Gen. McClellan’s Departure.—Gen. Burnside’s Address.—March
to Fredericksburg.—Reasons for choosing this Route.—Randolph
Estate.—Failure of the Pontoons to Arrive.—Stafford Court
House.—The Thirty-third preparing Winter Quarters.—Scouting
Parties.—The Ashby Family.
Gen. McClellan took his departure for Washington on a special train from
Warrenton, Tuesday noon, and Gen. Burnside assumed command, after issuing
the following address:
“In accordance with General Orders No. 182, issued by the
President of the United States, I hereby assume command of the
Army of the Potomac. Patriotism and the exercise of my every
energy in the direction of this army, aided by the full and
hearty co-operation of its officers and men, will, I hope,
under the blessing of God, ensure its success.
“Having been a sharer of the privations, and a witness of
the bravery of the old Army of the Potomac in the Maryland
campaign, and fully identified with them in their feelings of
respect and esteem for Gen. McClellan, entertained through a
long and most friendly association with him, I feel that it is
not as a stranger that I assume command.
“To the Ninth Army Corps, so long and intimately associated
with me, I need say nothing. Our histories are identical.
“With diffidence for myself, but with a proud confidence
in the unswerving loyalty and determination of the gallant
army now entrusted to my care, I accept its control, with the
steadfast assurance that the just cause must prevail.
“A. E. BURNSIDE,
_Major-General Commanding_.”
He immediately proceeded to organize the army into three Grand
Divisions—the Second and Ninth Corps, under Sumner, comprising the right;
Third and Fifth, under Hooker, the centre; and First and Sixth, under
Franklin, the left. Gen. Smith succeeded Franklin in the command of the
Sixth Corps, and Gen. Howe was placed in charge of the Division.
We had now obtained possession of all the Gaps in the Blue Ridge. But
we had merely locked the door after the escape of the animal, for the
enemy, instead of being cooped up in the Shenandoah Valley, were in
advance of us, well on their way to Culpepper. After mature deliberation
and consultation with Gen. Halleck, who had arrived at Warrenton,
Gen. Burnside decided to march rapidly to Fredericksburg, cross the
Rappahannock at that place, and pushing southward, seize some point on
the railroad, and fight a battle with Lee before he could mass all his
forces. His reasons for choosing this route in preference to the one by
Gordonsville, he has since stated, as follows: “The further we got into
the interior of Virginia the larger would be our line of communications,
and the greater would be the difficulty we would have in keeping them
open, as the enemy had on our right flank a Corps that at almost any time
could, by a rapid movement, seriously embarrass us. If we were caught by
the elements so far from our base of supplies, and at the same time in
the enemy’s country, where they had means of getting information that we
had not, it might, I thought, prove disastrous to the army, as we had but
one line of railway by which to supply it. In moving upon Fredericksburg,
we would all the time be as near Washington as would the enemy; and after
arriving at Fredericksburg, we would be at a point nearer Richmond than
we would be even if we should take Gordonsville. On the Gordonsville line
the enemy, in my opinion, would not give us a decisive battle at any
place this side of Richmond. They could defend Gordonsville until such
time as they felt they had given us a check, and then with so many lines
of rail open to them, they would move upon Richmond or Lynchburg, and, in
either case, the difficulty of following them would be very great.” Gen.
Halleck agreed to have the pontoons ready for him at Falmouth, opposite
Fredericksburg, on his arrival.
Saturday and Sunday, Nov. 15th and 16th, the army started in a
south-easterly direction in three columns, with the exception of a small
force, which bore off towards Culpepper, to mislead and cause the enemy
to think we were going to advance in that direction. The Thirty-third
broke camp early on Sunday, and marching sixteen miles, encamped in a
beautiful grove near Catlett’s Station. The men were in fine spirits, and
moved rapidly over the good roads, inspired with the hope that they were
now going to Richmond without fail.
The first day’s march presented nothing worthy of interest, unless it
was the worn-out and ruined plantations which were seen on every side.
Upon halting at one we found the mansion, situated back from the road,
entirely deserted. Windows, doors, and everything of a combustible
nature, had disappeared from the once splendid dwelling. Near by were a
number of rude log huts, occupied by negroes. A bevy of children sallied
out to inspect us as we rode up, betraying all that eager curiosity
peculiar to the African race. They, together with a few helpless old men
and women, were the sole occupants of the place. From them we learned
that it belonged to a second cousin of John Randolph of Roanoke, who had
died a few weeks before, and was buried beneath a tall oak in front of
the mansion. The widow had gone to Fredericksburg, taking with her what
effects she could.
Monday morning the reveille was sounded very early, and by six o’clock
the Regiment was on its way. The march lay through a country more barren
and desolate, if possible, than that north of Warrenton, presenting
the worst features of a slave region. “Snatching” and “jayhawking”
continued to be the order of the day, as when in the Loudon Valley. “How
are you, Stuart?” “I believe this horse came from Pennsylvania;” “This
is a Maryland pig;” were among the oft repeated responses made to the
rebel farmers, who expostulated with the boys for making way with their
animals. Very little satisfaction could be obtained from the “invaders.”
War the Virginians wanted, and war they should now have to their hearts’
content. After a march of fourteen miles, we bivouacked near the mouth of
Acquia Creek.
[Illustration: A Virginia Sowing Machine.]
Tuesday we proceeded about fourteen miles further, and encamped near
Stafford Court House, between the Potomac and Rappahannock rivers, about
ten miles from the latter.
The right and centre Divisions had now arrived in the vicinity of
Falmouth, but no pontoons greeted the eye of Gen. Burnside. The
Washington authorities had neglected to forward these essentials for
crossing the river, and the rapid and successful marching had been to
no purpose. In a day or two more the enemy would be on hand, fortifying
the Fredericksburg Heights, and resisting our passage. How great must
have been the Commanding General’s disappointment and anger at this phase
of affairs! All his plans foiled; the whole campaign a failure; simply
because some one had “forgotten to give the order” for forwarding a few
pontoons.
The Second, Third, Fifth and Ninth Corps encamped near the river. The
Sixth remained near Stafford Court House, and the First, pushing on
to Brooks’ Station, was stretched along the Fredericksburg and Acquia
railroad, upon which repairs were immediately commenced. Generals
Franklin and Smith, who were boon companions, and nearly always together,
located their headquarters in a grove close by the village of Stafford,
which presented a scene of utter ruin. Dwellings, formerly occupied by
the better class, were deserted, and the surrounding negro huts consumed,
timber by timber, in the camp fires of the Union soldiers. Our troops had
occupied the place during the previous spring. The once neat Court House
stood by the road side, a striking monument to treason and rebellion.
Deprived of its white picket fence, stripped of window blinds, benches
and doors, walls defaced by various hieroglyphics, the judge’s bench a
target for the expectorating Yankee, the circular enclosure for the jury
besmeared with mud, and valuable documents lying about the floor; it
was indeed a sad picture of what an infatuated people will bring upon
themselves. In one corner of the yard stood a House of Records, in which
had been filed all the important documents belonging to the county for
a century. But they now lay scattered upon the floor around the steps,
and in the door yard, to the depth of fifteen inches or more. It is
impossible to estimate the inconvenience and loss which will follow this
wholesale destruction of deeds, claims, mortgages, &c.
[Illustration: Warwick Court-House, near Youngs’ Mills, Virginia.]
The jail, across the way from the Court House, where many a poor fugitive
had doubtless languished in chains for striking out for freedom, was
converted into a guard-house. Peeping through the iron grates of the
windows, were to be seen the bilious countenances of several culprits,
who, may be, were atoning for having invaded a hen roost or bagged an
unsuspecting pig.
Colonel Taylor’s men took up position on a woody crest, and immediately
commenced felling trees, pitching tents, building camp fires, and making
themselves comfortable generally. The constant ringing of numerous axes
and crashing of falling trees all around us, recalled memories of other
days, and it was difficult to realize that we were not in a western log
clearing. Indeed, the army of “invaders” have accomplished for Virginia
what her indolent population have failed to do, cleared up the woodlands,
and let the sunlight into many a hitherto cheerless and unhealthy spot.
The boys, as if prescient of coming delay and ease, soon began to
construct elaborate log huts, which afforded a much more comfortable
shelter than the thin, airy tents. Foraging parties scoured the
surrounding country daily, and returned at night loaded down with
eatables of every description. What confederate money (of which we had
an abundance) would not buy, was “confiscated.” These expeditions were
greatly enjoyed by those participating in them. Roving through woods and
fields, from one farm house to another, they made numerous acquaintances,
and learned everything of interest pertaining to the locality.
On one occasion a party halted at an obscure hovel for a drink of water.
On entering we found the only occupant to be a superannuated negress,
who, as she expressed it, having become “too old a critter to do nothing,
had been turned out here to die.”
Further conversation disclosed the fact that she had belonged to James
Ashby, a brother of the deceased famous General of that name. She
related much that was of interest concerning the Ashby family. There
were three brothers of them—James, Turner and Richard (commonly known as
Dick)—raised in the vicinity of Front Royal, and all now in their graves.
James, who was her master, moved to this vicinity when a young man,
acquired a large estate, and died February, 1861. Turner, the General,
who, when a young man, was admired by every one for his manly bearing,
and in later years for his chivalric deeds, was killed at the battle
of Cross-Keys. Dick, the remaining and youngest brother, was shot in a
skirmish, just prior to the last battle of Bull Run.
After the death of her master, the younger slaves were sent South and
sold. “Though I hab raised,” she said, “nineteen children to manhood
(eleven sons among the number), all of whom hab been torn away from me,
and hab worked hard all my life for massa, his heirs wouldn’t let me
stay in the house, but sent me here, with a little hog and hominy, to
die alone.” Three times she had herself hoed the little patch of corn in
front of the hut, and gathered and husked it. On our inquiring if she
was “Union,” she replied, “I’se partial to Yankees, but some of dem is
mighty rogues. Dem ar low class people among dem steal all my things. Two
came along last week and showed me twenty-five cents for some hoe-cake,
which I gib dem, and bless you child, when dey come to pay, felt in all
de pockets and couldn’t find de money; but, God bless you chil’ren, dey
knew all de time where it was. But de Southrons are just as bad.”
She recounted, with tears in her eyes, the manner in which her youngest
son was dragged away. He had been sick for some time, but when word came
that the Union forces were advancing, they tied his legs, and placing him
in a cart, drove off towards Richmond; but he never reached there, having
died in the streets of Olean. We left “Aunt Sophie,” more convinced than
ever that the cruelties and wrongs which grow out of slavery have not
been overdrawn.