The next day I reached the regiment, then on the Welden Railroad, near
the Yellow Tavern. I say "the regiment." I mean what was left of it.
Instead of the large, full organization I left in July, it was now but a
remnant. Four commissioned officers of the One Hundred and Ninetieth
remained. These were Colonel Pattee, Adjutant Wright, Captain Birkman,
and Lieutenant Peacock. Of Company C, there were but ten men, myself
making the eleventh.
A terrible calamity had befallen them at the time the Welden Railroad
was taken from the enemy, August 18th and 19th. The brigade was sent
forward to skirmish. They advanced and drove every thing before them
till they struck the main force of the enemy. Here they fortified and
held their ground without support until the afternoon of the 19th, when
they were compelled to surrender. A few escaped by taking the suicidal
risk of running through a gap in the rebel lines. Mike Coleman, Captain
Birkman, and a few others escaped in this way. Mike told me he heard men
call "Halt! Halt!" on every side; but he looked neither to the right nor
left, and went ahead. Dave Steen was killed in this battle. A ball
struck him in the breast, a little to the right, and high up, severing
one of the large blood vessels. As he fell, two of the men ran to him.
He asked for his Bible--his only words. Hastily opening his knapsack,
they handed it to him. Almost as his fingers closed on the holy book,
his spirit hastened away from that scene of turmoil to the rest above.
He was a brave soldier and a true man.
After the ground had been re-occupied, as it quickly was by men of the
Ninth Corps, his remaining comrades buried him, and placed around his
grave a rude framework to protect it from disturbance. The few that
escaped, together with returning absentees, represented the organization
under Colonel Pattee, who had now recovered from his wound. During
September and October the regiment suffered considerable loss in
fighting along the left of our line at various points.
On one occasion they were ordered to advance and "feel" the enemy. The
design was merely to drive in his pickets, and compel him to show his
strength. As soon as the command "forward" was given, away they went
with a yell, sweeping the rebel pickets before them, and on into the
works beyond, before the enemy knew what was the matter or could recover
from his astonishment. An attempt was made to recall them as they went
rushing on toward the rebel works; but signals and bugle-calls were
unheeded. They entered, and for a time held a part of the rebel works.
Of course, this could not last long. It was not the intention to bring
on a general engagement, and they were not supported. In a little while
they were driven back again with serious loss. Captain Kinsey, of
Company C, was severely wounded, and never returned. In trying to bring
Captain Kinsey off the field, young Overdoff was killed, shot through
the head. When he first came to the company he was not very well liked;
but his kind and pleasant bearing soon made friends of all. From his
first experience in the Wilderness until his death, he was loved and
honored as a brave and fearless soldier.
In the latter part of November the Ninth Corps was passing, one day,
and I went over to the road, and waited till the One Hundredth
Pennsylvania came along. Here were many familiar faces. George Preston
was there, his face as honest and bright as in boyhood's days; and
George Dillinger--or was his name Hugh? Names become confused as the
mind runs back over so many years. What I saw there was but a section of
the past slipped forward, and given a different setting. My earliest
recollections were connected with these faces, when, at church or school
in the pleasant Summer-time, in one we listened to the good Irish
pastor's "sixteenthly" and "seventeenthly" and "in conclusion" as
sedately as our seniors; and in the other we took our regular flogging,
as prescribed by the lamented Solomon. The stalwart boys in blue were
the same boys still; but now they were the heroes of many a hard-fought
battle. The hurried questions and answers of that brief interview
touched upon as tragic scenes as ever employed the pen of genius. They
told how one fell here, another there--dead for the land they loved.
December 7, 1864, we started on a raid, the object of which was to
disturb the enemy's railroad communications toward the south. We
followed the Jerusalem plank-road one day's march, reaching Notaway
River in the evening, at Freeman's Ford. Our force was a strong one,
consisting of the Fifth Corps, under General Warren, and a division of
cavalry. With this force we felt quite at home within one day's march of
the main army. Once across the river, and at a greater distance, we
might stir up all the game we could take care of. Such was the feeling
expressed by the soldiers as they discussed the situation on the march
that day, and indulged in conjectures as to our probable destination and
the outcome of the expedition. Of course, the company wag had a hearing
while he expounded his views as to what we would do to the Confederacy
or the Confederacy to us. The soldiers had confidence in General Warren,
and regarded him as a prudent and efficient officer. He had the
reputation of being personally brave and fearless.
As evening approached, we turned to the right from the plank-road, and
halted in a corn-field, not far from the river. As we were about to
break ranks we heard on our right the clatter and snapping of gun-caps,
which, in a regiment armed with muzzle-loading guns, usually follows
the command to prepare to load. This sounded like business; but nothing
further indicating trouble occurred, and soon the cheerful camp-fires
enlivened the scene, and we proceeded to make ourselves comfortable.
It was the general impression that we would soon move on, and make a
night march; but as time passed, the men made down their beds, and
addressed themselves to sleep. About ten or eleven o'clock,
orders--perhaps delayed--were received for the men to camp for the
night, the march to be resumed at two in the morning. It at once entered
into the fertile brain of Lieutenant Peacock to extract a little fun
from the circumstances. Going to a group of men sleeping soundly under
their blankets, he deliberately roused them up and informed them that
they could sleep till two o'clock.
"Well, what the ---- did you wake us up for, to tell us that?"
"Why, you ---- lunatic, aren't two sleeps better than one?"
Then would follow a volley of protestations and modified blessings from
one side and the other.
At two in the morning we were again on the march. We passed Sussex Court
House and a place called Corman's Well. In the evening we reached the
North Cross House, on the Halifax road, thirty miles from Petersburg.
Here we struck the Welden Railroad, and the work of destruction began.
It was an exciting scene as the work progressed. There was an abundance
of ties along the road, and of these fires were built beside the track.
As far as the eye could reach the track was a line of blazing fires and
busy, shouting men. A brigade would stack arms on the bank beside the
track; then, taking hold of the rails, would begin to lift and surge on
it altogether, shouting in unison:
"Ohe!"
"Ohe!"
"Set her _up_!"
"Ohe!"
Soon it would begin to give, and quickly would be hurled over from the
road-bed with a ripping, crashing sound, followed by the shouts and
cheers of the men. Then came the process of detaching the part thus
overturned from that still undisturbed, if this had not been previously
accomplished. Using a length of rail as a lever, this was quickly done,
and in a surprisingly brief space of time the rails of a half-mile of
road would be lying on blazing piles of ties. As a general rule, the
rails were laid on the fire, and the heating of the middle portion would
cause them to bend by their own weight, thus rendering them useless.
When there was time, the men twisted the hot rails around trees or
telegraph poles, or wreathed them together in fantastic shapes. We
worked nearly all night. Toward morning we halted in a field, and slept
for a couple of hours. Early in the morning the work was resumed, and
continued till evening, with only brief intermission for dinner. It
rained during the day, and became very cold toward evening. Night found
us near a stream; I do not know whether it was the Meherrin River or a
tributary of that stream. If the latter, it must have been near its
junction with the river. The town of Bellefield is on the Meherrin. We
tore up the road to that town. The town was held by a force of rebel
infantry, and also artillery to the number of seven or eight guns.
A dismal storm of snow and sleet came on in the evening, and we could
only anticipate a night of discomfort. Not long after dark we were
ordered to fall in, with only arms and ammunition. The intention was to
surprise the rebel force at Bellefield, or, at least, this was the
belief of the men. If so, the project was abandoned. We crossed the
stream, and tore up some more track, and returned. At this time the only
man lost by the regiment during the raid was killed.
As we overturned a stretch of rail, as before described, he was caught
under it as it fell. In the darkness and confusion no one noticed the
accident but myself; and such was the noise and shouting, it was some
time before I could make it known. As soon as possible we lifted the
rails and drew him out. His chest was crushed by the great weight, and
he scarcely breathed after he was extricated.
We spent the night standing around the fires. Sleep was impossible. The
freezing mud was ankle deep, and, as the sleety storm swept by, it
encased the outer world in an icy covering. Muffled in rubber blankets,
crouched around the fires, to get what warmth and comfort they could, as
the driving wind whirled the flames this way and that, the soldiers
waited for the return of day.
The next morning the return march began. Flankers were kept out on each
side of the column, to guard against surprise, and to prevent men from
straggling out from the column, as it was known that rebel cavalry was
hanging on our flank and rear, ready to inflict whatever damage they
could. There was an occasional dash on our rear; but this was easily
repulsed, and the day passed without special incident.
We camped that night in woods, two days' march from Petersburg. The
storm still continued, but not so severe as during the previous night. I
was fortunate enough to secure a piece of board, by means of which I
provided myself comfortable lodging for the night. That board was torn
from the side of a church near by. It was none the worse for that.
Perhaps that church never before did any service in the cause of loyalty
and the Union. That night it kept some Union soldiers off the wet
ground. The next morning the march was resumed. Before we had gone far,
we made a discovery that was enough to bring the blush of shame to the
face of any civilized man. Some of our men, who had fallen behind in the
march out, had been inhumanly butchered. I suppose the citizens, with
their usual stupidity, thought we would never return, and no day of
reckoning would come; and, finding these men in their power, murdered
them with a cold-blooded brutality only equaled by the most degraded
savages. Some were found riddled with bullets and stripped of their
clothing; some had their throats cut, besides gunshot wounds. My first
information was from Mike Coleman, who told me, with a look of horror in
his face, of the blood-curdling sight he had just witnessed.
This discovery had a peculiar effect upon the soldiers. Even those who
were usually undemonstrative gave vent to their feelings in hearty
curses on the rebellion, and every thing connected with it. The wish was
freely expressed that Lee might intercept us, and bring on the final
battle between civilization and barbarism. Up to this time there had
been no destruction of private property, except a mill, which had been
burned as a war measure, and a house, from which a cavalryman had been
treacherously shot; but now, either with or without orders, the men
began to burn and destroy every thing within their reach. Even the
fences were fired when it could be done. Not a single able-bodied man
could be seen along the route; they had fled from the wrath to come.
The One Hundred and Ninetieth was on the flank most of the day. About
the middle of the afternoon, we reached a group of houses and
outbuildings, which might almost be called a village. Here the head of
the column halted, and the flankers drew in near the road. A large
dwelling-house stood on the left of the road, the side on which we were.
The buildings on the other side of the road were already in flames, and
men were preparing to fire the dwelling-house. An old man was looking
out of a little out-door kitchen. He was leaning on his staff, trembling
with age, cold, and terror. A woman, bearing in her arms a babe but a
few months old, came out of the house. Her pale face and quiet bearing,
as she walked hurriedly away from the door, touched the gentler nature
in the soldiers' hearts, that was now dominated by the tiger, which the
sight of blood unjustly shed had aroused. Sympathy was marked on every
face. Not an unkind word was spoken; but the house must burn. This
general distress must teach the lesson that even _war_ has its limit of
barbarity.
That evening we recrossed the Notaway River, and camped about a quarter
of a mile beyond, where we camped the first night out. Here we were
joined by troops that had been sent down from Petersburg for that
purpose.
A large house, perhaps a tavern, stood near the road, nearly opposite
the site of our former camp. We had not been long in camp till we saw
this house, and the buildings connected with it, wrapped in flames. From
the fact that the place was not fired at once, we supposed it would be
spared. The case was thus explained: When the men first came to the
house, they were informed, on inquiry, that there was no man about. The
woman who seemed to be the mistress of the house, claimed to be a widow.
Investigation revealed a Springfield rifle and the uniform of a murdered
soldier concealed about the premises. This was sufficient. The house was
fired; and, as the flames spread, a man ran out from some place of
concealment, and tried to escape. He received the mercy he had given.
During the night the sky cleared, and by morning the ground was frozen.
You would suppose that the soldiers suffered from the cold. Most of them
slept as comfortably as you would at home, on such a night, covered over
with your quilts and blankets. How was it done? Every man wore an
overcoat, carried one wool blanket, a rubber blanket, and at least one
piece of canvas tent, five feet square. We "bunked" at least two
together, sometimes three. This gave two or three heavy wool blankets,
as many rubber blankets, besides the shelter tents. If the ground was
wet, we put a rubber blanket and a piece of tent under us; otherwise,
only one of these, and the rest over us. Then, with a fire on one side,
and a log on the other, there was no trouble about getting a good
night's sleep. Such were our sleeping arrangements this cold night.
The march of the following day was very trying, because of the roughness
of the ground and the extreme cold. In the evening we arrived in the
vicinity of Petersburg, and took our place on the left of our lines,
rather toward the rear. The loss of the Union forces during this raid
was about one hundred, killed and wounded.