries, and had quickly burned to
the ground. Those of the wounded not able to help themselves were
destroyed by the flames, which in a moment spread through the straw and
dry material of the building. The crisped and blackened limbs, heads and
other portions of bodies lying half consumed among the heaps of ruins
and ashes, made up one of the most ghastly pictures ever witnessed, even
on the field of battle. But we passed these direful scenes to meet with
others of less shocking but still sad character. Every house and barn
from Gettysburgh to Fairfield was a hospital; and about most of the
large barns, numbers of dilapidated hospital tents served to increase
the accommodations for the wounded.
All of the worst cases were left in these hospitals, the number being
estimated, by the rebel surgeons in charge, at no less than fifteen
thousand. Never had we witnessed such sad scenes as we were passing
through to-day. The confederate surgeons were doing what they could for
their wounded, but they were destitute of medicines and surgical
appliances, and even food sufficient to supply those in their charge. At
one of these barns some of our officers stopped, and as they passed
among the gray-clad sufferers who were lying in rows upon the barn
floors, one, a boy apparently not more than sixteen years of age,
attracted the notice of one of the company, a surgeon. The lad looked
more like a delicate girl than a soldier; his hair fell from his fair
forehead in long flaxen curls upon his pillow of straw, some of them
matted with blood; his cheek was rosy, and his soft white hand told of a
youth spent amid more tender scenes than those of the camp. A piece of
linen laid across his face covered a ghastly wound where a ball had
passed through his face, and had torn both his eyes from their sockets.
The surgeon spoke a kind word to the youth, who stretched out his hand,
saying, "Come near me, I want to touch you." The doctor stooped over
him, and the boy, pressing his hand in his own, said, "You are a friend,
are you not?" "Yes, I am a friend to all the unfortunate." "But are you
not a confederate?" "No." The boy clung to the hand of the surgeon in
silence for a moment, and then said slowly, "I did not think a federal
would speak so kindly to me; your voice sounds like that of a friend,
and your hand feels like one; will you not stay with me?" When the other
told him that he must follow his command, he replied: "Oh! I shall never
hear any one speak so kindly to me again; my mother lives in North
Carolina, but she will not see me. Can you not stay?" The doctor was far
from being a rebel sympathizer, yet he turned away from the poor boy,
with a sad face and a deep drawn sigh, to join the moving column.
Early next morning we passed through the somewhat dilapidated village of
Fairfield. Our advance threw a few shells down the street, scattering a
body of cavalry, which had been left in town, and killing some of the
horses attached to their battery. A mile beyond the town the South
Mountain range rose in our front, the road running through a narrow
pass. Here the rear guard of the rebel army was strongly posted. Neill's
and the Jersey brigade advanced against the rebel skirmishers, but after
losing some six or eight men they were ordered to halt. General Sedgwick
deeming the position too strong to assault with his corps from the
front, reported to General Meade that the pass was very strong, and one
in which a small force of the enemy could hold in check for a
considerable time, a force much larger than its own. The main body of
the army, therefore, was moved around their flank by way of Frederick;
while Neill's brigade, with Colonel McIntosh's brigade of cavalry and
two light batteries, all under command of General Neill, were made to
form a flying division to harass the enemy in the rear.
Our march over the mountain that day was by a wild, romantic route, than
which none more charming could be asked by tourist in search of nature's
wildest moods. Before each little log house by the roadside would stand
a wondering group, astonished at seeing such multitudes of men in those
secluded regions, where scarcely a dozen travelers usually passed in a
week. At one place, as the column was passing a cottage half hidden by
sunflowers and flowering beans, those at the head of the column were
heard cheering heartily; and, as we advanced, other voices took up the
cheer, exciting the curiosity of those behind. In the midst of the
noise, sounded a shrill voice; and as we approached, we saw, sitting
upon the fence in front of the cottage, a little boy, about four years
old, his face flushed with excitement, his flaxen hair flying in the
wind, as he was waving his little hat, and with childlike indistinctness
shouting in his shrill tones, "Hurrah for 'e Union! Hurrah for 'e
Union!"
Soon those in the rear of the line heard those ahead shouting again, and
another shrill voice was heard between the cheers of the men. There by
the roadside stood an old man, over whom more than eighty years had
passed, with voice indistinct with the tremor of age, all excited as the
little boy had been, his hair tossed about by the breeze, as with hat
swinging he too was shouting, "Hurrah for the Union! Hurrah for the
Union!" And the cheers of the multitude again rang in response to the
old man's shout. We could but note the similarity and the disparity. One
vaguely dreamed of those blessings which the other had fully realized,
and for which he had struggled; and the same shout was lifted up by
those two children--the one of four, and the other of fourscore--the one
with the flaxen curls of childhood, and the other with the white locks
of age--the one voice with the shrill treble of infancy, and the other
with the high-keyed tones of decrepitude. Those people, who had seen the
rebel army pass a few hours before, now felt the value of the Union.
On the summit of the mountain we passed Monterey Springs, a charming
summer retreat, where the Pennsylvanians resort to indulge in the sports
of trout-fishing and deer-hunting. Passing down the western slope of the
mountain, the handiwork of Kilpatrick was strewed along the roadside for
miles. As the battle of Gettysburgh drew to a close, and General Meade
knew that Lee must retreat toward Virginia, he had sent the dashing
Kilpatrick with his brigade of cavalry to harass the rebels in their
flight. Reaching these mountains, the cavalry had come upon a long rebel
train of wagons and ambulances, hastening with all speed, with their
lading of stolen goods and provisions and their wounded men, towards the
Potomac. With shouts and cheers the horsemen dashed from the cover of
the woods, upon the flying train, shot the leading horses and mules,
captured the drivers and remaining animals, appropriated the stolen
goods to their own use, and burned the wagons. Now, as we marched down
the forest road, the wildness of the scene was heightened by the remains
of the ruined wagons which lined the wayside, some burned, some with the
wheels disabled by cutting the spokes, others tumbled off the steep
embankment. For more than three miles, these remnants of the rebel
trains met our view.
It was near the middle of the afternoon when the column, the army under
General Neill, descended into the beautiful Cumberland valley, and
arrived at the village of Waynesboro. The people gave our little army a
joyous reception, and we encamped at a little distance from the village.
One regiment, the Seventy-seventh, was sent on picket on the banks of
the Antietam creek, and so pleasant was the duty that the regiment
petitioned to be allowed to remain until the army moved, to which
request General Neill very graciously assented. Our picketing on the
Antietam became one of the bright sports in the history of our
campaigning. We were a mile in advance of the other troops, and the
picket line was two miles long, so that we were not at all crowded. The
weather was fine, the country delightful, and the people kind and
hospitable. The most friendly relations sprang up at once between the
people and the soldiers, the inhabitants supplying the boys with
luxuries, and taking them into their houses as welcome guests, the
soldiers on their part guarding the people against the depredations of
stragglers and militia.
The grain was ripe for the harvest, and the farmers were short of help;
but the boys laid aside their guns, and swung the cradle and the scythe
with a zest that showed that they worked with a good will. Day after day
the boys of the Seventy-seventh reaped and bound in the fields, while
the good ladies worked day and night to make bread and cakes for the
veterans, who had so long been accustomed to diet on pork and hard tack.
Soft bread, milk, poultry and the staple luxury of Pennsylvania, apple
butter, was a glorious improvement on the usual bill of camp fare, and
kind sympathizing Union people were much better calculated to render our
stay among them agreeable, than the bitter rebels among whom we had so
long been.
The left wing of our extended picket line was under command of Major
Babcock, who, with the line officers of his part of the picket,
established head-quarters at the house of a miller, whose comfortable
rooms and well filled larder afforded substantial inducements to our
friends; but the great attractions at the miller's house were doubtless
the three charming daughters, whose merry faces and bewitching eyes
rejoiced the hearts of our gay major and his associates. Word came to
the right of the line that our friends on the left were in the enjoyment
of far more than the usual allowance of pleasure for men on picket, and
thither started the colonel and the doctor, and our friend, Colonel
Connor, of the Seventh Maine, to investigate the matter. Riding through
a lovely region, now rising to the summit of some gentle eminence, from
whence they could look away upon the surrounding country, its rich
fields of grain ready for the harvest, its charming groves of oak, and
its neat farm houses, making up a most delightful landscape, now
descending into some green valley where babbling brooks danced over
pebbly beds, and now reining up to listen to the complaint of some
cottagers, who said that "the militia were robbing them of their pigs
and their poultry, and but for the old soldiers, who were perfect
gentlemen, they would be stripped of everything they had;" now fording
the bright waters of the Antietam, and anon halting to converse with
some group of men who were reclining beneath the shadow of some clump of
chestnuts or oaks, doing picket duty as amateurs, the party at length
arrived at the miller's house, nestled in a pleasant grove by the side
of the beautiful river. Here was the major, and here were the happy line
officers, and here was the main reserve of the left wing of the picket,
all exhibiting the most abundant good humor. Here, also, they found our
chaplain, and Chaplain Osborn, of the Forty-third New York. It was
evident, at a glance, that the reports of gay soldiering which had
reached the right of the line were in no way exaggerated. The miller
took the horses, and the party was ushered into the house, when the good
lady and her merry daughters welcomed them heartily. The miller brought
out his best wines and his biggest apples. The ladies were smiling, the
wines were good, and the apples delicious, and the hearts of the
soldiers were gladdened. The ladies retired, leaving the gentlemen in
possession of the airy sitting-room. They sung Old Hundred, and
Coronation, and Lenox, and Cambridge. Now our friend, Colonel Connor,
would lead off in a rollicking soldiers' song; then our chaplain would
follow with "Benny Havens, Oh!" and all would join in the chorus.
Chaplain Osborn, of the Forty-third, could tell a good story, and relish
a glass of wine; and so they passed a happy hour, singing and chatting,
till called to dinner, where the long table was loaded from the
abundance of the miller's stores. Dinner over, the company strolled
among the fruit trees and along the banks of the river; but at length,
as an end must come to all pleasures, our party, who had left the right
of the line in the morning, galloped back to their quarters, satisfied
that picket duty was not necessarily the most vexatious in the service.
The Forty-ninth was provost guard for the town, and a merry time the men
had of it. Here in the principal hotel, General Neill established his
head-quarters, and in regal style amid flowers and fruits he received
the homage of the citizens and soldiers. The remaining regiments of the
brigade were stationed in a lovely grove half way between the town and
the picket line. They lounged in the shade of their beautiful camp, or
strolled to the village or to the picket line on the Antietam. They
purchased from the people fruit and bread, apple butter and other
luxuries, enjoying a pleasant respite from labors, while the Forty-ninth
guarded the town and the Seventy-seventh the river. But notwithstanding
all the pleasures of this bright episode in our campaign, the boys were
not without a source of annoyance.
Soon after our arrival at Waynesboro, we were joined by a large division
of New York and Pennsylvania militia, under our old commander General W.
F. Smith, who still held a prominent place in the affections of the
boys. The militia was composed mostly of young gentlemen who had left
their places behind the counter or at the desk, for the double purpose
of lending their aid to their country in its hour of need, and of
enjoying a month of what they hoped would be amateur soldiering.
On the evening of their arrival, they were all complaining bitterly of
the terrible marches they had endured, and swore they would shoot the
general if they ever got into a fight. They had marched all the way from
Harrisburgh, to which point they had been brought in cars, at the rate
of from eight to fifteen miles a day! In addition to the severe marches,
they had been subjected to great privations; many of them had not tasted
any _butter_ for more than a week, and nearly all declared that they had
absolutely nothing to eat for several days. The writer, who listened to
these grievous complaints from some who had been his friends in civil
life, pointed to their trains of wagons loaded with boxes of hard bread.
"What," replied the militia-men, "You don't expect us to eat that hard
tack do you?"
These regiments of militia were undisciplined and unaccustomed to the
hard fare of the soldier's life, and the majority of the men took to
plundering the inhabitants of the neighboring country, and perpetrating
other depredations equally dishonorable in the eyes of the old soldiers.
As the veterans constituted the picket and the guard of the town, and
were intrusted to guard many of the houses of the citizens outside of
the village, they found great annoyance in attempting to resist the
incursions of the militia, and rather frequent collisions resulted, in
which the old soldiers usually got the best of the encounter.
The citizens very soon learned to look upon the veterans as their
friends and their protectors, while they regarded with dread any squad
of soldiers that might approach, if they were clad in new uniforms.
But, on the 11th of July, we drew in our picket line, the brigade
assembled, and at dark the troops, veterans and militia, were fording
the Antietam, the water nearly to their waists. We marched rapidly all
night, halting at a place called Leytirsburgh. At daylight next morning,
we were again marching. The day was extremely hot, and large numbers of
the men fell by the wayside from sun-stroke. At Smithville we fell in
with the First corps, which was moving towards Hagerstown, and the
hearts of the men were gladdened by the sight of the old familiar flags
of the Army of the Potomac. We had been absent from the main body of the
army for a week, and it seemed now as though we had fallen in with old
friends from whom we had been long separated. Falling in the rear of the
First corps, we marched toward Hagerstown. At 2 o'clock a most terrific
thunder-storm arose, such as had never overtaken our army, even in
Virginia. Huge black clouds rose from the north and from the west and
south, and meeting overhead poured down great volumes of water, until
the road through which we were marching, and which was bordered by high
banks on either side, was filled with a mad torrent which reached to the
knees, and in places to the waists of the men. At sunset we reached
Funkstown, where the main body of our corps was in line of battle,
having yesterday met the rebels and driven them more than a mile. Our
friends of the Vermont brigade had, as usual, given a good account of
themselves; and the head-boards of pine, here and there among the trees,
showed that the victory had not been gained without a struggle.
In marching from Boonsboro towards Funkstown, the Vermont brigade in
advance of the corps, the little stream, Beaver Creek, was passed, and
General Howe found Buford's cavalry in his advance holding a strong
position against the skirmishers of the rebel infantry. At General
Buford's request, General Howe sought and obtained permission to send
the Vermont brigade to relieve the cavalry. Colonel Lewis with his Fifth
Vermont and part of the Second, and Colonel Barney with the Sixth
regiment, at once deployed as skirmishers, forming their line two miles
long. The Third and Fourth regiments were supporting a battery, and the
balance of the Second was held in reserve. They saw the rebel infantry
approach a strip of woods in front, and at once advanced and occupied it
themselves. Against this long thin line of skirmishers, the rebels
opened a severe fire of artillery and musketry, and advanced to drive
the skirmishers from their position; but the brave mountaineers never
dreaming that a Sixth corps skirmish line could not hold a rebel line of
battle, resolutely refused to leave and sent the presumptious rebel line
of battle to the rear in confusion; not, however, until Colonel
Stoughton with the Fourth and Colonel Seaver with the Third, came
forward to the support of the Fifth and Sixth. Again, the rebels,
disgusted at being repulsed by a skirmish line, came up in several lines
of battle and charged upon the Vermonters and they again went to the
rear in confusion. A third charge was made against the obstinate
skirmish line, and a third time the attack was broken. Meanwhile a
strong force attempting to cross the Antietam and come in on the flank,
was repelled by the Second Vermont.
The gallant brigade had repelled Anderson's brigade, of seven large
regiments, from its front, and another from its flank.
An instance of a skirmish line, a mile and a half from any support,
resisting repeated attacks of troops in line of battle, is rarely found
in the history of armies.
The men used from sixty to eighty rounds of cartridge, and when the
first supply was exhausted, a fresh one was brought to the front on
stretchers.
The victory cost the brigade a loss of nine men killed and fifty-nine
wounded, while the enemy lost more than two hundred men.
The men of Neill's brigade were rejoiced to find themselves once more
with the glorious old corps, and when their brigade flag, bearing the
insignia of the Greek cross, was once more thrown to the breeze, it was
greeted with vociferous cheers. Brisk skirmishing was going on along the
line, and frequent charges were made by our Union pickets upon the rebel
line, which usually resulted in the capture of a greater or less number
of the enemy's pickets. All things indicated a great battle on the
morrow. The two armies were facing each other in a line in front of
Hagerstown, near a hamlet called Funkstown, the line of battle extending
several miles. The rebels had occupied the higher grounds, and had
thrown up strong earthworks to dispute our progress. Night came on with
rain, and all expected to be roused early by the sound of battle. But
morning came and passed, and the day wore on with little activity on our
part. Here and there skirmishers kept up a rattle of musketry, but no
general engagement came on. Much as the veterans, who knew too well the
risks of battle, usually dreaded a general engagement, this time there
seemed a universal desire, on the part of the men, now to strike a blow
which should destroy their adversaries before they should be able to
cross the river again.
Deserters and prisoners from the rebel army represented it in a
deplorable condition; and the men of the ranks in our army believed that
this was the grand opportunity for striking a final blow. And
notwithstanding the assertion of general officers that the Potomac was
so swollen as to prevent the crossing of the rebel army, there were few
privates in our ranks who were not ready to declare that, unless we gave
battle at once, the prey would surely escape. Thus, as the day wore on,
great dissatisfaction was expressed all along the ranks--men openly and
freely cursing the hesitancy which held them back, as they believed,
from a certain victory. So, when they arose on the morning of the 14th,
to find that there was no enemy in our front, they were more incensed
than surprised. There was certainly a very general ill-feeling pervading
our army at this easy escape of the rebel army, which even the glorious
news of Vicksburg and Port Hudson failed to pacify.
Brisk firing in the vicinity of the Potomac, however, warned us that
there were still rebels enough left on the north side of the river to
offer some resistance. We learned, late in the day, that the firing was
caused by a brilliant charge of Kilpatrick's cavalry upon the rear guard
of the rebels at Falling Waters, where they captured several hundreds of
prisoners; thus adding one more brilliant success to their many daring
achievements during this campaign. Marching until nightfall, we reached
Williamsport, and encamped very near the spot that had been our
resting-place on a former occasion, nearly a year before.
Why General Lee and his army were allowed to cross the Potomac
unmolested, we do not attempt to explain; nor do we condemn the
determination of General Meade not to give battle. When men of such
well-known military ability and bravery as General Sedgwick advise
against a movement, it may be well to hesitate; yet it will doubtless be
the verdict of history, that the hesitancy of General Meade at this time
was his great mistake.
A hard march on the 15th brought the Sixth corps to Boonsboro, where our
Second division encamped on precisely the same ground that we had
occupied on the 31st of October last. Neill's brigade made the march at
a breakneck pace, leaving the Vermonters far to the rear, who declared
that the recent associations of the former with the cavalry had
transformed them into a flying brigade. While resting here, a large body
of rebel prisoners was marched past. They were mostly those who had been
captured by Kilpatrick's men at Falling Waters. The rebels were hungry
and destitute of rations. Our men at once divided their rations of hard
bread and coffee with them, who, officers and all, declared that it was
the best meal they had enjoyed for several days, and expressed
themselves greatly pleased with the generosity of their guardians.
Notwithstanding our glorious success at Gettysburgh, and the good news
from the west, we were now hearing news that made our hearts sick, and
caused the cheeks of the New York soldiers to burn for the disgrace of
their native State. It was a source of the deepest mortification to the
brave New Yorkers, to feel that their own State and the great metropolis
had been outraged by the most disgraceful riot that had ever stained the
annals of any State or city in the Union, all for the purpose of
overawing the government in its efforts to subdue the rebellion. Our
companions from other States, with the generosity that characterizes
soldiers, never derided us with this disgrace, but alluded to the riot
as an uprising of foreigners, who had for the moment overpowered the
native element. Even the fact that the governor of that great State had,
in the midst of these terrible scenes, addressed the miscreants as his
"friends," was alluded to with a delicacy that won our hearts.
It was one of the pleasant indications of a union of hearts as well as
of States, that the soldiers of our sister States looked upon these
riots in the light of a general calamity, rather than a disgrace to a
particular State.
Crossing the South Mountain range, from Boonsboro to Middletown, the
Sixth corps reached Petersville, three or four miles north of Berlin,
where the army was to cross the Potomac. Here, nearly the whole army was
crowded into a space of not more than three miles, all waiting for the
orders to cross. The men were universally eager to push forward, and the
necessary delay caused by crossing the men and material of so large an
army seemed to them a wearisome expenditure of time. While waiting here,
the Second division was honored by the presence of several ladies, wives
of officers of different regiments, who had been waiting in Washington
an opportunity of visiting their husbands, and had met them here. As a
memento of this brief visit, the Seventy-seventh New York received from
the wife of the surgeon the gift of a pair of beautiful guidons, which
the regiment boasted were unequaled in the army. The design was a white
cross, the badge of our division, upon a ground of deep blue silk. In
the center of the cross were wrought the figures "77." These beautiful
guidons were carried by the regiment until its final discharge from the
service, when, with the old banner, the tattered national flag, and the
magnificent new flag which was presented afterward by the ladies of
Saratoga, they were presented to the State of New York, on the Fourth of
July, 1865, in the presence of General Grant and a great concourse of
illustrious men.
On Sunday, the 19th, the Sixth corps crossed the pontoon bridge to
Virginia, the bands playing "O carry me back." As usual, while the corps
was crossing a bridge or passing a difficult place, General Sedgwick
stood at the farther end of the bridge preventing confusion and hurrying
up teams which might obstruct the way. We climbed the rocky defile, and,
at four o'clock, found ourselves well on the Virginia side of the
Potomac. On our march we passed through the little village of
Lovettsville, and, much to the surprise of all, the doors and windows of
the dwellings were filled with ladies, whose hair and dresses were
decked with ribbons of red, white and blue, and scores of Union flags
waved a welcome to our soldiers. Such a sight had not greeted us before
in Dixie, and it was most refreshing to witness such a demonstration of
loyalty in Virginia.
The corps encamped about ten miles from the river, near a beautiful
clear stream of water, which was very soon filled with bathers. Here
orders came for each regiment in the army to send, to the State in which
the regiment was raised, a certain number of commissioned officers and
enlisted men for recruiting duty.
The march on the 20th was slow and through groves and pleasant meadows.
Twelve miles were made, and we halted for the night and the next day.
Wednesday we passed through Union town and Snickersville, reaching the
base of Cobbler's mountain, a high spur from the Blue Ridge, not far
from Ashby's Gap. Thursday the Sixth corps proceeded to Ashby's Gap,
and, halting there for a few hours in a most delightful valley, again
started southward. Vines of the trailing blackberry covered the ground,
and the delicious fruit grew in such profusion that the men enjoyed a
continual feast. Never had we, in our wanderings in the south, found
such an abundance of fruit, and the effect upon the health of the men
was marvelous. By the time that we reached Warrenton the occupation of
the surgeons was almost gone. At no time, perhaps, in the history of the
Army of the Potomac, did the medical reports exhibit a more general
state of health than during our stay in the vicinity of Warrenton.
Thus, marching along at the foot of Blue Ridge, now turning aside to
enter some mountain pass, and again proceeding on the general course,
the army, on the 25th of July, reached the vicinity of Warrenton, our
Sixth corps occupying a line from Warrenton to Waterloo, the scene of
some of the early engagements of General Pope's army at the first rebel
invasion. The First division was stationed in and about Warrenton; the
Jersey brigade being provost guard of the town, where the gentlemanly
conduct of the men, and the strict order preserved in the town, won for
them the good opinions of the town's people, as well as of army
officers. The Third division was in the rear of the other two divisions,
and guarding the flank. The Second division encamped about an old
Baptist church, which, inclosed by a thick growth of trees, large and
small, had been, before the war, the only house of worship for miles
around. No paint had ever stained its seats or casings, and no steeple
from its roof had ever pointed toward heaven. The pulpit, the white
folks' seats and the black folks' seats, were all in ruins now. The
Rappahannock river was but a half a mile distant, and the
Seventy-seventh and Fifth Vermont were sent to perform picket duty along
its banks. On the following day the camps of the two regiments were
moved to the vicinity of the river, in front of the remainder of the
division, and we were ordered to perform picket duty while the division
remained in its present camp. The camp of the Fifth Vermont was
established a fourth of a mile from that of the Seventy-seventh, its
lines joining ours on the left. On the bank of the river just below our
camp, was the residence of Mr. Hart and a grist-mill; hence the place
was called "Hart's Mills."