Читать книгу: «Reminiscences of the Nineteenth Massachusetts regiment», страница 3

Looking at the campaign in the most charitable light possible, the fact remained that on April 4 the finest army ever mustered began the advance on Richmond; that we had been within five miles of that city, and that July 4 found the army on the banks of the James River, with less than half of the number it had three months before. We were not disheartened. Many had expected that 1862 would see the end of the war, but it now looked as though those who were spared would see the end of their three years’ enlistment. The losses in officers had been such that many promotions were made. Four enlisted men were promoted second lieutenants, and I was one of the number. I was assigned to Company I, Capt. J. F. Plympton. By a misunderstanding between Colonel Hincks and Lieutenant-Colonel Devereaux, First Sergeant Driver and myself did not receive our commissions until August, although we continued as acting second lieutenants, the two commissioned by recommendation of Colonel Hincks not being assigned to duty.

It was impossible to obtain officers’ uniforms, so I bought a pair of brass shoulder-straps, sewed them on my well-worn blouse, borrowed a sword of Lieutenant Mumford and went on duty, as verdant an officer as could be found in the army of the Potomac.

About the middle of August I was ordered to report to First Lieut. John P. Reynolds for special duty. We were to take charge of the guard of the division wagon train that was ordered to Fortress Monroe. Our duty was an important one. We knew we were liable to attack at any time by guerillas, and constant vigilance was required. We often met small parties of mounted citizens who rode past our train. We believed they were “taking us in,” but we had not arrived at the time when men were arrested on suspicion, so we let them pass but kept our train well covered. We arrived at Fortress Monroe in due time, turned over the train and reported to the regiment at Newport News, they having marched a few day after we were ordered away.

While our duty as the advance guard had been arduous, we had not suffered as much as those who marched with the regiment. They had marched rapidly over dusty roads, under a broiling sun, and many had been sunstruck. Among the number was Capt. William A. Hill. He was not able to speak above a whisper for several days, and his condition was serious; but his courage was good and he remained on duty with the regiment. The men having rested a day, and being now veteran soldiers, had forgotten their hardships, and when we arrived were nearly all in the James River hunting for oysters.

On August 24, the brigade embarked on the steamship “Atlantic” for Washington, arriving at Alexandria the 28th, – just one year from the day we left Massachusetts.

CHAPTER VI

BATTLES OF FAIRFAX COURT HOUSE, FLINT HILL AND ANTIETAM

My position had changed during the past year from corporal in Company A to second lieutenant in Company I, and it took me some time to get accustomed to the new office. Up to the time I left Company A no man had been punished; but the morning that I reported for duty in Company I Captain Plympton had one man on a barrel and another on knapsack drill, and I thought I had made a mistake in not taking sparring lessons before being promoted.

I found the men of Company I as good-hearted a lot as there was in the regiment, only a little wild. The leader of the company was a young boy; he was about seventeen years old, and a private soldier, yet he was the one who settled all disputes. He was well informed in regard to the movements of the army, and had ideas respecting future campaigns that he was ready to discuss with officers or men. Soon after I joined the company he called on me and made a little speech of welcome, saying that the boys were glad I had been assigned to the company, and assured me they would make it pleasant for me. Such a reception was very gratifying. I was but twenty years of age and doubted my ability to control these men, but I commanded the company for nearly two years, and punished but one man during the time. That boy has since become known and honored by every comrade in Massachusetts. The friendship formed that day for George H. Patch continued until his death, and the memory of that light-hearted, true soldier will be precious to me while life shall last.

Leaving the transports at Alexandria, we first marched to Chain Bridge, then to Tenallytown, Md. No one seemed to know where they wanted us. We went into camp and waited for orders, which, when received, were to march at once for Centreville, to reinforce General Pope. At daybreak, August 30, we crossed the bridge at Georgetown, and reached Fairfax Court House the next morning, having marched sixty-three miles in sixty-four successive hours. It was the hardest march we had made, – twenty-four hours of the time it rained in torrents. The shoes of the men were in bad condition; many marched bare-footed, and it was impossible for them to keep in the ranks. We did not have a hundred men in the ranks when we reached the line of battle.

At Fairfax Court House we found everything in confusion. Pope’s army had been defeated at the second Bull Run and were in full retreat. Without time to make coffee we were ordered in, and deployed as skirmishers to the right of the town, as it was expected the rebel cavalry would attack the flank. We remained in this position until the army had passed, when, with the 1st Minnesota, we were selected to cover the retreat. The rebel cavalry came down on us, and we had some sharp fighting as we fell back. At Flint Hill we made a stand. Night had come on and we did not care to be bothered with the rebels any longer. The 1st Minnesota formed a V with two sections of Tompkins’s Rhode Island battery at this point, the 19th supporting the battery. On came the rebels, right into the trap we had set. The Minnesota boys opened fire, followed by the battery. The 19th charged with a yell; the rout was complete, as all not killed or wounded turned and fled. We had no time to follow them, as we were quite a distance from the main army. When we rejoined the column our two regiments were mistaken for the enemy, and fired upon by our own ranks. Assistant-Surgeon Hill was killed, Captain Russell disabled by his horse being shot, and several men wounded.

The next day we again crossed the Potomac to Maryland soil. The prospects were not pleasant to contemplate. We had done little but march in retreat the past six months. A line officer has little chance to see what is going on outside his regiment, and his opinion is of little importance, but I believed then, and time has only strengthened my belief, that the leading officers of the Army of the Potomac were perfectly willing General Pope should be whipped. He had taken command of the Army of Virginia with a swell order: “Headquarters in the saddle, spades to the rear, muskets to the front,” and they were glad to see the conceit taken out of him. There is a great deal of human nature shown in the world, – even in army commanders.

We now took up our line of march through Maryland. We were not the only ones who had crossed the Potomac, as the rebels had already crossed and were marching north, and we must head them off if possible. It began to look as though they would capture Washington before we captured Richmond. We marched through Rockville, where we had spent our winters so pleasantly, and met many old acquaintances, but missed several of our gentlemen friends who, we learned, had joined the rebel army.

Some of the ladies, who loved the stars and bars, joked us on our “On to Richmond” movement, and were confident the war would soon end with the south victorious. The events of the past few months had been such that we had slight ground for an argument; but we assured them we were satisfied, and all we wanted was to get General Lee on this side of the river. Our march through Maryland was delightful; the farther we got into the interior the more loyal the people became, and our welcome was cordial.

We arrived at South Mountain while the battle was being fought, but took no part in it. The 16th of September we reached Antietam, and formed in line of battle. On the morning of the 17th, with our brigade in the centre, we advanced in three lines of battle, over walls and fences, through fields, under a terrible fire of artillery. The regiment was growing nervous but did not break. Colonel Hincks halted us, put us through the manual of arms, ending with parade rest. Having become steady, we moved forward to a strip of woods, and came upon the enemy strongly posted. Grape and canister, shot and shell, volleys of musketry greeted us, – and our men fell as grain before the scythe.

One-half of our officers and men were either killed or wounded. Colonel Hincks was the first to fall, again terribly wounded. Capt. George W. Batchelder was killed, and the command of the regiment and companies changed fast, as one after another officer went down. At the time we were so hotly engaged in the front we began to receive a fire from our left and rear, and discovered that we were being flanked, and must change front to rear. This was done by the 19th Massachusetts and 1st Minnesota. We were now under command of Colonel Devereaux, and were ordered to take a position near a stone wall. We fired as we fell back, holding the enemy until we had reformed our lines, when we again went in and continued fighting until dark, when we were ordered to support a battery. We then had time to count the cost of the battle. Colonel Hincks was reported dying, and we mourned the loss of our brave leader. Captain Batchelder was dead. He had been my tent-mate since I had been an officer, and had rendered me valuable assistance. Every one loved him; he was an ideal volunteer soldier. Having graduated at Harvard, he entered the army as an enlisted man in the Salem Zouaves at the first call for men, and had worked hard to bring the regiment to the state of efficiency which it had reached.

I had not seen my brother since we had advanced in line. He was left general guide of the regiment, and his place was on the left. As soon as we halted I went to the company, but he was not there. The following day I searched the hospitals, but could not find him, and on the morning of the 19th, the rebels having left our front, I went where their lines had been and found him, with Jacob Hazen of Company C and George Carleton of Company B, near an old haystack. He had been shot in the right side of the neck, the ball passing out of the left shoulder; it had cut the spinal nerve, and he could not move hand or foot. I saw at once that he could not live and had him placed in an ambulance and carried to our field hospital. It was the saddest duty of my life. We had left home together, and had often talked of a happy reunion around the old fireside when the war should end. Now I must write to my old mother that one of the three who had bade her good-by in ’61 would never return.

This was war, terrible war! As I was kneeling by his side, hearing his last words, a woman’s voice said, “Is he your brother?” I explained to her the fact that I was in command of my company and could not stay with him, but could not bear to have him die alone. With tears streaming down her motherly face she promised me she would not leave him, but would see him buried and would send me word where he was laid, – which promise she faithfully kept. The name of this good woman was Mrs. Mary Lee of Philadelphia, Pa. She had a son in Baxter’s Fire Zouaves, who was with her that day. Several years ago, when Post 2, G. A. R., of Philadelphia, was in Boston, I saw that one of the old battle-flags was the Fire Zouaves, and was carried by Sergeant Lee. He proved to be the son I had met that sad day at Antietam; a few months later I visited his mother in Philadelphia, who was working just the same for the soldiers as she had done during the war.

While my brother lay wounded on the field inside the rebel lines an officer of the 8th South Carolina came along, and seeing 19 on his cap asked to what regiment he belonged. Being informed that it was the 19th Massachusetts, he said he had a brother in that regiment named Daniel W. Spofford. My brother told him that his brother was wounded in the battle, and might be on the field. He searched for him but did not find him, as he was able to go to the rear before we changed front. Returning, he had my brother carried to the haystack where I found him, and rendered all the assistance possible. The name of the South Carolina officer was Phineas Spofford. Both brothers survived the war. The Union soldier resides in Georgetown, Mass., the rebel in South Carolina, but he often visits his native State.

I also missed my boy Patch. He was last seen helping a sergeant from the field. He turned up in Libby Prison a few days later. My old company had met with other losses than death. Four men had deserted on the eve of battle. They had taken the canteens of the company to go in search of water. No doubt they are searching yet, as they did not return. Two were non-commissioned officers, and all were intelligent men.

The regiment was now commanded by Capt. H. G. O. Weymouth. Again we crossed the Potomac, and went to camp on Boliver Heights, near Harper’s Ferry. We did not lose the battle of Antietam because we held the ground, but made the mistake of remaining inactive while the rebels withdrew to the other side of the river, so we gained nothing.

Soon after the battle we received a large number of recruits, – the best class of men that had joined the regiment. Many of them had waited, hoping that the war would be over, and their services would not be required, but seeing the disasters that had come to the army, resolved to come and help us. Several of them were discharged as commissioned officers, and all rendered very valuable service.

We remained at Harper’s Ferry until October 30, when we received marching orders, and the army marched up Loudon valley. The night were cold, and we suffered severely. While in bivouac near Paris or New Baltimore two feet of snow fell, covering us as we slept. Orders against foraging were very strict. We were not allowed to take hay from the stacks for bedding, or in any way molest private property. The idea of General McClellan seemed to be to carry on the war without hurting any one’s feelings, but once in a while we broke over. One night Corporal Phelan and Jack Robinson discovered hens at a neighboring farm-house, and finding the house not guarded took their muskets and went on duty. The people were much pleased to be so well protected. While Phelan entertained the family Jack went on duty outside to protect the hens. Soon a squawking was heard, and Corporal Phelan grasped his musket and rushed to reinforce Jack. They secured three good hens, and forgot to go back to the house, but reported to camp. When they arrived I discovered that they had plunder, and called them before me. With downcast eyes they told the story of their shame and begged for mercy. As an officer I must do my duty, and they must be punished. I ordered them to cook one of the three hens and deliver it to me. With sad hearts they obeyed the order.

CHAPTER VII

BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG AND MARYE’S HEIGHTS

We continued the march through the valley to Warrenton, where General McClellan was relieved of the command of the army and General Burnside succeeded him. Nearly all the men were sad at the loss of McClellan. He was our first love, and the men were loyal and devoted to him. I did not share in this sorrow. My faith had become shaken when we retreated from before Richmond, and when he allowed Lee’s army to get away from Antietam I was disgusted, and glad to see a change. Sad as the army felt at the loss of McClellan, they were loyal to the cause for which they had enlisted, and followed their new commander as faithfully as they had the old.

We arrived at Falmouth about the middle of November, and went into camp two miles from the town; here we spent our second Thanksgiving. No dance for the officers this year. We had a dinner of hard tack and salt pork, and should have passed a miserable day had not the commissary arrived with a supply of “Poland water,” and the officers were given a canteen each. The men had the pleasure of hearing our sweet voices in songs of praise from the “home of the fallen,” as our tent was called.

We remained undisturbed until the morning of December 11, when we were ordered to the banks of the Rappahannock River, opposite Fredericksburg. Here we found a pontoon bridge partially laid, and the engineers doing their best to complete it. Our batteries were posted on the hills in rear of our line, and were vigorously shelling the city, but the rebel sharpshooters were posted in cellars and rifle pits on the other side, and would pick off the engineers as fast as they showed themselves at work. At last volunteers were called for by Colonel Hall, commanding the brigade, and the 19th Massachusetts and 7th Michigan volunteered. We took the pontoon boats from the wagons, carried them to the river, and as soon as they touched the water filled them with men. Two or three boats started at the same time, and the sharpshooters opened a terrible fire. Men fell in the water and in the boats. Lieutenant-Colonel Baxter of the 7th Michigan was shot when half-way across. Henry E. Palmer of Company C was shot in the foot as he was stepping into the boat, yet we pressed on, and at last landed on the other side.

As soon as the boats touched the shore we formed by companies, and, without waiting for regimental formation, charged up the street. On reaching the main street we found that the fire came from houses in front and rear. Company B lost ten men out of thirty in less than five minutes. Other companies suffered nearly the same. We were forced to fall back to the river, deploy as skirmishers, and reached the main street through the yards and houses. As we fell back we left one of our men wounded in the street; his name was Redding, of Company D, and when we again reached the street we found him dead, – the rebels having bayoneted him in seven places.

The regiment was commanded by Capt. H. G. O. Weymouth, Colonel Devereaux being very sick in camp. Captain Weymouth went from right to left of the line, giving instructions and urging the men forward. My squad was composed of men from companies I and A. We had reached a gate, and were doing our best to cross the street. I had lost three men when Captain Weymouth came up. “Can’t you go forward, Lieutenant Adams?” he said. My reply was, “It is mighty hot, captain.” He said, “I guess you can,” and started to go through the gate, when as much as a barrel of bullets came at him. He turned and said, “It is quite warm, lieutenant; go up through the house.” We then entered the back door and passed upstairs to the front. Gilman Nichols of Company A was in advance. He found the door locked and burst it open with the butt of his musket. The moment it opened he fell dead, shot from a house on the other side of the street. Several others were wounded, but we held the house until dark, firing at a head whenever we saw one on the other side.

As night came on we advanced across the street and the rebels retired. We posted our pickets and went into the houses for rest and observation. The house my company now owned was formerly occupied by a namesake of mine, a music teacher. I left the men down stairs while I retired. The room I selected was the chamber belonging to a young lady. Her garments were in the press, and the little finery she possessed was scattered about the room. Fearing she might return I did not undress, but went to bed with my boots on. I was soon lost in peaceful slumber, when a Sergeant came and said I was wanted below. Going to the kitchen I found the boys had a banquet spread for me. There was roast duck, biscuit, all kinds of preserves, spread upon a table set with the best china. We were company, and the best was none too good for us. After supper we went up stairs, and the men were assigned, or assigned themselves, to rooms.

In our investigation we had found a barrel filled with molasses. Every one must fill his canteen, and as he filled it from the faucet it ran over, and the house was molasses from cellar to attic. I opened a trunk in my room and found packages of paper. Thinking they might be bonds or stock I put them in my haversack. The next day I found they were unpaid bills of the music teacher. Going out on the street we found it quite lively. One of the boys would come along with a lady on his arm, but upon inspection it proved to be another soldier with borrowed clothes.

Since we left Rockville I have not mentioned Ben Falls. He had been on every march and in every battle, and had his musket shot from his shoulder at Glendale, but picked up another and went in again. While at Falmouth Captain Boyd, who was now in command of Company A, made Ben a cook, because, as he informed me, he wanted him to live to go home. While we were in Fredericksburg Ben and another man came over bringing two kettles of coffee on poles. Halting before Captain Boyd he said, “Captain, if you have no use for Ben Falls, send me home. How nice it will look when I write to my wife in Lynn that the regiment fought nobly, and I carried the kettles. I either want a musket or a discharge, – and prefer the musket.” Captain Boyd granted his request; and it was the last of Ben as a pot-slewer.

The next day we remained in the city, awaiting orders. We buried our dead, sent the wounded back to the hospital, and made ready for the battle which we knew must come. On the morning of the 13th we received orders to advance, and marched up the street towards Marye’s Heights by the flank. Shot and shell ploughed through our ranks, but we filed into a field and were ordered forward to storm the heights. It was necessary to move up an embankment, then charge over an open field. A rebel battery on our right had a raking fire on us, but we must go forward. Led by our gallant Captain Weymouth we moved up the bank. The two color bearers, Sergeant Creasey and Sergeant Rappell, were the first to fall, but the colors did not touch the ground before they were up and going forward. Captain Weymouth fell, shot in the leg, which was afterwards amputated. Captain Mahoney took command of the regiment, and he was also seen to fall, shot in the arm and side. Down went the color bearers again. Lieutenant Newcomb grasped one, a color corporal another. Newcomb fell, shot through both legs, and as he went down he handed the color to me. Next fell the color corporal, and the flag he held was grasped by Sergeant Merrill, who was soon wounded. Another seized the color, but he was shot immediately, and as it fell from his hands the officer who already had one caught it.

By obliquing to the left, followed by the regiment, we got out of the line of fire for a time, and lay down. I do not mention this fact to show that I was braver than other men, for every man of the old regiment on the field would have done the same had opportunity offered, but my services were recognized by promotion to first lieutenant, and I was afterwards given a Medal of Honor by Congress for the act.

Looking back over the field we saw the ground covered with our dead and wounded. Captain Plympton was now in command of the regiment, and we waited for darkness to bring in our wounded.

Late in the evening we withdrew to the city, where we remained the next day. At night we were ordered to the front. No man was allowed to speak. Dippers must not rattle against bayonets, but all must be as still as the dead who slept near us. We remained until nearly daylight, found the army was being withdrawn to the other side of the river, and as usual we were to cover the retreat. We recrossed in safety, and waited on the other side until the pontoons were withdrawn. About half of those who went over never marched back. In the battle of the 13th, out of less than three hundred men we lost, in killed and wounded, one hundred and four. Of the eleven men who carried the colors that day eight were killed. I do not believe we killed five of the enemy, if we did one. We found them strongly intrenched, charged upon them, and they mowed us down. Here the rebels lost an opportunity. Had they attacked us while we were recrossing the river they could have captured a large part of the army; but they did not see the chance, and we escaped.

Sad and weary we marched back to our old camp. We had become accustomed to defeat; we knew that no braver army stood upon the earth than the Army of the Potomac, but fate had been against us from the start. We saw our numbers growing less, and no real victory to reward us for the sacrifice.

It only required a few days after returning to camp to reorganize the regiment; promotions were made to fill the vacant places, and active drill was resumed. We took up skirmish drill and bayonet exercise in earnest, and what spare time we had stockaded our tents, expecting to remain until spring; but in army life there is no assurance that you will find yourself in the morning where you lay down at night, and in a few days the army was ordered to pack up. As soon as the order was given it began to rain, and continued several days. We wallowed around in the mud, trying to march, but it was impossible, and all were ordered back to camp, after suffering untold misery for two days. Our next move was to break camp, and locate nearer the town. Here we stockaded our tents, and were comfortable.

Were it not for the sadness felt by reason of the vacant places in our ranks, it would have been the happiest winter I had ever passed. Every night the officers would gather in the adjutant’s tent, – which was a Sibley, stockaded some six feet from the ground, – and there hold regular camp-fires. Stories would be told, songs sung and recitations given. We had our orators and our poets. I remember one night, when seated around the camp-fire, the quartermaster, Tom Winthrop, who had enlisted as a private with me in old Company A, read the following tribute to the boys who had gone on: —

OUR FALLEN BRAVES

I

 
Not in the quiet churchyard, where their fathers’ bones repose,
With loving hands to mark the spot with willow and with rose;
Not in the quiet nooks and dells of the old homestead place,
’Mid scenes of boyhood days time never can efface;
But in strange lands we laid them down, in rough dug soldiers’ graves,
And far from home and kindred ones they sleep, our fallen braves.
 

II

 
No mother’s wail of sorrow o’er the new sod, fresh and green,
Where sleeps the boy she nursed and loved, and fondled when a ween;
No blue-eyed maiden, golden haired, to drop the bitter tear,
Or mark the spot with loving hands, where sleeps the form so dear;
But comrades knew their honest worth, the sacrifice they made,
And they have marked with thoughtful care where sleep our fallen braves.
 

III

 
We left our heroes at Fair Oakes, we dug their honored graves,
Beside the Chickahominy, with its dull, dreary waves.
Not alone they fell in battle, not alone by steel and lead,
The fell malaria swept them off, as fruits fall, ripe and red.
And where the southern laurels bloom, and oleanders wave,
In the swamp lands, drear and deadly, they sleep, our fallen braves.
 

IV

 
And oh, it was a fearful lot we buried at Glendale,
Our ranks were thinned like standing corn before the sweeping gale.
And thick their honored graves were strewn, through cornfields, one by one,
They mark the spot where Antietam was bravely fought and won.
And where the fight raged fiercest, by the Rappahannock’s waves,
There is many a yellow mound to tell where sleep our fallen braves.
 

V

 
Oh, brave hearts that know no shrinking, oh, strong hands tried and true,
You paled to see your country’s stars turn from their azured blue;
And burned your hearts with patriot fire, nerved your arm to right,
Ye were foremost when the call came, ye were foremost in the fight.
And well ye fought and brave ye died, ye were no hireling slaves,
May earth its richest tribute bring to all our fallen braves.
 

VI

 
What though no marble monument, no towering shaft of stone,
Is reared above the sacred soil where rest their honored bones;
What though no graven tablet shall, through all the coming time,
Tell to the world heroic deeds of sacrifice sublime.
But we who know how willingly their noble lives they gave,
Will treasure in our hearts the worth of all our fallen braves.
 

I do not believe there was a regiment in either army where the love was so strong between officers and men as in the old 19th. We had no little jealousies; the men obeyed the officers because they knew that no unreasonable orders would be given. All was peace and harmony. Officers and men were given furloughs, and boxes were received from home. Some of the boxes had been a long time on the road, and when they arrived the contents were in an uncertain condition. It was hard to tell the tobacco from the mince pie. William A. Hill, adjutant of the regiment, had expected a box for some time, and the officers knew that when it came “Billy” would see that all had a share. At last it arrived, and we gathered at headquarters to see it opened. The cover was removed and the smell was not quite equal to the arbutus, but we hoped it was only the top. Another box was found inside containing what was once a turkey, but was now a large lump of blue mould. Nothing in the box was eatable. We held a council and concluded that a turkey that had been dead so long should have a decent burial. The next day the remains lay in state while we prepared for the last sad services. We waked the corpse until midnight, then the sad procession was formed. First came the largest negro, selected from the many servants, as drum-major; then the comb band; next the quartermaster, with the carbine reversed, as a firing party; then the corpse borne on a stretcher by four negroes, two small and two large; then the mourners (officers who had expected to eat the turkey, and were left); all so disguised that none could recognize them. We marched down the main street of the camp, the comb band playing the dead march. Men half dressed came out of their tents to see what was the trouble, but we passed beyond the camp lines, where a grave had been prepared. Here the body was lowered, remarks were made by the chaplain (pro tem.), a poem was read by the quartermaster, and we returned to camp and mourned for the spirits that had departed.