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Chapter 5:
June 24 to July 31, 1863.
After leaving Poolsville we marched until 10 o'clock P. M., when, having travelled about six miles, we halted for the night, going into park on a little knoll near the roadside.
This spot will be remembered by comrades of the
Company for the sickening stench, filling the night air, from some animal carcasses rotting near by. We unharnessed and stretched the picket-rope across the caissons, a plan usually adopted in temporary camps.
To this the horses were hitched, between caissons, soon to be fed and groomed; then, spreading the tarpaulins on the ground, and arranging our blankets upon them, we ‘turned in,’ and slept soundly till the shrill bugle notes broke our slumbers at half-past 2 in the morning.
About 4 o'clock the infantry filed off into the road.
We soon followed, and when the sun rose hot and scorching, and we saw them toiling along under their load of musket, knapsack, cartridge-box,
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haversack, and canteen, we considered ourselves—required to bear only the two latter articles—especially fortunate in belonging to artillery.
At 8 o'clock we stopped for breakfast, munching our hard-tack and drinking our coffee with the relish which a march is wont to confer.
During the day we crossed the
Monocacy River, passing through Licksville, a small settlement on its left bank.
In the afternoon some one blundered and sent the brigade off two miles on the wrong road.
In attempting to make up for this loss the troops became scattered for miles along the road, and two or three of our horses dropped in their traces.
At night, however, all came together again, and, thoroughly weary, we went into camp at a place called
Petersville.
As a drizzling rain had set in we pitched our tarpaulins for the first time with the aid of rails.
This day we marched little, if any, less than twenty miles. We recall the fact that our spirits were not a little cheered by the abundance of cherries along the line of march, to which we helped ourselves with our accustomed liberality, and this, too, with little compunction, as they generally grew by the roadside and seemed to be county property.
Morning of Friday, June 26, broke wet and dripping, but we early resumed our march, and toiling on over a rocky road traversed by bullies rushing with water, at 9 o'clock entered the mountain region and the magnificent scenery of
Harper's Ferry.
Passing on through the dirty, desolate little settlements of
Knoxville, Weverton and
Sandy Hook, and following the narrow road in its winding, with the
Chesapeake and Ohio Canal on one side and the perpendicular rocks of
Maryland Heights on the other, we came at last opposite the historic town of
Harper's Ferry.
Set as it is in one of the angles formed
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by the confluence of the
Potomac and
Shenandoah rivers, and nestling at the foot of grand old mountains, its houses rising one above another on the bank of the former river, in time of peace it must have seemed a gem of beauty; but now, with the once splendid bridge of the
Baltimore and Ohio Road, which crosses the river at this place, half destroyed, the long armory buildings a row of blackened ruins by the river side, and the whole place deserted and desolate, it seemed singled out as a victim for the blighting hand of War.
But we moved on. A long, winding ascent, often rugged and in places quite steep, finally brought us to the high ground known as
Maryland Heights, situated opposite the
Ferry.
Here we found about eight thousand troops, representing eleven different States, encamped, under the command of
Maj. Gen. William H. French, a native of
Maryland, who served with distinction in the
Mexican War.
1 A part of the troops were located in our immediate neighborhood, a part on commanding ground to the north, while yet others occupied the lofty ridge of the
Heights that rose above us several hundred feet towards the south, which, though often enveloped in clouds, was strongly fortified and well provided with troops.
Along the crest of these mountains, which are the continuation of the
Blue Ridge into
Maryland,
Kershaw's and
Barksdale's brigades, of
Stonewall Jackson's command, marched the year before and captured the place, having forced their way through what was thought to be an impassable forest.
The bones of the
Rebels slain in the attack on the outer
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work were plainly visible, protruding from the shallow graves in which they had been hastily buried by friend or foe.
The morning after we reached the
Heights, the clouds, which had been discharging their watery contents upon us with unpleasant constancy since our arrival, broke away, and promised fair weather and a burning sun. We could see along the lofty ridge huge guns pointing off over the plains, and the white army wagons slowly toiling up its rugged sides; in the afternoon, however, dense clouds rolled over the mountain and drenched everybody and everything with showers of tropical intensity.
So, for every one of five days spent in that locality, we were alternately cheered by transient sunshine in the morning, and saturated by copious showers in the afternoon.
On the 29th, the Twenty-Third Maine, whose term of service had expired, went home rejoicing.
It had not seen any fighting.
It was made up of stalwart men, and was quite well drilled in the manual of arms, better, perhaps, than any other at Poolsville.
On the same date, one of ‘
Scott's Nine Hundred,’ shot while picketing on Bolivar Heights, was brought into camp, and a Dutch lieutenant and nineteen men were captured.
This, of course, was a sensation for us. It made war seem more of a reality than hitherto.
Thirty Rebel prisoners were also brought in this day. One forenoon
2 Gen. Hooker came riding up the
Heights on his white horse.
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This was our first and last sight of that gallant soldier while the war lasted, as he was relieved on the 28th, and saw his next active service in command of the Eleventh and Twelfth corps, when they were sent to
Sherman's army.
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Rumors now began to prevail that the
Heights and Harper's Ferry were to be evacuated, and soon the order came to be ready to move, June 30, at six in the morning. We were ready at the time appointed, but vainly waited hour after hour for further orders.
The heavy artillerymen were busily employed in removing siege guns down the mountain to the canal, where they were loaded on canal boats to be sent to
Washington; also in removing quartermasters' stores, preparing to destroy ammunition, etc.; so that we knew the evacuation was certainly determined upon.
During our wait the usual showers visited us at short intervals, and we huddled as best we could under the tarpaulins hastily stretched over the guns and caissons.
In the height of one of these, several explosions occurring in rapid succession led us to suppose the work of destruction had begun.
We afterwards learned that they were the result of carelessness.
Some one with more zeal than discretion struck a percussion shell with an axe, intending to destroy it. He accomplished his object, but not in accordance with his expectations.
The shell exploded, communicating fire to a small magazine near by, and this in turn exploded, all of which resulted in killing eleven and wounding sixteen men. They were members of the Fourteenth Massachusetts and One Hundred and Fifty-first New York heavy artillery.
Shortly after 3 o'clock orders finally came to start, and down we went over rocks and through streams of water, retracing our course hither, until, having traversed some six or seven miles, we went into camp for the night, about a mile distant from our former stopping-place, near
Petersville.
It was with no feelings of regret that we turned our backs on
Maryland Heights, for it rained when we approached
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them, it rained as we ascended them, rained every day we remained, rained a second deluge when we left; and had not the writer satisfied himself to the contrary during a visit to the place in July, 1869, when he spent a delightfully clear and cool night upon the summit with
William Endicott, he would be ready to affirm that it has rained there ever since.
The night of June 30th was one of the dreariest in our whole career.
We were new to the rough experience of campaigning in all weathers, and various circumstances conspired to cast a gloom over our prospects.
With the arrival of darkness, the rain commenced to fall again with fresh violence, and our tarpaulins, pitched on the wet ground of a side hill, proved a poor protection.
Although themselves tolerably impenetrable to water, they did not prevent the rain from driving in at the open ends, or miniature mill-streams from coursing down the slope beneath us. In the midst of this discomfort we were called into line to learn that we were to join the Army of the Potomac, that
Gen. Hooker had been relieved and
Gen. Meade appointed in his stead.
We knew that the
Rebel army in unknown numbers was sweeping through
Maryland, and that, as a fierce battle was more or less imminent, a change of leaders at this important juncture might dampen the ardor of the
Union army and make it a less confident opponent of its old-time antagonist.
In this dark period of its history we were to join that army and cast in our lot with it for victory or defeat, for life or death.
4
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When at last we were at liberty to return to our quarters we lay down, and, all things considered, slept well till morning, at which time we turned out steaming, to continue our march.
As we moved out of the charmed circle of
Maryland Heights, the clouds broke away and the sun came forth intensely hot and scorching.
Many of the infantry gave way under it. Some were sunstruck, and we now longed for the clouds as anxiously as before we had looked for the sun. Passing through a settlement called
Middle Creek, and the pretty little village of
Jefferson, at which we tarried awhile at noon, we arrived about sundown at the city of
Frederick, since made famous by
Whittier's ‘
Barbara Frietchie.’
The city lay in a section of country whose beauty was truly charming; and, indeed, the whole of
Pleasant Valley,—that being the name of the stretch of territory over which we had just passed,—with its fresh green fields, and dwellings betokening an air of unusual thrift and comfort, having the
Blue Ridge as a background, presented a picture of rural loveliness still distinct on the tablets of memory.
On every side waved fields of grain and other crops just yielding to the reaper.
The people seemed kind and loyal, and the general appearance of industry reminded us vividly of our own
New England.
July 2d was a general drying-day, for the frequent rains of the preceding days had not only completely soaked the clothing we wore, but had also penetrated
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the contents of our shoddy knapsacks, so that shirts, blouses, jackets, and blankets were to be seen stretched upon every available fence or carriage to dry. We learned here that the Army of the Potomac had been passing through
Frederick for two days, but instead of pressing on to overtake it, we were sent at 3 o'clock P. M., with the Tenth Vermont Regiment and a company of cavalry, three miles from the city to
Frederick Junction, a station on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, from which a short branch extended to the city.
Our business here was to guard the railroad bridge across the
Monocacy.
5 A block house erected for the same purpose stood near by. The spot was rather attractive as a whole, and the prospect of ample opportunity to wash and bathe in the river was quite gratifying.
On the morning of July 3d, before we had turned out, a faint rumbling of cannon was perceptible to the ear. It was the incipient muttering of the third day's
battle at Gettysburg.
Often during the day did we kneel to the ground, and the quick throbbing sounds heard at irregular intervals told us the two great armies had indeed met, forty miles away, and were engaged in deadly struggle for the mastery.
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This day the rest of
Gen. Morris's brigade, to which we were attached, came to the
Junction and camped near us. The morning of the Fourth dawned, with the contest still undecided.
Our anxiety for the result, however, as the day wore on, was in part overcome by an intense desire for food.
Our hard-tack was crawling with weevils, and the meat cooked some days before had become equally animated with maggots.
Our next resort was to the pork-barrel, and a slice of raw pork, sandwiched between hardtack from which the tenants had been expelled by fire, formed our Fourth of July dinner.
This day news came that
Lee was retreating, and at 6 o'clock in the. afternoon we received orders to march; but before we had gone over half the distance to
Frederick, the order was countermanded, and we returned to the
Junction about 9 o'clock. The next day was the Sabbath, and the wildest of reports were brought by engineers on passing trains.
We believed only what we pleased of these, but the great fact that the
Rebel army had been defeated and was in full retreat could no longer be doubted.
Numerous trains came along from
Washington, laden with fresh troops, and with horses, forage, and rations for the army, and we felt that the most energetic efforts were being made to crush the enemy before he could recross the
Potomac.
In the midst of this excitement came news of
Vicksburg's surrender, and it seemed as if the war was about to close and that the
Battery was not likely to get its full share of the glory.
It was but the temporary lifting of the clouds before they again shut down under another dark night of bloodshed and disaster in which we were destined to be swept to the front of the tempest.
Several trains, loaded with Rebel prisoners taken
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in the battle, passed along at intervals.
Many of these men were quite talkative and discussed the situation very freely and pleasantly; while others, who evidently took matters less philosophically, were sullen, and either said nothing when addressed or growled in monosyllables.
We gave them only kind words, however.
On the morning of the 5th,
Gen. French caused a spy, bearing the name of
Richardson, to be hung at
Frederick, and for example's sake allowed his body to remain hanging to the tree all day.
The Eighth, Forty-sixth and Fifty-first Massachusetts, and the Seventh New York regiments arrived at the
Junction on the 6th, and two sections of the
Battery (the right and centre) were sent up to the city to do provost duty, with strict orders for all ragged and patched pantaloons to be doffed, and nothing but the best worn.
Scales and boots were to be brightly polished and kept so. All of which was done.
But when the old soldiers of
Potomac's ZZZa rivar passed the men as they stood on duty, and such expressions as ‘Bandbox Battery’ and other derogatory remarks on their gay appearance reached the ear, the blood of would-be veterans was roused, and scales, which had always played a conspicuous part on parade occasions, vanished, never to appear
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again.
Just one pair in the whole Company is known to have survived this indignant uprising, and any comrade wishing to renew his acquaintance with that article of ornament is referred to our respected past artificer,
Willard Y. Gross.
On the 8th of July marching orders came, and the left section, having been relieved by the Twelfth New York Battery, which had just arrived from Camp Barry, rejoined the rest of the
Company in
Frederick at 2 P. M. Here we found the Army of the Potomac still passing.
The troops from
Harper's Ferry were to join the Third Corps,—the celebrated fighting troops of
Gen. Sickles, who, having lost a leg at
Gettysburg, had left his command and was succeeded by
Gen. French.
We soon found ourselves in the midst of the great army, cheek by jowl with the men who fought under
McDowell, and
McClellan, and
Pope, and
Burnside, and
Hooker, as principals, and under the more immediate direction of such leaders as
Sumner and
Franklin,
Keyes and
Kearny,
Heintzelman and
McCall,
Sedgwick,
Reno, and
Banks in the earlier days of the war, and now were fresh from the gory fields of
Gettysburg, where
Reynolds, of precious memory, and
Buford, and
Hancock, and
Sickles had immortalized themselves; and we rejoiced at our good fortune in being thus associated.
When we left
Frederick,
Capt. Sleeper was placed in charge of the entire supply train of the Third Corps.
The long lines of ammunition and forage wagons stretching with their white coverings as far as the eye could reach on every road, pressing noisily on in seeming confusion, yet really moving harmoniously under a definite system without any collision; the long, dark-blue columns of infantry, their bayonets glistening in the sun, winding down
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across
Middletown Valley and up the opposite slope in advance of the trains; and the bodies of troops temporarily bivouacking by the roadside waiting to take their proper place in column, or perhaps lunching upon hard-tack and coffee after a forced march, combined to give us our first distinct impressions of a large army in motion.
We were rapidly moving towards the
South Mountain range, and continually met ambulances loaded with the wounded from recent cavalry skirmishes in the mountain passes.
As we moved up out of the valley towards the mountains, and cast our eyes back over the course we had traversed, a charming scene was presented to the view.
The whole expanse of
Middletown Valley lay before us, its fields ripe for the harvest, mottled with dark groves of fruit and shade trees from which peeped white buildings belonging to large estates.
In the midst stood the modest little hamlet of
Middletown and the glittering city of
Frederick; while over all was poured a flood of mellow light from the sun just sinking behind the mountains.
Among many of the older troops we found the love of
McClellan still strong and deep.
How was it that, after successive failure and defeat, after having lost the confidence both of the government and the people, this man succeeded in implanting such imperishable sentiments of love and devotion in his soldiers?
They declared he had never been whipped, that they had driven the
Rebels in every fight on the
Peninsula, and if the
General could have had his own way,
Richmond would have been ours long since.
Nor could we make the absurdity of their views, as they appeared to us, at all plain to them by any argument or appeal to facts.
Their devotion seemed something inexplicable, and we attributed
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it to the tact of the man and the favoring circumstances attaching to him as their first commander.
We camped for the night on the slope of the mountain, near a brick house occupied as headquarters by
Brig. Gen. Morris, on a portion of
South Mountain battlefield.
Here we lay quietly until 9 P. M. of the next day (Thursday, July 9), while the Sixth Corps and a numerous body of cavalry filed past.
Having freighted our haversacks with three days rations, we, too, moved on as part and parcel of the Army of the Potomac, considering ourselves now fully identified with it, and justly proud, too, of our connection.
The fear of being sent into the Department of the Gulf was no longer a bugbear to us. Our fondest hopes were realized.
The future was yet to show whether we should reflect credit or disgrace upon our distinguished associates.
It was quite dark when we entered Turner's Gap.
The road was terribly rough and rugged, which made our night march toilsome in the extreme; but we labored on until after midnight, when, having got through the
Gap, we turned into a field on the right of the road, and bivouacked for the rest of the night.
With the first streak of dawn the shrill bugle summoned us again into readiness for moving.
Shortly after there came sounds of cannonading in our front, which made our pulses beat quick with expectation of battle, but we remained quiet; and when, about 10 o'clock, the column finally moved on, the firing had died away.
The road was encumbered with wagon trains belonging to troops in the advance, and the weather was quite warm, so that we marched no more than five or six miles during the day. We passed through the little village of Kediesville about 6 o'clock, and camped just beyond,
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on a portion of the
Antietam battlefield.
But the harnesses were hardly off the horses before orders were received to be ready to march at once.
Hungry and tired as we were, it was hard to think of moving on before taking the expected rest and refreshment on the fresh green knoll where we were in position.
Nevertheless we were soon ready and awaiting orders, which did not come, as so often happened.
About midnight, as we lay scattered upon the ground asleep, orders came to unharness, and we passed the rest of the night in comparative quiet, disturbed only by the columns of passing infantry that went on and camped near Boonesboroa, where we joined them the next morning (July 11). Boonesboroa bore marks of a cavalry brush that occurred there the day before.
Here we fell in with the Ninth Massachusetts Battery,—our first interview with it since it left Camp Barry.
It had been severely handled at
Gettysburg, its first fight, losing twenty-nine men in killed, wounded, and prisoners.
This day we remember as the one on which we were weaned from the
Company cooks, and received our rations uncooked, for each man to prepare to his own taste.
Continuing our march leisurely from Boonesboroa, crossing
Beaver and
Antietam creeks, we arrived, at midnight, at
Sampsonville, or
Roxbury Mills, in or near
Williamsport.
The next day was the Sabbath, but all was bustle and excitement.
A great battle seemed imminent.
Orderlies were galloping rapidly from point to point, and everything was in readiness to move at a moment's notice.
The army was in excellent spirits, and the greatest enthusiasm prevailed.
The soldiers felt that they had
Lee where he could not escape.
His army was beaten, demoralized, panicstricken.
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‘Our forces,’ it was said, ‘had it surrounded in a
horse-shoe, and across the opening stretched the swollen, impassable Potomac.’
We never afterwards saw men so eager to be led to battle.
6 They would have fought with the utmost zeal, for they felt that one more decisive blow would end the war, at least in
Virginia; but matters lingered mysteriously.
About noon, we, with other batteries, were ordered into position a mile beyond Antietam Bridge.
Rumors of fighting at
Hagerstown reached us, but still no sound of battle.
The afternoon passed with several hard showers, and at night we unharnessed.
Monday came and went with no active operations, and Tuesday morning brought no change.
Soon it began to be rumored that
Lee had escaped across the river.
The report sounded painfully ominous.
We would not believe it. Again, and yet again, it came with greater definiteness and a persistence which marked it true.
Disheartened and indignant, we advanced at noon, passing several lines of rude breastworks thrown up during the past forty-eight hours, and camped for the night near St. James College, a Catholic institution, which we found deserted and ravaged, having evidently been occupied by the
Rebel army.
Wednesday morning the army took up its retrograde line of march.
We now knew definitely that
Lee had been permitted to escape across the river, and it was proposed to intercept his return to
Richmond by keeping continually on his flank, and heading
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him off at every pass.
But how changed the spirits of the army!
Hope and enthusiasm, so conspicuously prevalent during the past three days, had given place to disgust and indifference.
The men had been robbed of their prey, as it seemed to them, and now, instead of enjoying the laurels they had been confidently expecting as victors, they were to return into
Virginia, to renew their weary marches over its dusty plaius and through its miry roads, to combat the foe anew in his chosen strongholds.
It could not be expected that they would be otherwise than dissatisfied; but they had been so thoroughly schooled in disappointment that they did not carry their disgust beyond the point of giving it very frequent and emphatic expression: nor was this feeling limited to the rank and file, but was shared also by the officers.
It is not within the province of this unpretentious work to discuss the wisdom or mistakes of the movements immediately subsequent to
Gettysburg, nor is it necessary.
The seal of disapproval has been set upon them by the verdict of history.
It is an easy matter after an act is performed to show wherein it might have been bettered; but an ounce of such philosophy before a battle is worth a ton afterwards.
We shall always believe, however, that
Gen. Meade did what seemed best to him at the time and under the circumstances.
7
It may be permitted the writer to make, as his contribution to the fund of
post proclium wisdom, a
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statement made to him by an ex-Confederate
8 connected with
Lee's supply train, that the
Rebel army was all but destitute of ammunition at
Williamsport and had sent its train back to
Staunton for a supply, which did not reach them on its return until after they had recrossed the
Potomac.
The same authority further stated that his army was utterly demoralized and without organization, and that the
Rebels supposed our army refrained from attacking because in substantially the same condition.
Our line of march takes us through a place called
Wilmington and across a part of
Antietam battlefield.
On our left, a narrow strip of green extending back over the hill, half a mile in length, marks the limits of a trench in which it is said there are three thousand bodies buried.
Other patches of green, less in extent, indicate still further the resting-places of the slain in this great battle.
9 On the hill at our right stands the ‘Chapel,’
10 whose battered walls, together with the many scarred trees near it, attest the severity of the conflict, and the efficacy of the shooting done, we are told, by the First
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Massachusetts and other batteries, to dislodge the enemy from this position.
The scattered bones of horses that still lay bleaching were the only other witnesses left by the farmers to bear testimony to the indecisive contest of ten months previous.
We make these observations while passing, for the army does not halt, but moves on, arriving soon after at the town of
Sharpsburg, through which we pass and camp for the night about three miles beyond.
This town, by whose name the
Rebels designate the
battle of Antietam, because their line was established near and in it, also gave evidence of warlike treatment.
It was a low, filthy settlement, showing need of the healing arts of Peace, rather than the destroying tendencies of War.
Resuming our march Thursday morning by way of
Pleasant Valley, we passed through the villages of
Rohrersville and
Brownsville, camping near the latter until 5 o'clock P. M. the next day. Here, for some reason we never understood, but for which we were afterwards more or less grateful, we were ordered to turn in our knapsacks and do up our effects in rolls or ‘bundles.’
Although but about six miles from
Harper's Ferry, we did not reach its vicinity until midnight. It was raining there still, just as when we left.
We lay along the railroad, passing the dreary hours as comfortably as we could, and at 5 o'clock in the gray of morning crossed the turbid waters of the
Potomac by pontoon, and entered the
Ferry.
The town was entirely deserted by its inhabitants, and the empty houses and glaring signboards seemed to stare at us as if ghosts of departed happiness and business prosperity.
No faces peered from the lonely windows; no smoke curled from the cold chimneys; the shelves of the stores displayed no piles of tempting goods; no vehicles save those
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of the army waked the echoes of its quiet streets: everything stood as it had been left, the life of the place having been suddenly paralyzed by the touch of a monster—the monster War.
Passing on by another bridge which spanned the
Shenandoah, and winding round by a narrow road under the cliffs of Bolivar Heights, we entered Loudon Valley and began our experience in war-swept
Virginia.
It was a beautiful country which we had entered.
The route lay through forests of oak, against which the woodman's axe appeared never to have been lifted, and then emerged in the midst of fertile fields waving with wheat and other grains.
On our right stretched the
Blue Ridge, like a sheltering wall against the rude blasts of winter, and the country seemed fitted to be a garden of plenty.
The inhabitants were evidently not in harmony with the natural beauty around them.
The poor in their miserable hovels, and with scanty gardens, were contented if they could maintain a bare existence and keep starvation from the door.
The estates of the wealthier, while having some show of comfort and plenty, wore a neglected and decaying appearance, partly because war had stifled all thrift and enterprise, and partly owing to the deadening influences of slavery.
During our first day in
Virginia we marched about eleven miles, and the next day seven more, camping near an insignificant settlement, known as Woodsgrove, amidst a profusion of blackberries.
From this place
Sergt. Allard and
privates Alden,
Abbott and
F. A. Chase were sent, mounted, back to
Berlin on the
Maryland side of the
Potomac, with requisitions for a supply of mules to take the place of the horses on our baggage wagons.
While returning they were captured by guerrillas and taken
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to
Belle Isle, Virginia.
A detailed account of their experience will be found in the Appendix.
Monday morning, the 20th, we continued our line of march, passing through
Snickersville, near Snicker's Gap,
Bloomfield, and
Paris, all small villages, and camped at
Upperville near Ashby's Gap, where we remained until the afternoon of the 22d, leaving at 5 o'clock, the right and centre sections advancing about six miles and camping at
Piedmont.
The left section having been detailed as rear guard to the supply train, was on the road all night in that capacity, and the next morning made a rapid march of twelve miles to rejoin the
Battery.
We overtook it at mid-day pushing on into Manassas Gap.
We met a body of cavalry and flying artillery coming out of the gap. They had been holding it until the army arrived.
We were immediately ordered into position on one of a series of eminences known as Wapping Heights, commanding the road through the
Pass.
It was thought
Lee intended to get possession of these heights, and a battle was momentarily expected.
11 But no sooner were our guns in position than, wearied with the march of the last twenty hours, many of the men fell down beside them and slept soundly.
At sundown we began to
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cast about for something to eat, rations being in arrears as well as forage.
A neighboring cornfield furnished a meal of green stalks for the horses, and from the remains of a cow that had been slaughtered by some of the infantry who had preceded us, several of the
Company gleaned meat enough for supper.
Others, making a raid on a neighboring barn-yard, secured a calf and a sheep, which were promptly offered up as victims to the needs of the present hour.
In the morning several rapid volleys of musketry were heard, and we expected soon to be engaged, but the sounds at length died away.
The dark masses of infantry that were encamped on the hills around began to file down into the road and retrace their steps.
Then we knew that the
Rebels had gone.
Of course the sanguine circulated rumors that there was but one gap left by which they could escape to
Richmond, and that, our forces could reach first; but we put little confidence in them, and, as it proved, these were the last sounds of battle heard in this campaign.
We soon followed the infantry, and having arrived at
Piedmont, where we encamped for the night, found the welcome supply trains awaiting us.
Another day's march took us through the settlements of
Oak Hill and
Salem.
The latter stood on the flattest piece of territory we had yet seen in
Virginia.
It had been quite a flourishing village in its day, but now, left in charge of its old men and a few faithful blacks, it was fast going to decay.
We bivouacked for the night nearly three miles beyond the town, and on the morrow (Sunday) completed
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the remaining distance of six miles to
Warrenton, arriving there about 11 o'clock A. M., parking just outside the town.
Our halt here was brief, however, for soon an order came for us to go on picket at a post three miles beyond the town, which we did, having a support of four or five thousand infantry accompany us.
Warrenton is the capital town of
Fauquier County, and in 1860 was recorded as having a free population of 605.
As we were marched around instead of through the town, much to the disgust of our Yankee curiosity, we could take no note of its interior.
What we could see of its suburbs, however, was in its favor.
A visit to the place in 1879, under more favorable circumstances, enables us to give some description of it. It is a ‘city set on a hill,’ and, therefore, can be seen for a long distance.
Its present population is said to number 2,000.
It has but one business street, perhaps one-fourth of a mile in length, which was innocent of all attempts at grading, being lowest in the centre and the receptacle of more or less rubbish.
There are wretched attempts at sidewalks in spots, and horse-blocks, or their equivalent, are found in front of many of the stores and dwellings.
Most of the buildings on this main street are unpretentious structures, many of them the typical Southern store, one story high, with pitched roof, and a piazza in front seemingly for the shelter of the loungers that are always to be found under it. Three or four churches, a courthouse, and a small jail behind the latter, of a somewhat rickety appearance, seeming hardly strong enough to hold securely the highly civilized type of criminal found in the
Middle and Eastern States, comprise the public buildings.
The court-house has been called ‘handsome’ in its day, but on what
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ground it would be somewhat difficult, at present, to tell.
Although a two-storied building, it is quite low-studded, and a part of its outer wall finished in plaster presents evidence that the ‘scaling down’ process, of late so popular in some parts of the quondam Confederacy, is becoming general in its application.
The Circuit Court was in session while we were here, engaged in trying a negro for the murder of a white man at
Manassas Junction some weeks before.
A large crowd, composed of both colors, was assembled in and about the court-house, but as good-natured and free from excitement as could be found anywhere in the
North under similar conditions.
The prisoner certainly seemed to be having a fair trial.
The suburbs are by far the most attractive and creditable part of the town.
There are a number of very fine residences on the four or five roads that centre in this place.
Many of them have been built since the war. Spacious and ornamental grounds surround them, showing the existence of a refined taste and the means of gratifying it, and proving rather conclusively that not every Rebel exhausted his resources in the interests of the
Confederacy,— for
Warrenton was a stanch Rebel stronghold during the war, and, as we were informed, still deserves that reputation.
A private conversation with some of the colored men, however, assured us that they exercise their suffrages entirely untrammelled.
As we journeyed on beyond the town we met horsemen at short intervals, isolated or in pairs,
Virginia gentlemen of the old school going to ‘Circuit.’
This is one of the ‘field days’ of the county, when almost every man within a radius of twenty miles may be found at county headquarters; and from the number of saddled
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horses picketed along the streets and in vacant lots, one might easily imagine either
Kilpatrick's or
Stuart's troopers in possession, were it a time of war. Approaching the town later in the day, on our homeward journey, we met several of these same gentry, also wending their way homeward, many of whom maintained a very unstable equilibrium in the saddle.
In brief, during Circuit, liquors flow with the utmost freedom, each gentleman of the F. F. V.'s drinking with every one of his acquaintances whom lie meets, if his capacity is equal to it. But we must not linger longer in this representative and interesting town of the Old Dominion.
One feature of our march through
Virginia thus far was the untold abundance of blackberries with which we were almost constantly regaled.
In some sections they literally lined the roads and overran the fields.
It was possible for a soldier to seat himself in their midst, and without once changing his location, to fill his stomach, or his coffee dipper, or both.
It is to be further noted that the fruit was unusually sweet and delicious, putting our northern products into the shade in this particular.
To what extent it was instrumental in toning up the health and spirits of the army cannot be estimated, but that it was
eminently beneficial, and warded off a vast amount of summer disease, is beyond all question.
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We remained at our post on picket for five days. From this camp,
First Sergeant Otis N. Harrington, who had been ailing for some time with chronic diarrhoea, was sent to
Washington, the 29th, but did not live to reach there, dying on the journey July 30th.
He left his saddle when the army crossed into
Virginia, saying at the time that the last hope of recovery had left him. The rigors of the campaign to this point had so aggravated his disease that his courage had deserted him, and his strength nearly so, when we crossed at
Harper's Ferry.
From this time the hardships lie underwent multiplied, so that when at last it was permitted to send him to the hospital he had not sufficient vitality left to reach there.
He was an efficient officer and a good soldier, and was much respected by the entire Company, which deeply lamented his death.
Sergt. George H. Putnam was promoted to fill the vacancy on the 8th of August.
John C. Frost also left us the same date, and was discharged from the service for disability the following September.
Before we left this camp, a large mail, which had been accumulating at
Washington for three weeks, arrived, and opened to us once more the outer world from which we had been so completely excluded.
July 31, we moved forward and took post at
Sulphur Springs.
Morning reports.
1863.
June 26.
Battery arrived at
Maryland Heights at 10 o'clock A. M.
June 27.
Gen. French took command of this post to-day.
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June 28.
Private Charles Slack reported to quarters.
June 29.
Private Charles Slack reported for duty.
Privates Frank M. Estee and
Warburton reported to quarters.
June 30.
Privates Estee and
Warburton reported for duty.
Started from
Maryland Heights for Frederick City.
July 1.
Arrived at Frederick City at 6 o'clock P. M.
July 2.
Started from Frederick City at 4 P. M. and arrived at
Monocacy Junction 6 P. M.
July 3.
Private John T. Goodwin reported for duty.
July 4.
Privates Clark (?) and
Orcutt (?) reported to quarters.
July 5.
Privates Orcutt (?) and
Nowell reported to quarters.
July 7.
Privates Clark (?),
Orcutt (?) and
Nowell returned to duty.
Two sections of this Battery returned to Frederick City.
July 8.
The sections at
Frederick Junction joined the
Battery.
The
Battery started for
South Mountain to join the Third Army Corps at 2 o'clock.
July 9.
On the march
Alvah F. Southworth and
S. G. Richardson appointed teamsters vice
Abbott and
Chase reduced.
July 10.
Camped on
Antietam battleground.
July 12.
Quartermaster Serg't
S. A. Alden and Corp'l
W. W. Starkweather reduced to the ranks.
Private W. G. Rollins appointed Q. M.
Sergt. in place of
Alden reduced to the ranks.
Private B. C. Clark appointed corporal in place of
Starkweather.
July 13. Two horses shot.
Disease glanders.
Three horses abandoned as worthless and worn out.
July 18.
Crossed the
Potomac river from
Maryland to
Virginia.
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July 19.
Serg't
Allard and
privates Alden,
Chase and
Abbott sent to
Berlin for horses and mules with four horses mounted.
July 25. Three horses abandoned as worthless and worn out.
July 27.
First Sergeant Otis N. Harrington and
private John C. Frost reported sick to quarters.
Captain J. Henry Sleeper absent sick at
Warrenton on surgeon's certificate.
July 28. One horse abandoned as worthless and worn out.
July 29.
First Sergeant Otis N. Harrington and
private John C. Frost sent to Gen'l Hospital,
Washington, D. C. One horse died, disease inflammation of the bladder.
Privates Northey,
Ellsworth,
Ramsdell,
Ham,
Chase,
Peach,
Innis,
Clark (?),
Bickford, Ring,
Newton,
Parks,
Pierce (?) reported to quarters.
