battle waxed hot and furious. We had been engaged but a short time
when Colonel Prescott, supported by two men, went to the Lieutenant
Colonel and turned over to him the command of the Regiment, declaring
that he was wounded, and must leave the field. The men received the
fire of the enemy with great coolness, and returned it with spirit
and success. During all this time we had seen nothing of our brigade
commander (Colonel Sweitzer), and Lieutenant Colonel Hull, of the 62d
Pennsylvania, while in search of him, informed Colonel Stephenson
of the want of connection with our troops on the right, urging that
something should be done at once or we should be flanked there. Upon
the suggestion that Colonel Jeffers, of the 4th Michigan, should change
front and meet the threatened danger, he hastened to communicate with
that officer, but before the movement could be made, the blow came. The
enemy moving quietly up the ravine charged directly upon the flank of
the 4th Michigan, curling it and the 62d Pennsylvania up like a worm
at the touch of fire, and throwing them into the greatest confusion.
Taking the order from an aide-de-camp of the brigade commander, who
is always supposed to have authority to give such commands, the 32d
was falling back in good order, when, for the first time, we saw our
brigadier, who, rushing from the woods, rode before the lines, ordering
the 32d to halt, demanding, with an oath, to know why the Regiment
was retreating. Indignantly replying that the Regiment was falling
back under orders from his staff officer, the Lieutenant Colonel
ordered the men to face about and stand their ground. It was a fatal
mistake, and one which caused the loss of many brave men. For a few
minutes we stood; the enemy on our front, right flank, and nearly in
our rear, pouring in a terrible fire, which the men returned almost
with desperation, until we were again ordered to fall back, which we
did, fighting our way inch by inch, rebels and Union men inextricably
mingled, until we reached the shelter of the woods.
Just at this moment Colonel Stephenson fell, shot through the face,
and Colonel Prescott who appears not to have been wounded at all, soon
after again took the command.
The Pennsylvania reserves were forming for a charge. With a shout and
a yell they fell upon the now disorganized ranks of the enemy and
drove them like a flock of sheep for a long distance, almost without
opposition. The 32d reformed and advanced again to the stonewall where
they remained undisturbed, for their part in the battle of Gettysburg
was ended.
The whole of this terrible fight was fraught with incidents, some
grave and touching, and some even humorous. One gallant officer having
discharged the contents of his pistol at the foe, at last threw the
pistol itself at the head of a rebel. Another, wounded and faint sat
down behind a large boulder. Two rebel soldiers tried to take him
prisoner; then commenced a race around the rock; all ran the same way
and he managed to elude them and escape. Probably not a soldier could
be found who could not tell some curious incident which came to his
knowledge during this fight. It was nearly sundown before the battle
was ended for the day. We must have been engaged three hours, yet so
great was the excitement and so little did we mark the passing minutes
that it seemed to have occupied less time than has been taken to tell
the story. The 32d carried two hundred and twenty seven men into the
action and lost eighty one in killed, wounded, and missing, among
whom was Lieutenant Barrows killed, and Colonel Stephenson, Captains
Dana, Taft, Lieutenants Steele, Lauriat, and Bowers, wounded. The 4th
Michigan and 62d Pennsylvania, besides their killed and wounded, lost
nearly one hundred men prisoners, and also lost their colors. Colonel
Jeffers of the 4th Michigan, probably the only man who was killed by
the bayonet during the battle of Gettysburg, died in defence of his
flag.
The frantic assault by General Lee on the 3d of July, fell entirely
upon the right and center of the Union army, and the left was not
attacked.
Colonel Stephenson gives this vivid description of his experience, one
of those sad ones that attend a soldier’s life among the wounded in the
rear.
“On the 3d of July the wounded of the 5th corps were taken from the
barns and other buildings in the immediate vicinity of the battle
field, where they had been placed during the progress of the fight, to
a large grove about two miles distant.
The trains containing hospital supplies and tents had not arrived,
and the wounded were placed under little shelter-tents, such as the
soldiers carried with them upon the march. We lay on the bare ground
without even straw for our beds, and he who obtained a knapsack for a
pillow deemed himself fortunate.
Just at night the attendants brought to the place where I was lying,
a young soldier of the 32d and laid him beside me. It was Charles
Ward of Newton. I remembered him well as one of the youngest of the
Regiment, one whose purity of character, and attention to duty had won
the esteem and love of all who knew him. The attendants placed him in
the tent, furnished us with canteens of water, and left us for the
night, for alas, there were thousands of wounded men to be cared for,
and but little time could be spared for any one. My young companion
had been wounded by a ball passing through his lungs, and it was with
difficulty he could breathe while lying down. To relieve him, I laid
flat on my back, putting up my knees, against which he leaned in a
sitting posture. All night long we remained in this position, and a
painful weary night it was. At intervals we would catch a few moments
of sleep; then waking, wet our wounds with water from the canteens,
try to converse, and then again to sleep. So we wore away the night,
longing for the light to come.
No one came near us; we heard far away the dropping fire of musketry on
the picket lines, the occasional booming of the cannon, and the groans
wrung from the lips of hundreds of wounded men around us. My young
friend knew that he must die; never again to hear the familiar voices
of home, never to feel a mother’s kiss, away from brothers, sisters,
and friends; yet as we talked he told me that he did not for a moment
regret the course he had taken in enlisting in the war of the Union,
but that he was ready, willing to die, contented in the thought that
his life was given in the performance of his duty to his country.”
XII.
_AFTER GETTYSBURG._
The day succeeding the battle, we left Gettysburg in pursuit of
the defeated enemy, followed closely by the 6th Corps, by way of
Emmetsburg, Adamsville, and Middletown to Williamsport. Much of this
time it rained heavily and the roads were bad, but we had the good
spirits which attend success, and were cheery, as became victors. Near
Williamsport we encountered the enemy, and on the 11th and 12th of July
pressed him back toward the river, but he succeeded in crossing the
Potomac without further serious loss.
Perhaps the finest thing that the army ever saw was the movement
forward in line of battle near Williamsport and Hagerstown. As far as
the eye could reach on either hand were broad open fields of grain
with here and there little woods, the ground being undulating but not
broken, and we were formed in close column of division by brigade,
the 3d Corps touching our left and the 6th Corps our right; and so
we advanced across the wide, yellow fields in two dense lines which
extended apparently to the horizon. This movement was continued on two
successive days.
Then we tried a flank movement by our left, crossed the Potomac on the
17th, near Berlin, and keeping east of the Blue Ridge, were at Manassas
Gap on the 23d, and stood spectators of some pretty fighting done by
the 3d Corps, who secured possession of the pass. On the 26th we were
at Warrenton, and remained there until August 8th, when we moved to
Beverly Ford, and encamped there for five weeks.
Sergeant Spalding, in a letter home, describes our camp there as the
cosiest he ever saw: “Our camp is in a forest of young pines, planted
since our arrival. It looks beautifully, especially in the evening. I
went out a little way from our camp last evening to take a bird’s-eye
view of it. How cosy it looked with the lights from our tallow candles
glimmering through the trees from nearly every tent, which seemed
almost buried in the green foliage that surrounded it. Our camp is laid
out in streets, one for each company. At the head of each street is the
captain’s tent, which is surrounded by an artificial evergreen hedge
with an arched entrance, with some device in evergreen wrought into
or suspended from the arch--as, for instance, Company K has a Maltese
Cross (our corps badge). Company I, of Charlestown, has the Bunker Hill
Monument. Company D, of Gloucester (fishermen), has an anchor, &c.,
&c. But our tented cities, be they ever so comfortable and attractive,
are short-lived. We build them up to-day and pull them down to-morrow.
We may be quietly enjoying our quarters to-day, and to-morrow be
twenty-five miles away. Such is a soldier’s life.”
On the 12th October, 1862, General Porter ordered our Colonel to detail
one company for detached service as guard to the reserve artillery of
the army, and Company C (Captain Fuller) was detailed. When the detail
was made it was supposed that it would be only for a few weeks, but
they did their duty so acceptably as to result in being separated from
the Regiment for more than ten months.
It was their duty to accompany the trains of the artillery reserve on
the march, the men being distributed along the whole column and on each
side of it, and they furnished the sentinels about the ammunition and
supply trains, when parked for the night.
The duty was not very severe, and their position was one of comparative
independence. It was pleasant to hear that a company of ours received
praises alike from every commander of the reserve, and from the
families of the Virginia farmers whose premises they had occasion
to occupy. Their route was the general route of the army, and at
Gettysburg they were under sharp fire on the 3d of July, when Lee made
his last assault, but the total of their casualties, while absent from
the Regiment, was small.
They brought back many recollections of pleasant camps and stirring
scenes, and the story of their experiences brought a welcome freshness
to the gossip of the battalion. They rejoined the Regiment near Beverly
Ford, August 24th, 1863.
While we were encamped at Beverly Ford five deserters were tried,
convicted, and sentenced to be shot, and the sentence was executed near
our camp in the presence of the corps, massed on a hillside facing the
place of execution. No more solemn scene was witnessed in the army
than the march of those five men from the barn in which they had been
confined to the graves in which they were to lie. They were dressed
alike, in white shirts, trousers, shoes and stockings, and caps. The
order of procession was as follows: First, the band, playing the death
march, then four soldiers bearing an empty coffin, which was followed
by the prisoner who was soon to occupy it, guarded by four soldiers,
two in front with reversed arms, and two behind with trailed arms. Then
another coffin and another prisoner, borne and guarded as described
above, and so the five doomed men marched across the field to their
graves, where each, seated upon his coffin, was to pay the penalty of
desertion by death. Although at first they marched with firm and steady
step, yet they staggered ere they reached the spot where they were
to face death at the hands of comrades. Eighty men selected from the
provost guard were there in line, posted to fire the fatal volley. When
all was ready, the men having been placed in position and blindfolded,
the officer in command of the guard, without a word, but by the motion
of his sword, indicated the ready--aim--fire, and instantly every gun
(forty loaded with blank and forty with ball cartridge) was discharged
and all was over. Silently we viewed the solemn spectacle, and as
silently returned to camp--not with cheerful martial airs, as when a
faithful soldier, having met a soldier’s death, is left to his last
repose, but with the sad ceremony uneffaced, and all deeply impressed
with the ignominy of such an end.
On the 15th of September we broke up this pretty camp and moved along
to Culpepper, with some lively skirmishing, and then rested for another
month with some picket duty but no warring.
A French Canadian who left without permission on our march to
Gettysburg, and took to bounty-jumping for a living, was detected,
returned to us, and at this camp was tried, sentenced, and punished for
his offences in the presence of the entire brigade.
In the middle of a square formed by the troops who had been his
fellows, one half of his head was shaven close, and his shoulder was
branded with a letter D. The square was then deployed--the line formed
with open ranks, the front rank faced to the rear, and the poor wretch,
under guard, was marched down the path thus lined with on-looking
soldiers, the musicians leading the way playing the Rogue’s March, and
then he was sent from the lines as not worthy to associate with an
honest soldiery.[2]
[2] The scoundrel’s own description of the proceedings was: “they shave
my head--they burn my back--they march me in review.”
Here, too, we received a reinforcement of 180 drafted men, who were
assigned to the different companies, and of whom we made good soldiers.
Between the 10th of October and the 29th of November the Army of the
Potomac and the Army of Virginia were waltzing about the country
between Culpepper and Fairfax. Frequently it was “forward and back,”
sometimes “forward all,” and occasionally “back to back.” Generals
Meade and Lee called the figures, and we danced to the music of
artillery and rifles. There was in fact no fun in all this; the
campaigning was severe, and some of the engagements were marked by
sharp fighting, but the campaign was mainly one of manœuvres.
Sunday morning, November 29th, found our corps in position, in the
centre of the line of battle at Mine Run, with orders to be ready to
charge the enemy’s works at a given hour, when a signal gun was to be
fired. There the two great armies of Virginia were brought face to
face, each occupying a strong natural position, about a mile apart,
with a deep valley between, through which passed a small stream called
Mine Run.
We have said that each army occupied a strong natural position. The
Confederate army however, had us at a great disadvantage. They knew
it and expressed it by acts which spoke louder than words--coming out
from behind their works by hundreds in the open field, seemingly to
challenge us to charge across the valley, which they knew--and so did
we--would be to many of our number the valley of death. For we had to
charge down the hill across the Run and up the opposite slope, in the
face of a hundred guns, planted so as to sweep the field with grape and
canister the moment we came within range, and thousands of muskets in
the hands of the enemy, who were evidently not only ready, but anxious
to see us storm their position, that they might mow us down like grass.
Before taking our place in the line we were ordered to remove our
knapsacks and all needless baggage that might interfere with our
movements when the charge was ordered. That was the time that tried our
nerves. The field was before us. The obstacles to be met and overcome
we could see, and with our past experience it was evident to all that
the contemplated movement if executed must involve a fearful sacrifice
of life on our side. For hours we watched, and waited in suspense the
signal that was to open the conflict, and the relief we experienced
when the order to charge was countermanded, can better be imagined than
described.
At dark we retired a little way from our position in the line of
battle, built our camp fires, cooked our supper, and laid down to rest.
About midnight we were aroused, and falling into line moved to the
right about a mile, where our corps joined the 6th corps which occupied
a position in the woods, and there we formed in line of battle. The
following day will long be remembered by us on account of our bitter
conflict with Jack Frost instead of Johnnie Reb. The day was extremely
cold, freezing the water in our canteens, and although in danger of
freezing ourselves, we were ordered not to build fires, or in any way
make ourselves conspicuous, for we were within range of the enemy’s
guns. Our situation was one of exposure and peril, for if we obeyed
orders we were sure to perish with the cold, and if we disobeyed, as
sure to draw the enemy’s fire, with the risk of losing life or limb.
We took the latter risk--built fires by which to warm ourselves, or
chased each other in a circle around a tree or stump to keep our blood
in circulation and our limbs from freezing. And when a solid shot or a
fragment of a shell came whizzing through the woods where we lay, we
hugged the ground more closely, or sought the shelter of some rock or
stump or tree, until the firing ceased, then resumed our exercise, or
gathered around the fire again to cook our coffee, warm ourselves, and
make another target for the enemy.
Thus for three days and nights the two great armies of Virginia menaced
each other across the valley of Mine Run. At last the movement was
abandoned and the campaign ended by the withdrawal of our army to the
north of the Rappahannock, and two days afterward we found ourselves in
what proved to be our winter quarters at Liberty.
While in winter quarters we had the pleasure of seeing several ladies
about the cantonments, among them Mrs. Faxon, the young wife of our
surgeon, whose experience and memories of the time it may be better to
render in the first person.
XIII.
_A LADY AT WINTER QUARTERS._
Early in the winter of 1864, the 32d was in winter cantonments at
Liberty, near Bealton Station, on the Orange & Alexandria railroad.
Of course somebody must have commanded the army, but whoever he was,
he never called upon me, and is of no consequence to my story. My
orders to join came from an officer much more important in my eyes--the
surgeon of the 32d, who, queerly enough, was also my husband.
After all manner of experiences I arrived at Bealton Station, a
locality which by daylight appeared to be a quarter-section of Virginia
land and a small, rough, and inconvenient platform of planks; but it
was evening when I arrived--yes, a dark, rainy, December evening. A
shadowy form having the voice of our garrulous quartermaster waited
to welcome me, and by it I was ushered into the damp darkness, out of
which loomed, by and by, the hazy form of an ambulance and two hazy
mules--and then, but beyond and more misty, the upper half of what
seemed to be my husband, and the ears of his horse. Whether I was
sufficiently hearty in my greeting I do not know--I am afraid not, for
all this was not what I had imagined would be my first impressions on
coming within army lines.
My idea of an army was made up of brilliant sights and stirring sounds.
Nice clean flags--bright-buttoned uniforms--flying horses and full
bands of music, were essential parts of the picture which my fancy had
painted, and here was nothing but wet and darkness and mud. Through
mud a foot deep, the creaking of the vehicle and “soh” of the feet of
the wading mules, only breaking the moist silence--I was driven to
the mansion in which my husband was quartered, and which was to be my
home for the winter. Out of all this dreariness, however, I stepped
into the cheerful light of glowing windows, and was welcomed to a
most hospitable wood fire, in front of which was a table set out with
a smoking supper of tempting odor--and my surgeon appeared no longer
misty and uncorporeal, but solid humanity, and looking really quite
bright in the eyes, and happy in my coming.
The hearty welcome, the bright light, and the cheering warmth soon
obliterated all memory of the weary journey and the dismal night.
The fatted chicken had been killed for me, and was served with hot
potatoes, corn-bread, tea, and cold meat. A bright little negro girl
waited upon me, and it added to the pleasant novelty of my position to
be served by a piece even so small of the “peculiar institution.”
The “mansion” consisted of four rooms, the two on the lower floor
separated by a hall; the kitchen was a small building across the
yard--earth floored--and it was not only kitchen but bed-room for the
black servants, who, however, did not seem to use any beds. But all
this I did not learn until daylight came again, and the drums, fifes,
and bugles bursting out into reveille woke me amid dreams of home-life
to the consciousness of my surroundings. Listening to that stirring
music (how exhilarating even now is the bare memory of the reveille)
and looking out from my window upon the camp of our Regiment and of
many other regiments, seeing everywhere the signs of real service, I
was more than satisfied, and no longer bewailed the absence of my ideal
army.
This winter was one of halcyon days to me. Accustomed to the rigors
of a Northern winter, the many bright warm days of the season, in
Virginia, were peculiarly enjoyable. The country had been stripped
of fences, and our horseback rides were limited only by our picket
lines. Now we walked our horses through the woods, the dry underbrush
crackling beneath their hoofs--now cantered freely over some wide
expanse of old fields,--reining up to pass some ugly bit of corduroy
road, or to ford a full water-course. In the foreground might be a
“mansion,” occupied by some general officer as his headquarters, or
a group of negro huts still tenanted by blacks of all ages. In the
distance the high hills of the Blue Ridge, and perhaps between, in the
middle distance, picturesque camps of artillery, cavalry, or infantry.
A few of the houses were still occupied by the families of their
owners, among whom we made acquaintances; the able-bodied men were all
“away,” the women said; where,--they never told.
Besides our almost daily rides, we paid and received visits, and
exchanged rather limited hospitalities. Quartermaster Hoyt entertained
us frequently, and although his _piece de résistance_ was invariably a
dish of fish balls, yet having a cook who knew how to make good ones,
his fare always seemed sumptuous. Once we dined with Colonel Prescott,
who flared out with a joint of roast beef, but this was exceptional
grandeur.
Our quarters became quite the evening resort for officers of the 32d,
and the few ladies who were there, and the hours passed pleasantly away
with chat and games and jokes and stories. I could not then with any
success assume a matronly role, and sometimes perhaps actually enjoyed
the practical jokes which abounded in the camp. Then, too, where ladies
are but few, they certainly are better appreciated than in the crowded
halls of fashion, and it was pleasant (for I am human and woman) to be
the attraction in a circle of young and brave men.
Please don’t anybody think that my time was entirely taken up with
pleasures or trifling occupations. Even doctors need all manner of work
done for them by their wives--there were some housekeeping cares, and
the regimental hospital was none the worse for having a woman’s eye
over it. My first experience in dressmaking was in behalf of Mrs. O.,
a native neighbor, who had been useful, and possibly earned a trifle by
mending for officers and men. To be sure when it was done it appeared
that I had made the back of the basque all in one piece, without any
seam, but that may be the fashion some day. No, I was not idle, and all
days were not bright and happy, but the bright ones linger longest in
my memory.
I did, once in a while, wish that in my peaceful life there might be
mingled, just for seasoning, a trifle of real war; but one evening,
when we were attending a dance over at the spacious log camp of
Martin’s battery, there came an orderly all splashed with mud, with
news that a raiding party of the enemy was close at hand, and the party
scattered, infantry officers hurrying back to their regiments, and all
to their posts. The brass guns, which, decked in fresh evergreen, had
formed quite a striking decoration to the temporary ball-room, were
hustled away into position. The voices which had been saying pretty
things to us changed to tones of command, hardly softening to tell
us that safety forbade our return to quarters. Some sort of a hole
was prepared for our safe-keeping in case of attack, but when all
was quiet, beds were made in the log house assigned to us ladies, of
boughs laid on raised boards, on which we slept soundly until daylight
came, when the alarm was over, and it was safe for us to ride home. It
was very nice for once, but my ambition for stirring scenes was fully
satisfied.