The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
The morn the marshalling in arms, the day
Battle's magnificently-stern array.
--BYRON.
On the 20th of September McClellan sent one of his divisions over into
Virginia, with the purpose, I suppose, of making a reconnoissance in
force. It was attacked by the Light Division and driven back to the
Maryland side of the river, not a few of the men perishing in the water.
On that occasion the 47th passed within a few paces of a Yankee regiment
standing in line in a field and displaying their national banner. Not a
musket was fired by either party; for they, being cut off from the
river, were doomed to captivity, and we were going at double-quick
against another force. When the engagement had ended and we were
marching away, a solid shot from beyond the river ricochetted along our
line and in unpleasant proximity to it. Though much of its force was
spent, yet if it had struck our line it had sufficient momentum to have
destroyed many lives. Here was a close call, which differed from many
another in that the bounding ball was visible.
The Maryland campaign being over, Jackson's corps retired to Bunker Hill
between Winchester and Martinsburg, and there we had for more than two
months an unusual season of rest and recuperation. I remember one day of
special enjoyment. Obeying an order, I took a squad of men some seven or
eight miles along the turnpike in the direction of Martinsburg to keep a
lookout for the approach of the enemy. We halted where there was a grove
on one side of the road and a dwelling-house on the other. We purchased
a shoat from the matron of that domicile, who made us a stew that would
have done credit to the Maypole Inn. After dinner,--the only meal worthy
of that name that I had enjoyed for many months,--I took a musket, and
leaving the men a short distance behind, took a stand in the middle of
the road. No Yankee came in sight, but while I was there silently
waiting and watching two large, beautiful wild turkeys walked with
stately step across the road in easy range. Was I tempted to shoot? Yes.
Did I do it? No; for I was particularly instructed that on no account
must a gun be fired except on the enemy's approach. The report would
have been repeated by squads in my rear, the camp would have been
falsely alarmed, and I would have been justly court-martialed.
The Army of the Potomac, 100,000 strong and commanded by General
Burnside, once more took up the slogan,--"On to Richmond,"--but that was
more easily said than done. Before it reached the northern bank of the
Rappahannock river, opposite Fredericksburg, the ever-watchful Lee,
having left the valley, had occupied the heights on the other side.
Jackson's corps by rapid marches arrived at Fredericksburg on the 11th
of December, none too soon for the impending conflict, and took
position on Longstreet's right. Nearly five miles from the town our
brigade formed the extreme right of the Southern Army, which was an
assignment of honor; and the 47th held the right of the brigade. The
other brigades of Hill's Light Division formed on our left, Gregg's next
to ours, and between the two on higher ground twenty pieces of artillery
looked out across the field. Lee's army had the advantage of position,
and had the rare pleasure of fighting on the defensive. It occupied the
high ground that borders the river flat, and which is close to the town,
but, as it continues, recedes from the river, leaving an ever widening
plain. On the morning of the memorable 13th that plain resounded to the
martial tread of Burnside's army.
Before the battle began General Lee, inspecting the disposition of his
forces all along the line, rode up to where we stood, and dismounting
from Traveller, handed the bridle-rein to an orderly. This was the first
time that I saw him, and his appearance made an indelible impression
upon my mind. What a noble man he was in form and face as well as in
moral character! While he was examining the outlying field I had a
conversation with the orderly, who spoke of the General's fondness for
his horse.
Having observed that a few men of the Confederate cavalry had brought up
a piece of artillery in front of our right, I obtained permission of
Colonel Mayo and ran forward to join them. Two Federal batteries came
forward in a gallop and in a minute's time unlimbered and began firing
against Hill's division, the twenty guns of which I have spoken giving
them as good as they sent and a little better. The Yankees were so hotly
engaged by the firing in front of them that they paid no attention to
the little cavalry gun upon the flank. The first shot did no execution,
but the next struck a caisson and exploded its contents.
What more was done there I cannot say; for seeing that the Federal
infantry were advancing to the charge, I hastily returned to my position
in the regiment. Our men, lying in a railroad cut about two feet deep,
waited until the Yankees were close upon them, and then rising up poured
such volleys upon them as caused them to retire in confusion; but on our
left Gregg's South Carolina brigade was broken through and he was
killed. Being thereby severed from the rest of the army, we changed
front and took the victorious Yankees in flank, causing them to lose
their advantage and fall back to the railroad which they had crossed.
Then occurred a pretty duel. The blue and the grey lines were about
sixty yards apart and each was loading and firing as rapidly as
possible. The Federal general and his two aides on horseback were urging
their men to charge, as was evident from their gestures; but their men
would not respond.
Being an officer I had no weapons but sword and pistol, but I picked up
the musket of one of our men, who had loaded it but was killed before he
could discharge it, and called on some of our company to shoot down the
horsemen. We took deliberate aim and fired; and down went horses and
riders. "Now," said I, "shoot down the colors." Four times they fell,
only to be quickly raised again. I would not affirm that the little
group about me shot down the horsemen and the flag, for many others were
shooting at the same time; I only know that we calmly did our best in
that direction. After a while the enemy turned and fled; and I was glad,
for they had inflicted on the 47th a loss of fifty men in killed and
wounded. However, their loss greatly exceeded ours. The next day, when a
truce prevailed for burying the dead and caring for the wounded, I was
informed by some of the Union soldiers that the name of that general was
Jackson. He was a brave man, deserving a better fate, and he fell while
nobly performing what he believed was his duty to his country.
It was the general and confident expectation that the battle would be
renewed, and we were, therefore, surprised to discover on the morning of
the 15th that the enemy had during the night recrossed to the northern
side of the river. Their loss in the engagement was three times greater
than ours. Burnside made the mistake of putting forth his greatest
strength where the Confederates were strongest. If he had assailed our
right as fiercely as he did our left, perhaps there might have been a
different result.
In a few days after the battle I was informed by Colonel Mayo that I was
"for gallant and meritorious conduct promoted to be First Lieutenant and
Adjutant of the 47th regiment." I had not thought of trying to make an
exhibition of unusual gallantry among so many intrepid men, but, of
course, the commendation and promotion were highly gratifying.
"The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art,
Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart."
The campaign having come to an end, Lee's army went into winter quarters
at camp Gregg, so named in honor of Brigadier-General Maxcy Gregg who
was killed in the battle of Fredericksburg. It was near Moss Neck, the
large and fertile farm of Mr. Richard Corbin. The Rappahannock river
flowed between the Yankee and the Rebel armies, each picketing its own
side of the stream. By common consent there was no shooting across the
river, but on the other hand there was an occasional exchange of tobacco
and coffee by means of little boats. We could hear them impudently
singing: "O soldiers, won't you meet us." We had met them on fields of
carnage, and expected to meet them again on the return of spring; but
whether we should meet them "On Canaan's happy shore," or in some less
pleasing locality in the eternal world, who could say?
I distinctly remember one night when my turn came to go to the river on
picket duty, and the earth was covered with snow several inches deep.
When my watch was off and the opportunity to sleep was afforded the
question was, where to lie down. I spread on the snow some boughs that I
had cut from a cedar tree and laid a gum cloth upon them. Upon this
pallet I lay down and covering myself head and all with a blanket
enjoyed sweet, refreshing, and healthful sleep. The next morning the
blanket above my head was stiff-frozen with the moisture from my breath.
There was one man that should have been mentioned before this time,--a
negro of my own age, whose name was Charles Wesley. We had grown up on
the farm together, and had played, and boxed, and wrestled without
respect to color. Not as a slave but as a friend he followed me to the
war,--my launderer, my cook, and when I was sick, my nurse. Having
orders to keep himself out of danger, he very willingly remained far in
the rear when a battle was in progress, but when the firing ceased he
faithfully sought me and reported for duty. While writing about Charles,
I may anticipate a little and say that when we were in Pennsylvania I
told him that we were on Yankee soil, and that he had the opportunity of
deserting me and of remaining there as a free man. He replied that he
already knew that, but that he was going to abide with me. And when I
was captured at Falling Waters he had the intelligence and fidelity to
ride my horse home and deliver him to my brother.
It was while we were encamped at Moss Neck that I witnessed a military
execution for the offense of desertion from the 47th regiment. The
criminal was on his knees, blindfolded, with his hands tied behind him
to a stake. A short distance in front of him was the line of twenty men
detailed to do the shooting, and commanded by an officer especially
appointed. No man could tell who did the killing, for the twenty muskets
were handed to them, one-half of them being loaded with blank
cartridges. The rest of the regiment was drawn up, one-half on the
right, and the other on the left. At the word "Fire!" the report of the
guns rang out and the deserter fell forward pierced by balls. Death was
instantaneous. Although the crime was mortal, the scene was painfully
sad.