Colonel Pattee rode to and fro along the line, mounted on his bay horse, encouraging and directing his men, steadying and inspiring them by word and example. Under a less devoted commander we would have been captured or driven ingloriously from the field. Before we reached the edge of the woods, the enemy had inclosed us in the form of a V, and were pouring their fire upon us from the front and both flanks. We brought out most of our wounded, but some had to be abandoned. Except these, not a man was taken prisoner. Reaching the edge of the woods, I knew that no stand could be made before crossing the branch of Gravelly Run. I "stood not upon the order of my going," but went at once, and at a lively pace. Colonel Pattee was the last man to leave the woods. He came down across the narrow field, crouching close to the neck of his horse, which was reeling and staggering from wounds out of which his life-blood gushed at every plunge. Leaping from the back of his dying steed, he rallied his men on foot.

The trees on the side of the ridge which sloped down to the stream opposite the open ground in which we had intrenched on the 30th, afforded excellent cover. Here most of the One Hundred and Ninetieth, and some from other regiments, rallied and faced the enemy. We were not much more than a heavy skirmish line; but the tide must be stayed here, at any cost. The rebel lines came surging on, elated with victory; but before our steady fire they wavered and came to a halt. Thus, with scarcely the space of a hundred yards between us, we stood and poured at each other showers of deadly missiles. Rebel shells from somewhere on our right were grinding through the trees and bursting all around, while the fire from their infantry was beating on our thin line with terrible effect. A man close beside me was struck through the face with a rifle ball, and walked back toward the rear, pale and bleeding. Casting my eyes toward the left, I saw our color-bearer holding the flag, his face deadly pale. Brave old Woo-haw had just been struck down by his side and carried to the rear. Mike Coleman was in his glory. Miller's face wore its accustomed smile as with grave deliberation he loaded and fired.

But this state of things could not long continue, and the most hopeful were growing anxious. A few hundred were fighting the force that had driven a division. But just now on the ridge behind us, a battery wheeled into position, and sent charge after charge of grape and canister whizzing across into the enemy's ranks. Still they did not give way, and the battle raged more fiercely than ever. I had fired not less than eighty rounds, and only a few cartridges remained. Others had nearly exhausted their ammunition. At this point, to our great joy, we saw a line of battle advancing to our support. Steadily, quietly, they came on, their battle-flags gleaming through the trees, moving as orderly as if on dress-parade. As they neared us they quickened their pace, and charged forward with a tremendous cheer. It was a grand sight as they swept on, every eye fixed on the smoking timber beyond. But the little stream threw them into disorder, and they went rushing over the field without waiting to re-form. As they went over the rising ground which lay between them and the enemy, they received a terrible volley. Half their number seemed to go down before it. Back they rolled in confusion, leaving the ground strewn with their dead and wounded. They came back to the narrow flat by the run. There, as by one impulse, they rallied and proceeded to re-form their lines. Not a man shirked. While they were forming, we opened fire again, over and past them. This lasted but a few minutes, and they were ready to advance. Steadily, irresistibly, their line passed up the slope, into the woods, driving every thing before it.

Our ammunition wagons had now come up, and we procured a fresh supply. We immediately moved down the stream and crossed, to drive back the enemy and retake the ground lost at this point. Here the bank on the other side was abrupt, rising thirty or forty feet in a very short distance, when level ground, partly open and partly wooded, extended toward the west and north. On this steep bank we formed for the charge, three lines of battle. The right of the regiment was detached, and placed on the left of the lines of battle to cover the flank. When the advance was made we deployed at skirmish distance, at a right angle with the line, and moving in the same direction. In this advance, which was made about two in the afternoon, we that were on the flank did not fire a shot. We were not much exposed, though some bullets whistled around.

We finally reached a farm-house in the midst of a large plantation. Here we halted. We found some of our wounded abandoned by the enemy, who seemed to have disappeared from our front. Perhaps the decisive battle might have been fought on this afternoon instead of the following day, by pushing the Fifth Corps across the White Oak Road on the right of the intrenched position of the rebels. The course followed was probably the safer one.

At first the house which we had reached seemed to be deserted; but a little later we found the family, husband, wife, and daughter, concealed in a cave in the garden. The man was a tall, gray-haired old gentleman, all of them well dressed and evidently intelligent and refined people. The old man was so frightened that he could scarcely speak. They seemed to expect brutal treatment from the barbarians of the North, who, as it happened, were quite their equals in culture and humanity.

About five in the evening General Bartlett's brigade of the First Division was sent across the country to threaten the flank of the enemy, who had now pressed Sheridan back to Dinwiddie Court-house. They marched out past us toward the south-west, and disappeared from sight.

Darkness soon came on, and we prepared to pass another night under arms. It had been a hard day. We had lost eighteen hundred men, and inflicted a loss of one thousand on the enemy. Our losses fell chiefly on the Second and Third Divisions. Since ten o'clock the struggle had been almost continuous, and night found the enemy foiled in his purpose of driving us from our advanced position, which we now held more firmly than ever; but this was all the gain for either side. Some time after dark rations were distributed, and we lay down to sleep.

All the accounts of this battle that have come under my notice contain statements which I am not able to explain, if they are correct. It is generally stated that the corps advanced toward the White Oak road, the Second Division in front, the Third next, and the First in the rear; that the Second Division was driven back on the Third, both on the First, and that all were forced back to or beyond the Boydton road. From the preceding narrative it will be seen that this was not true of the right of the corps. When we were compelled to fall back, in the forenoon, we did not retreat more than three or four hundred yards. The point at which we rallied must have been fully half a mile from the plank-road. If the rest of the corps did not make a stand until they reached the plank-road, it is rather surprising that a rebel force was not thrown across the run on our left, by which we would have been flanked and driven away or captured. The run was a favorable position for defense, while the vicinity of the plank-road was not so good. Veteran soldiers like those of the Fifth Corps would certainly rally at the former point. It is probable that some went back farther, while enough stopped at the run to check the rebel advance. We must have fought nearly three-quarters of an hour before we were re-enforced. The troops sent to our relief were from the Second Corps.



CHAPTER XVIII.

Pugnavimus ensibus. We fought with our swords.

—REGNER LODBROG.

About midnight the Second Division was ordered down the plank-road to join Sheridan. Bartlett's brigade had proceeded as far as Gravelly Run, reaching it at dark. They found the stream swollen, the bridge gone, and the enemy strongly posted on the other side. The brigade was withdrawn during the night. It was no easy task to move troops under the circumstances. Orders had to go from corps commander down through brigade, regimental, and company officers to the privates, who had to be aroused from sleep and got into ranks without noise.

Through the deep mud and intense darkness we moved toward Dinwiddie Court-house. The darkness was so deep that we could tell nothing about localities. We must have marched past the Court-house. We might easily have passed the village without being aware of it. We then about-faced and retraced our steps for some distance. There is a road leads north from Dinwiddie toward Five Forks. We may have taken this, or we may have followed the plank-road a couple of miles farther back to a road which leads across to the one just mentioned. However this may be, daylight found us confronting the enemy somewhere in this vicinity. The only force found was a picket or skirmish line, which was easily driven away. The Second Division massed near the residence of J. M. Brooks, on the Five Forks road. Here we remained from about 7 A. M. until 10 A. M. During this time the other two divisions arrived, and took position a little north of us on the same road. When we reached this point the One Hundred and Ninetieth was thrown forward in skirmish line.

Meantime, the rebels had retired to their fortified position at Five Forks. Their works extended more than a mile, east and west, making a slight angle with the White Oak road, turning northward about a half-mile east of the Ford road. A heavy skirmish-line was deployed in front of their left, and extending some distance eastward, and south of the White Oak road. This force consisted of fourteen hundred riflemen, reputed the best in Lee's army. In this position they awaited our attack.

About ten o'clock we began to move, taking the road leading past Gravelly Run Church. At first there seemed to be some uncertainty about the movements and position of the enemy; but it was soon evident that his entire force was in our front. The column advanced along the road, with frequent brief halts, which indicated that we were nearing the foe. Erelong we could hear skirmishing, and an occasional discharge of cannon. Ambulances were passing, freighted with wounded cavalrymen, and later, stretcher-bearers, with their bloody burdens, met us, as we moved slowly toward the front.

Near Gravelly Run Church, our line of battle was formed. The Second Division was on the left, the Third on the right, the First in reserve, close behind the other two, a little on the right of the center. The two divisions in front were arranged as follows: Each division placed two brigades in front, in two lines each, and the remaining brigade in the rear of the center, in two lines. In the Second Division, the Maryland Brigade was on the left, ours on the right, and Winthrop's in reserve. The One Hundred and Ninety-first, including the fragment of the One Hundred and Fifty-seventh, and the Fourth Delaware, were the first line of battle, under Colonel Pattee. The One Hundred and Ninetieth was ordered forward to skirmish. We deployed in the woods, and waited for the completion of the arrangements going on in our rear. A few rods farther on there was open ground, which, in our front, gradually sloped down to woods. Opposite the left of the regiment, the open ground extended farther toward the north and west, and on that side was a slight hollow, with rough, broken ground beyond. Rebel skirmishers were in the woods in our front, now exchanging shots with cavalry in the open ground near us. Our skirmish-line was ready for business in a few minutes; but it was some time before the divisions were formed, in readiness for the assault.

If you should attempt to form an idea of that thin line of waiting men, who were to lead the way in the decisive struggle, which all knew was at hand, the mental picture would probably differ widely from the reality. Cast your eye to the left, along the line. You can see a goodly distance. The wood is not very dense. That does not look much like "battle's magnificently stern array." There is nothing magnificent or stern about it. You expected something of a scene. There is nothing of the sort. Instead, these men surprise you by their quiet bearing and seeming indifference. Most of them are young men. A few days ago they were so neat and tidy in dress and appearance, you might almost mistake that they were college students playing soldier. Now they are dirty, smeared with mud, half wet still from the rain, which only ceased this morning. Some are seated, leaning against the trees, taking it easy, conversing as pleasantly as if these were the ordinary occurrences of life. That bright-faced fellow, of Company E, is diligently polishing a little rusty spot, which he has discovered on his gun barrel. If there is time, he will scrape the mud from his shoes, and from his pants, which are stiff with it, almost to the knees. A few are nervous and anxious, but most of the really faint-hearted took advantage of the hard march last night to secure absence to-day. Dunn is on hand,—he that took himself from the field yesterday with such agility, at the beginning of the fight, and gave such comical reasons for his unceremonious flight, when he came up in the evening. R—— is in the line, looking black, silent, and still troubled in his knees. Do these careless men realize that they are about to decide the fate of a great nation? Perhaps they are unconscious of the greatness of the present hour; but what of that? They stood in their lot.

But our waiting is over at last; and, at the word of command, every soldier is in his place. These men were not stolid, ignorant, nor inexperienced. Their thinned ranks show how well they know what battle means. You can see some pale faces, and lips compressed, as "FORWARD" passes down the line. We pass out of the woods into the open field. A few rods ahead, some mounted cavalrymen are firing toward the woods, which conceal the enemy. We can see a puff of smoke here and there among the trees. A little farther, and the cavalry gallop away to the right, and bullets begin to whistle past, some over, some tossing up the dirt at our feet. It would be a waste of powder to return the fire at this distance; besides, we are going down there. But the bullets begin to come closer. They are fairly hot as they hiss around us. We quicken our pace. It is five hundred yards to the woods. The men on our left open fire—four hundred yards, three, the line slackens a little, and a volley, and another, and another, bursts in quick succession from our Spencer rifles. Then a cheer, as we dash for the woods at headlong speed, yelling and firing as we go. The rebel skirmishers give way before our charge, and the woods are gained.

Up to this time I had not looked back. I supposed we had advanced about a thousand yards, and would soon encounter the main force of the enemy. As we reached the woods, I turned to see if the line of battle was yet in sight. My eyes fell upon the most stirring scene I ever witnessed. This was the grandeur, the sublimity of war. The corps was coming in order of battle, line after line sweeping on with steady step. Their front extended nearly a mile across the open ground, guns at a right-shoulder, glittering in the sunlight like silver, battle-flags fluttering in the air. In front, the skirmishers were fighting savagely; on the left a score of cannon were thundering, shells screaming out their horrid warning, as they leaped from the smoking guns. But this living avalanche swept on in stern silence, as if there breathed within it a great soul, which scorned to speak or strike but once. A single glance took in the inspiring scene. I gazed but a moment, and then hurried into the woods.

The ground here consisted of alternate ridges and depressions, covered with trees and bushes, with occasional open places. It was hard ground to fight over, every ridge serving as a rallying point, and affording a superior position for defense. Our advance was now a succession of charges. When the rebels were driven from one ridge, they rallied at the next. A short distance from the edge of the woods, where we first encountered them, was a little brook, running nearly east; along its banks were some large rocks, while a few rods nearer were piles of wood, logs, and other means of shelter. Quite a large group of rebels made a stand here. Sergeant Hasler, Crocket, one or two others and myself, centered our attention on these, and advanced upon them, at first taking what cover we could among the trees, firing rapidly as we went. As we were pressing forward, my foot tripped on something, and I came to the ground with stunning force. Crocket, who was a few yards to my right, hurried toward me, his face the very picture of anxious sympathy, and inquired if I was struck. Recovering my breath, in a moment I was on my feet again, and assured him I was all right.

We now rushed on them with a cheer, and they broke and fled. We were so close on them, that seven of their number took refuge behind a large rock, while three or four more fled across the brook, leaving one of their number wounded on its bank. The men behind the rock now waved hats past it in token of surrender, and soon they were marching toward the rear in charge of Crocket. The wounded rebel whom I had seen fall, lay about a rod to the left, shot through the thigh. I gave him a drink, filled my canteen, and went on.

We had now become scattered, and made our way onward without much regard to order or concert of action. For a while the two lines were mingled together in the underbrush, so that you scarcely knew which way to look for friend or foe. Sometimes I was with others, and again entirely alone. The woods resounded with the yells of the combatants and the crack of rifles, as the deadly fight raged along the line.

Passing through the corner of an open field, I noticed some rebels eight or ten hundred yards to the left and front in such a position that I could give them a flank fire, while just a short distance from me in the field was a stone pile. The temptation was too strong to be resisted. I repaired to the stone pile and opened on them. At the first shot they looked to see whence it came; the next, they dodged, and hugged close to their rifle-pit, and then discovering me, they returned the fire. Their first shots went wild, but they soon got the range, and began to strike the stone pile. I gave them a few parting shots from my Spencer, and went on into the woods.

The skirmishing continued at close range, as before. The rebels fought stubbornly from point to point. Their works seemed farther off than we expected, but the crisis must come soon. We had just passed over a ridge, and the rebels had made a stand among the timber beyond. A slight depression lay between us, down which a gully had been washed by the water. None of our men were in sight, but I could hear their firing in the brush, right and left.

Wishing to gain the timber beyond the gully, I started forward without waiting to recharge my rifle, which I had just fired. The trees which I wished to gain were not more than forty feet away, and the gully about half that distance. I had gone but a step or two when a rebel soldier rose to his feet in the gully, facing me, with rifle in hand. It was a groundhog case. As he rose, I rushed at him, aiming at his heart and calling on him to surrender. He instantly dropped his gun. It was all over in less time than it takes to pen this sentence. His gun was loaded and capped. We waited till the line of battle came up. As they pushed through the brush behind us, seeing a rebel soldier, a dozen rifles were leveled on us; but they saw how it was in time to withhold their fire. Leaving my prisoner with them, I started forward again.

We soon reached an abrupt rise of ground beyond which we could not advance. Before us was the left of the enemy's intrenched position. We had done our work. We had driven every thing before us, and others must face the storm now. Some kneeling, others lying flat on the ground, we continued to fire and waited for the line of battle. In a few minutes we could see them coming on through the woods. A short distance behind us was a small patch of swampy, boggy ground. As this was approached orders were given and executed as coolly as if on the parade ground. The portion of the line opposite the swamp folded back of the other toward the left, and when the ground was passed, went back to place again without the least delay or confusion.

As they moved up the bank upon which we were, a volley burst upon them before which they wavered and swerved backward a few paces, as here and there a man reeled and staggered or sank to the earth. There was no panic—not a back turned—only that instinctive shrinking which Life sometimes feels when Death unexpectedly thrusts out his ghastly face through the smoke of battle. A color-bearer sprang forward with the battle-flag. He halted beside me and rested the end of the flagstaff on the ground. He half-faced about toward the men. His voice rang out like a bugle blast, as he raised his arm and shouted:

"Here are your colors!"

The line responded with a yell as it sprang forward, and soon was wrapped in the sulphurous smoke of its volleys which it thundered against the foe.

As the line moved on, I stepped behind them and passed farther to the right, and again went out ahead. The "left wheel" which the corps made in this battle resulted naturally from the position of the forces engaged. If we had moved directly forward in the direction in which we started, only the left of the Second Division would have struck the rebel's works; but the men posted in their front, as they were forced back, retreated toward the north-west, and we naturally swung around in following them.

We were now in front of the Third Division, the rebels still contesting every foot of ground. We finally drove them across an open field about a hundred yards wide. A road was on our left; at least all the Bucktails in sight were on the right of the road. A house stood near the road next to the woods, out of which we had driven the rebels, who were now firing from the farther side of the field. We were crossing the field, and some had reached the woods beyond, when the line of battle came up by the house behind us and opened fire. We hurried back to escape their bullets, which we considered more dangerous than those of the enemy. I stood behind them near the house, watching their firing, very much disgusted with the performance. There was a young lady in the house, apparently the only occupant. She was almost wild with fright, and gave vent to her feelings in screams and cries of terror.

A little lieutenant was prancing around back of the line, flourishing his saber in gallant style. He accosted me, and demanded why I was standing back, doing nothing. I replied that I did not belong on his—line, and made some comments perhaps not strictly polite. This added wrath to his excitement. I think this must have been the first time he had smelled gunpowder, except at a distance, and he supposed they were doing grandly. There was no telling how much effort it had cost him to get his courage screwed up sufficiently to bring him thus far; and to have this dirty, mud-bedraggled scrub of a boy intimate that the whole outfit should be furnished with long ears, was too much. As Homer would say, "his diaphragm became black all over." At this point Captain Birkman appeared on the scene and announced that he was responsible for me. This ended the matter.

After firing awhile, this brigade started to advance across the field. The regiment on the left moved up in good order as far as the edge of the woods. The others straggled forward in disorder. Both officers and men seemed to be confused. By the time they reached the woods they were little better than a mob, and had to halt to re-form. I think the man in command of the brigade was responsible for this. I now started out to skirmish again, intending to keep in front of the regiment on the left. As I reached the point where the road entered the woods, I met Mike Coleman coming on a run, and greatly excited.

"Why, Mike, I thought you were kilt! I heard you were shot in the head back yonder."

Scarcely pausing for a reply, he went on:

"We've got them! we've got them! We're right in their rear. We'll take them all! Why don't these men come on?"

With this he hurried back to the men just behind us, and in a breath told them the situation, and urged them to come on without delay. To his great disgust, his appeals were unheeded, and he turned to me saying we would go alone. But now we saw some of the Bucktails coming forward, and soon about twenty of us were deployed at skirmish distance, advancing on the rebel rear. Their line could be seen stretching far to right and left. Our Spencers rattled among the trees as we rained the bullets upon them. They turned on us savagely, and their rifles blazed and flashed in reply. Presently their fire slackened. They right-faced, and began to move off toward the west, at first with some order; but soon they were only a panic-stricken mob, fleeing in all directions, some to the right, some to the left, others toward us. The latter we disarmed and sent to the rear without any guard, and kept up a fire on those who were running to the right. They threw down their guns by hundreds, and surrendered.

Toward the close a rebel soldier came toward me at full speed, with his gun at a trail-arms. I did not notice him until he was within twenty-five or thirty yards of me. I yelled at him to surrender; but he came on without checking his speed. I stepped from the tree by which I was standing, and leveled my rifle on him.

"Drop that gun!" I yelled again.

He dropped it as if it had burned him, and hustled off his accouterments, and threw them on the ground. I made him stay with me, intending to take him back myself. My cartridges were about exhausted, and I fired all but one or two at the rear of the fleeing rebels, and started back with the prisoner.

The sun had now gone down. The moon was shining peacefully. How quickly those fateful hours of battle had passed! I started for the point where our line had formed, expecting to dispose of my prisoner there, and then sleep all night. As we passed along, the dead lay scattered here and there as they fell. There was something startlingly solemn in those motionless forms, the stony eyes staring in the moonlight.

Beyond the church I found a large number of prisoners, and turned over my man to the guards, and started to return. I was joined by L. C. Walb, who had also been back with prisoners. The church had been turned into a hospital. It was full of wounded, and many were laid on the ground outside. A few rods past the church we lay down to sleep. There came a reaction after the excitement of the day. Nerves, strained to their utmost tension for hours, relaxed, and seemed to tingle with the pain of weariness. The jarring noises of battle were reproduced as the senses glided through that strange interval between waking and sleeping, and more than once I came back to consciousness with a start, scarcely able, for a moment, to distinguish the real and the unreal. A low, moaning sound came from the hundreds of wounded about the church; not any single groan or cry of pain, but only a sound as if the hurried breath from suffering lips smote upon the strings of an unseen harp, which sounded out its sad cadences through the air. But at last I sunk into a sound sleep.

Our losses were less severe than on the preceding day. Eight hundred and thirty-four were killed and wounded, and fifty-four were missing. The opposing force of the enemy was practically annihilated. Three thousand were killed and wounded, and five thousand five hundred were made prisoners. Eleven stand of colors were taken, and four guns, with their caissons; also wagons and other material.

Captain Birkman, of Company A, says of this battle, in an extract kindly furnished from his diary: "The most successful attack I ever witnessed." It was a decisive battle, and settled the fate of the Confederacy. Since leaving camp on the morning of March 29th, three days before, the Fifth Corps had lost nearly one-fourth of its number in battles.

In this engagement the direct assault was made by the Second Division, the other divisions swinging around on the enemy's left flank and rear. The Third Brigade first struck, and broke through the rebel works. Sergeant Huck, with the colors of the One Hundred and Ninety-first, was the first man across the rebel rifle-pits. Colonel Pattee, commanding the first line, was the first mounted officer across, and leaped his horse over the breastwork while the foremost of the assailants were crowding over. They found themselves in the midst of the panic-stricken rebels, who threw down their arms and surrendered in large numbers. The Maryland brigade struck the rebel position almost at the same time, and with like results. The division then passed on down along the rear of the rebel position, doubling them up rapidly, and driving them in confusion.

We have read how the infantry faltered, till General Sheridan led them to the charge. We venture the opinion that this is wholly imaginary. These two brigades moved upon the rebel works as steadily and swiftly as the nature of the ground would allow. General Sheridan's reputation does not need any artificial bolstering, least of all at the expense of deserving men and officers.

The arbitrary removal of General Warren from the command of the Fifth Corps was unknown to the soldiers until the following morning. We heard only expressions of surprise and disapproval. It must be a cause of regret to all fair-minded men, that he was not allowed to share in this grand success with the men whom he had so long commanded. He was held in high esteem by the private soldiers, who regarded him as a brave and skillful officer.



CHAPTER XIX.

The battle of Five Forks was fought on Saturday. Sabbath morning the sun rose bright and clear. When we camped the night before, Walb and myself planned for a substantial night's rest. For the first time since breaking camp, on the night of March 28th, we unpacked our blankets and made a bed. It was after sunrise when we awoke. Far to the right we could hear the low grumble of artillery, sounding like the roar of distant thunder. Since four o'clock in the morning a great battle had been raging in front of Petersburg, from the Appomattox on the right, to Hatcher's Run on the left.

Without waiting for breakfast, we went on to find the regiment. They were camped not far from where the roads crossed which formed the famous "Forks." At an early hour we were in motion, toward the right, where heavy and continuous firing could be distinctly heard. We passed by the ground where we had fought the evening before. The rebel dead were strewn far and near, like sheaves of grain in a harvest-field, showing how destructive had been our fire. The One Hundred and Ninetieth was deployed on the flank, and moved parallel to the column, at skirmish distance, about two hundred yards from it.

After marching for some time in the direction of Petersburg, we bore to the left, and about noon we reached the South Side Railroad, near Southerland's Station, and marched some distance along it. Beyond the road we found strong rifle-pits, which the enemy had abandoned. During the day news reached us that the works in front of Petersburg had been taken, and there was general rejoicing. That night we bivouaced near the Appomattox River.

April 3d we moved, at eight in the morning. Some firing was heard on our left, and many prisoners met us as we marched along. We found cannon abandoned in the road, and there was evidence on every hand that the rebels were hard pressed. Our general course was along what is called the river road, though we did not follow it all the time. Our movements and progress had to be governed by the supposed movements of the enemy. At one time we were deployed as skirmishers, and went down to the river. I do not know the reason of this precaution, but no enemy was found. We camped that night along the road.

April 4th we resumed the march, soon after sunrise. We were short of provisions, and foragers were sent out to secure what could be gathered from the country. I was out in the afternoon. While returning in the evening, after sun-down, I was shot at by some one, when quite near the column. That night we reached the Danville Railroad, near Jettersville, and camped in order of battle, about three miles from Lee's army. For this reason no fires were made. We had been thrown between him and Danville, which he was aiming to reach. Here Lee made a mistake. It was his duty to know of our presence here during the night. He should have attacked us promptly by daylight on the following morning; and, if possible, overwhelmed us before the rest of the army could arrive. There was little if any force confronting him, except the Fifth Corps, not more than twelve thousand men. I think we reached Jettersville in advance of the main body of the cavalry.

The morning of the 5th found us intrenched, and expecting an attack from the enemy. Rebel troops could be seen in the distance, and we supposed they were forming for battle. We stood behind the works waiting. Their skirmishers advanced and opened fire on our outposts. Hour after hour passed. At length the Second and Sixth corps arrived, and Lee's opportunity was lost.

April 6th we advanced, at first with some caution. But Lee was in full retreat toward Lynchburg, and we followed. During the day, a body of rebel cavalry made a dash at the wagon train, and we were ordered back to drive them off. We went back about three miles at double-quick. We met quite a number of men who had been skulking with the train, now rushing for the front at full speed. As we witnessed their consternation, we were entirely reconciled to the loss of a few wagons, just to see the "coffee brigade" shaken up. The rebels had been repulsed by our cavalry before we reached the scene. We remained with the train, and camped with it during the night. We marched twenty-nine miles, and arrived within five miles of High Bridge.

On the 7th we still remained with the train. We passed a place where a rebel wagon train had been attacked by our cavalry. Ammunition and stores of all kinds were strewn everywhere. Wagon loads of shells had been emptied out, and lay scattered through the woods.

Some time during the day, we had halted by the road, and, as our rest was quite prolonged, some of the men had fallen asleep. Among others, Captain Birkman was sleeping soundly, perhaps dreaming of the peace that was now almost conquered. The woods were burning, a few rods on our right. The fire at last reached a lot of shells, which had been thrown from the wagons, to keep them from falling into the hands of the Yankees. They went off with a frightful clatter. The captain bounced from the ground as if a hornet had lifted him. "FALL IN!" he shouted, grasping his sword. Of course, all who were awake comprehended the situation, and prudently lay still, to avoid the flying fragments. As the truth dawned upon him, the captain at first looked "sold" and disgusted, and then joined in the general laughter.

We halted that night near Prince Edward's Court-house, after a march of eighteen miles. Here we rejoined the brigade.

April 8th we made the most trying march of all. We lost some time by going out of the way, and made frequent halts during the forenoon, as if uncertain of the direction, or suspicious of the movement of the enemy. About noon we reached Prospect Station, thirteen miles from Farmville. In the afternoon we settled down to hard marching. We did not halt for supper. The sun went down, night came on, and still we marched on. By nine o'clock conversation had ceased—no breath could be wasted in words. Even "Sport" could no longer muster spirit to crack a joke on any body. You could only hear the "tramp, tramp" of feet, and the occasional clatter of a saber. But there was no grumbling. We knew this was the last forced march. One more blow, and treason would be crushed in the dust. As the column, from time to time, became clogged by some obstruction ahead, and halted for a moment, the men would sink down on the ground, most of them just where they stopped, to catch brief rest for their aching limbs. At such times I would be sound asleep in a moment, and more than once the column was marching on and myself with it when I awoke.

Midnight came, and still we pressed on relentlessly. About one in the morning we saw lights ahead, which indicated that a halt had been made. Never did rest and sleep seem sweeter, nor a mile seem longer. It required a distinct effort of the will to compel each single step. But at last the task was accomplished. We had marched forty-two miles since sunrise, and lay within striking distance of the enemy.

The company was represented by Dunn, Bovard, Mike Coleman, Sergeant Hasler, and myself. The rest had broken down under the terrible strain and fallen behind. Without removing any thing, I threw myself on the ground, and knew no more until I was aroused at daylight to go on.

Just after sunrise we halted—for breakfast, they said. It was rather a grim sort of a joke. Scarcely one in fifty had any thing to eat. A few had coffee, and fires were made, and we went through the regulation motions of getting breakfast. This done, we started on again.

It soon became evident that the enemy had been brought to bay. The confused noise of battle rang through the air. We had halted in the woods, and stood in the road waiting, sure that the end had come.

Colonel Pattee was on his horse, half faced about toward his men, evidently impatient and eager. An aid gallops up with orders. Colonel Pattee looks happy. He gives his old horse an extra jerk:

"FORWARD! DOUBLE QUICK! MARCH!"

On we go toward the scene of conflict.

Again Colonel Pattee's voice rings out: "DEPLOY SKIRMISHERS!" and in less than a minute a line of Bucktails stretches through the woods, facing the enemy. There is no waiting. "FORWARD!" passes down the line, and we move out into the open field in front. A hundred yards ahead the cavalry are stubbornly facing a heavy force of rebel infantry that is crowding on them and steadily pushing them back. Now and then a man falls from his horse or rides back wounded. We were on lower ground than they, and the bullets whistled above us; but as we went up the rising ground, they began to hiss around our heads. We double-quicked forward and began firing.

Between us and the town there was a hollow, and on the farther ridge a road led down through the village. There was a wood on the left at the head of the hollow, and on the right a narrow strip of timber ran up to within two hundred yards of the road. The right of the regiment extended past the woods, or rather only a small portion of the left would strike them in moving straight forward. As we came to the ridge overlooking the hollow, we saw the rebel troops drawn up on the opposite slope. Soon they gave way and moved off toward the town out of sight, and a battery from the ridge opened with shell.

As soon as the battery opened fire, Robbins, myself, and two or three others started toward it. A rail fence ran along the hollow proper on the side next to us. As we neared the fence, Robbins, who was a few steps in advance, stopped.

"We had better stay here," he said, as he deliberately aimed at the battery.

"There are rebels in the woods there," meaning on the left. As he spoke, a bullet from the left clipped close over his gun barrel.

"See that!" he added, his aim not in the least disturbed. The gunners were shooting over us, as we supposed, at the line of battle farther back. But we had only fired a few shots when a shell burst in front of us, its fragments scattering dirt, fence rails, and splinters for yards around.

"Well! I think we'll go on," said Robbins. On we went to the farther side of the hollow, and under shelter of the bank, we kept up our fire with good effect. We would dodge their shells as they fired, and then rise and fire till they were ready again. Some riflemen in the vicinity of the battery gave us trouble, but failed to hit any of us.

After this had continued for some time, the One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania, a Zouave regiment, came down behind us on a double-quick, deployed as skirmishers. As they neared the fence a shell from the battery screamed over our heads, and exploding, killed one of their men. They heeded this no more than if it had not occurred, and came on with a cheer. Giving a parting shot to the battery which was now pulling out, we started on, bearing to the right toward the town. As we neared the point of the strip of woods on our right, Ginter, of Company E, stopped and sat down flat on the ground, remarking that it was getting mighty hot. I was of the same opinion, and halted a few feet in advance of him and fired a few shots in a kneeling posture. While thus engaged, I heard the sound of a blow behind me, and looking around, I saw Ginter tumbling on the ground, his heels in the air. He quickly gathered himself up to a sitting posture with a very rueful countenance, giving vent to his feelings in sundry expletives, as soon as he could get breath enough to deliver them properly. With many a doleful grunt he examined the extent of his injuries. A bullet had struck the belt of his cartridge-box, nearly over the heart. The ball had force enough almost to pierce the leather belt and severely bruise the chest, raising a lump half as large as a hen's egg, and very painful. Some fellow off to the left had reached for us, and well-nigh finished Ginter. He did not go to the rear, but kept on, holding his clothing from the painful bruise, too much engaged in this to do any more shooting.

A few minutes later, a rebel officer galloped along the line with a white flag. We were almost to the road at this time, at the outskirts of the town. We did not think of continuing the fight any longer, but some rebel soldiers on the left past the town, fired on us when we exposed ourselves, and we returned the treacherous fire, and advanced across the road. By the road, facing us as we approached, stood a negro cabin, out of which a rebel officer came as we reached it. A few words were exchanged between him and Adjutant Wright, and I think he was allowed to go down the road to where the main body of the rebel troops had halted. Our fire continuing, Colonel Pattee rode up to us, excitedly, to learn what it meant. Adjutant Wright explained that rebel skirmishers were still firing at us.

"Have this firing stopped at once," he said; and seeing a protest in Wright's face, he went on: "I tell you, you're excited, adjutant, and the men are excited. They've surrendered, and this must cease."

"Excited!" was the reply. "If they want to surrender, let them cease firing."

At this moment a bullet whizzed past the colonel's head, and killed a cavalry man on the bank beyond him. He rode off to the right, and left us to manage it to suit ourselves. In a little while the firing from both sides ceased. The Army of the Potomac had accomplished its mission. We had fought our last battle. The One Hundred and Ninetieth and One Hundred and Ninety-first had proved themselves, to the last hour, worthy successors of the Pennsylvania Reserves.

The preceding narrative will be better understood by a fuller statement of the part taken by the entire regiment in the engagement. The original intention was for Colonel Pattee to connect the right of his command with the First Division and the left with the command of General Ord. On reaching the front, he discovered that the cavalry were hard pressed, and would soon be dislodged from the woods, which would have to be regained at great disadvantage, and perhaps serious loss. He, therefore, ordered the regiment forward to their relief. Advancing rapidly, they relieved the cavalry and engaged the enemy before the troops on either flank were in position. Colonel Pattee now found his skirmish line confronting heavy lines of battle, and back of these, on the ridge near the village, in position to sweep all the open ground in front, Lee's artillery was massed. He at once thinned the exposed center and right of his line, strengthened the left, and charged boldly forward upon the enemy, throwing his left around upon their flank. Meantime the right pressed rapidly on, and engaged the rebel infantry in the open ground, and, later, the artillery on the ridge. Their infantry was routed, and driven back over the ridge, where their officers tried in vain to rally and lead them forward. Their artillery resisted with desperation until their commander was killed. By this time many of their horses had been shot, and they tried to drag the guns away by hand. But now the left of the regiment, under Colonel Pattee, came charging down on their right flank, bursting upon them like a tornado; and literally mingled together, almost fighting hand to hand, they went pell-mell toward the village. Here the flag of truce met them, and soon hostilities ceased. Rarely has a more brilliant and successful attack been executed in modern warfare, and it reflects the highest credit upon Colonel Pattee and his command. Rebel officers who witnessed it spoke in the highest terms of the splendid and reckless courage with which this skirmish line dashed upon the heavy masses of the enemy.

The death of the cavalryman, to which reference has been made, was a cause of great regret to all who witnessed it. He was a brave young man. When relieved by the Bucktails, he might have retired from the field with honor, as did most of the command to which he belonged. He preferred, however, to remain. Falling in with Colonel Pattee, he fought by his side during all the engagement, charged with him in the last deadly onset, and escaped unharmed, to fall by the bullet of a cowardly truce-breaker.

Lieutenant Hayden, of the One Hundred and Ninety-first, a brave young officer, formerly of the Eleventh Reserves, lost a leg in this battle. It seemed hard to suffer death or maiming in this, the last hour, let us hope, that the nation will know of civil strife; but let us honor the men who were thus faithful to the end.



CHAPTER XX.

Generals Grant, Meade, Ord, and others came down the road to the village. General Lee and his associates came in the opposite direction. They met at a house about two hundred yards from us, in full view of the place where we stood. Here the surrender was completed.

Twenty-six thousand men were surrendered. Besides those who had straggled and scattered through the country, or willfully deserted, Lee had lost in battle, since March 29th, 25,750 men. Both armies were much exhausted, and if Lee could have shaken off the clutch of Sheridan, and continued his retreat to Lynchburg, Grant would have been compelled to abandon the pursuit within three days, from lack of food for his army.

As soon as a few wagons came up with provisions, rations were issued to both armies; but there was not a sufficient supply. We remained on the skirmish line till the 10th, when we returned to the brigade. Several days of wet weather followed, and the wagon-trains could not be brought up. On the 15th we began the homeward march with empty haversacks.

We camped that night at Pamplin's Station. In the evening George Dunn stole a couple of the meanest, most diminutive, runty little hams you ever saw. I helped him eat them, and am willing to bear a fair share of the blame; but a country that can produce such hams needs reconstruction. On the 16th we reached Farmville. The next day we camped eight miles from Burksville. At the latter place we rested a few days, before resuming the march to Washington. Here the news first reached us of Lincoln's assassination. A number of men, who had been taken prisoners during 1864, rejoined us.

I was at headquarters one evening, for some purpose, when a soldier accosted me and inquired for the One Hundred and Ninetieth. He was ragged, thin, and pale. His hair and beard were of long growth. Looking into his haggard face and sunken eyes, there was not an outline I could recognize.

"The One Hundred and Ninetieth is right here. I belong to it."

"Are there any of Company D of the Eleventh Reserves here?"

"Yes; I belonged to Company D."

"You did!"

He leaned toward me, looked intently a moment, then reached out his hand.

"Why, Mac; I'm glad to find you."

As his face brightened I recognized him. It was Wm. Kenedy, of the old company. He was made prisoner May 5th, in the Wilderness. He had escaped from prison, and made his way through the country to our lines, traveling by night, hiding by day, fed by the slaves, nursed by them through a fever contracted in the swamps. Rest, food, and clean clothes soon made him look like himself again.

But my narrative must hasten to a close. We resumed the march, passed through Petersburg, Richmond, Fredericksburg, and camped at last on Arlington Heights. We participated in the grand review. It was something of more than ordinary interest, to see and compare the two great armies. Most of Sherman's army had but just arrived, and were dusty and travel-worn; while the army of the Potomac had been resting for some time, and looked fresher and more sprightly. The latter wore caps, and the former hats, which gave them a more somber appearance. I was also of the impression that there were more young men in our army than in Sherman's.

June 28th we were mustered out, and started the next day for Harrisburg, where we were discharged, July 2d.

The report of the Adjutant-general of Pennsylvania gives these two regiments, the One Hundred and Ninetieth and One Hundred and Ninety-first, no credit for active service subsequent to the battle of Welden Railroad, August, 1864. At this time, Colonel Carle, of the One Hundred and Ninety-first, and Colonel Hartshorn, of the One Hundred and Ninetieth, were made prisoners, with the greater part of their respective commands, and remained in captivity till after the cessation of hostilities. The remainder of the two regiments acted together as one organization, under command of Colonel Pattee, as mentioned on page 118, until the close of the war. This was by far the longest and most brilliant period of their history; but of this, the public records of the State make no mention. At the time of the muster out, Colonel Pattee was absent, and the report of the One Hundred and Ninetieth was made out by, or under the supervision of, Colonel Hartshorn; that of the One Hundred and Ninety-first by Colonel Carle. We suppose that these officers neglected to insert the names of the engagements which occurred while Colonel Pattee was in command.

The following is a list of the battles in which the regiment took part:

WHITE OAK SWAMP, {190th,} Col. J. B. Pattee. June 13, 1864, {191st,}

PETERSBURG, {190th,} Col. J. B. Pattee. June 17, 1864, {191st,}

WELDON RAILROAD, {190th,} Col. W. R. Hartshorn. August 19, 1864, {191st,} Col. —— Carle.[*]

2D WELDON RAILROAD, {190th,} Captain Birkman.(?) August 21, 1864, {191st,}

POPLAR GROVE, {190th,} Col. J. B. Pattee. September 29, 1864, {191st,}

HATCHER'S RUN, (190th,) Col. J. B. Pattee. October 27, 1864, (191st,)

ROWANTY CREEK, (190th,) Col. J. B. Pattee. February 5, 1865, (191st,)

HATCHER'S RUN, (190th,) Col. J. B. Pattee. February 6, 1865, (191st,)

GRAVELLY RUN, (190th,) Col. J. B. Pattee. March 31, 1865, (191st,)

FIVE FORKS, (190th,) Col. J. B. Pattee. April 1, 1865, (191st,)

APPOMATTOX COURT-HOUSE, (190th,) Col. J. B. Pattee. April 9, 1865, (191st,)

* The two colonels in command, with the greater part of their men, were made prisoners in this battle, after a heavy loss of killed and wounded.

MAJOR R. M. BIRKMAN.

Major R. M. Birkman was born in St. Louis in April, 1837, and spent his childhood and early life in Harrisburg, Penn. He was in Philadelphia when the war was inaugurated by the firing on Fort Sumter, and at once enlisted in Company E, Eleventh Pennsylvania Reserves. He was made first sergeant, then commissioned second lieutenant, then promoted to first lieutenant, and after the reorganization, to captain of Company A, One Hundred and Ninetieth Pennsylvania.

At the close of the war he received the rank of brevet major for meritorious service. The following extract shows the esteem in which he was held by the officers with whom he was associated. It is from a letter of Brevet Brigadier-general Gwyn, who commanded the brigade in which he served during the latter part of the war:

"Captain, it affords me pleasure to testify to your bravery, ability, and universal good conduct in the several bloody fights in which your regiment was engaged during the late campaign. In the camp, no less than in the field, your conduct bore testimony to your worth. Sober, steady, and industrious, you set an example worth following."

In the army, as elsewhere, he was the quiet, unassuming, conscientious gentleman, doing his duty.

After the war, he returned to Blairsville, Penn., where he married Miss Mary L. Black, a most estimable lady of that city. He purchased the Blairsville Press, and continued to be editor and publisher of that paper till 1870. He then bought the Indiana Register and American, and merged the two papers into the Indiana Progress, which he published until the 1st of March, 1880. His health had been gradually failing for three or four years previous to this date; but he continued to devote his attention to the work which he loved, until the advance of disease warned him that his work was done. He then "set his house in order," fearlessly committed himself to the God whom he had served and loved, and waited calmly for the last of earth.

As death drew near, his mind went back over the scenes of camp and field, and he fought his battles o'er again. He died April 24, 1880. For seven years previous to his death he had been an active member of the Presbyterian Church, and proved himself an earnest, consistent Christian.

* * * * *

BRIGADIER-GENERAL JOSEPH B. PATTEE.

Brevet Brigadier-General Joseph B. Pattee is a native of Vermont. Of his life previous to the breaking out of the war we have no information. When the Pennsylvania Reserves were organized in 1861, he was commissioned first lieutenant Company B, of the Tenth. December 10, 1862, he was promoted to captain. At Bethesda Church, May 30, 1864, he was wounded in the knee by a grapeshot. He continued on duty, however, although this wound troubled him for more than a year afterward. When the reorganization took place, he was commissioned lieutenant-colonel of the One Hundred and Ninetieth Pennsylvania. Colonel Hartshorn being absent, he took command of the regiment. June 17th, he was severely wounded during the assault on Petersburg. A rifle ball struck him in the center of the chest, and came out under his arm. This wound compelled an absence of nearly three months. He returned September 13th, although still suffering from this wound and the one received in May. During his absence, Colonel Hartshorn and Colonel Carle, of the One Hundred and Ninety-first, returned, and took command of their respective regiments. These officers, with the greater part of their men, were made prisoners August 19th, and so remained until after the cessation of hostilities.

The remainder of the two regiments, increased during the Fall by returning convalescents, numbered about five hundred men. Colonel Pattee took command of these, and they acted together as one organization. To his care, skill, and courage they owe the brilliant record which they made during the rest of their history. At Gravelly Run his promptness and decision saved the Union forces from serious disaster. His gallant conduct in leading the assault on the rebel intrenchments at Five Forks is mentioned in the account of that battle. At Appomattox Court-house he was ordered forward with his regiment from the rear of the division, for the purpose of making that last dash against Lee, and compelling his surrender. For the prompt and skillful manner in which this attack was executed, he was highly complimented by the generals in command, and was brevetted brigadier-general.

Since the close of the war he has been in the West, and is now engaged in a land agency business at Canton, Dakota Territory.

* * * * *

The following muster-rolls are obtained from the "History of the Pennsylvania Volunteers." The roll of Company C, One Hundred and Ninetieth, is defective in that work, and we have added a few names from memory. The following abbreviations need explanation: M. A. C. D. C. = Military Asylum Cemetery, District of Columbia; V. R. C. = Veteran Reserve Corps; N. C. = National Cemetery. The date which follows the name and rank of an officer, or the name of a private, indicates the date of enlistment.

Company C, 11th P. R. V. C.

MUSTERED OUT JUNE 13, 1864.

S. Louden, Capt.; June 10, '61; disc. sur. cer., Sept. 26, '62.

W. H. Timblin, Capt.; June 10, '61; Brev. Maj.; wounded in Wilderness; must. out with Co.

Newton Redic, 1st Lt.; June 10, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

G. W. Fliger, 1st Lt.; June 10, '61; pris. May 5, '64; disc. March 12, '65.

J. C. Kuhn, 2d Lt.; June 10, '61; died of wounds, Sept. 17, '62.

J. H. Sutton, 2d Lt.; June 10, '61; disc. for wounds, July 3, '63.

W. J. Halderman, 1st Sergt.; Oct. 1, '61; trans. 190th, vet.

G. W. Milford, Sergt.; June 10, '61; disc. sur. cer., Jan. 20, '63.

J. H. Christie, Sergt.; June 10, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

G. A. Black, Sergt.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

J. T. Kelly, Sergt.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

G. W. Eby, Sergt.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

M. Heckart, Sergt.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

W. Prior, Sergt.; June 10, '61; pris. May 5, '64; died at Andersonville, Nov. 28, '64; grave 12,191.

Hiram Black, Corp.; June 10, '61; died of wounds, Dec. 18, '62.

J. W. Campbell, Corp., June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

S. Cook, Corp., June 10, '61; disc. on sur. cer.

J. H. Meeder, Corp., June 23, '61; disc. on sur. cer.

R. S. Harper, Corp.; Feb. 24, '62; trans. 190th; disc. Feb. 24, '62.

J. S. Campbell, Corp.; June 10, '61; pris. May 5, '64; disc. Dec. 22, '64.

R. S. Ray, Corp.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

W. P. Black, Corp.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

J. M. Varnum, mus., June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

J. Heckart, mus., June 23, '61; must. out with Co.

PRIVATES.

Allen, D. S.; June 10, '61; must. out with Company.

Adams, H. C.; Oct. 1, '61; disc. sur. cer., June 30, '62.

Anderson, R. M.; Mar. 4, '62; disc. sur. cer. June 24, '62.

Birch, D.; June 10, '61; must. out with Company.

Black, J. R.; June 10, '61; pris. May 5, '64; disc. Dec. 12, '64.

Bell, S. M.; June 10, '61; disc. for wounds, May 20, '63.

Brandon, Henry; June 10, '61; disc. for wounds, Oct. 10, '62.

Beatty, S. R.; June 10, '61; disc. for wounds rec'd at Gaines' Mill.

Bryan, W. A.; June 10, '61; disc. on sur. cer., Feb. 11, 63.

Bruner, S.; June 23, '61; pris. May 5, '65, to Ap. 17, '65.

Black, U. J.; June 10, '61; died Dec. 26, '62; buried in M. A. Cem., D. C.

Beam, J.; June 10, '61; died Aug. 7, '62, of wounds rec'd at Gaines' Mill.

Brewster, J. C.; June 10, '61; died July 23, '62; buried in M. A. Cem., D. C.

Boreland, J. W.; June 10, '61; died May 22, '62.

Campbell, I.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

Christy, H. F.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

Cannon, J.; June 23, '61; absent, sick, at muster out.

Campbell, R. G.; Feb. 29, '64; trans. to 190th; pris., died at Andersonville, Aug., '64.

Campbell, Wm.; June 10, '61; died Aug. 1, '63, of wounds rec'd at Gettysburg; bur. N. C., sec. D., grave 39.

Clark, C.; died May 12, '65; bur. Cypress Hill Cem., Long Island

Dobson, J.; June 10, '61; mort. wounded, May 30, '64.

Donaldson, J.; June 10, '61; pris. May 30, '64; disc. Dec. 16, '64.

Edgar, H. J.; June 23, '61; disc. for w'ds, Nov. 23, '62.

Eshenbaugh, J.; June 10, '61; trans. to 190th; pris., May 30, '64, to April 17, '65; must. out vet.

Fliger, E. S.; June 10, '61; disc. on sur. cer., Nov. 27, '61.

Fliger, Jacob; June 10, '61; disc. on sur. cer., Nov. 27 '62.

Graham, Jas. K.; June 10, '61; wounded; must. out with Company.

Grossman, Lewis; June 10, '61; wounded, with loss of arm and leg, May 11, '64; died Aug. 3, '64; bur. N. C., Arlington.

Hindman, R. S.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

Halstead, Jn.; June 23, '61; must. out with Co.

Hilliard, W.; June 23, '61; must. out with Co.

Hilliard, W. H.; June 10, '61; disc. sur. cer., May 11, '62.

Henlen, Jn. D. W.; June 10, '61; disc. sur. cer., Jan. 8, '63.

Hoffman, Ed.: March 4, '62; trans. to 190th.

Hilliard, Eli; June 10, '61; died at Richmond, Jan. 11, '63, of wounds received at Fredericksburg.

Hyskill, G.; June 10, '61; killed at Fred., Dec. 13, '62.

Hart, Samuel; March 4, '62; died Aug. 10, '62.

Karner, Wm.; June 10, '61; must. out with Company.

Krause, R.; June 23, '61; pris. May 5, '64; disc. Mar. 1, '65.

Kepler, A. C.; Oct. 1, '61; w'd and pris. at Gaines' Mill; disc.

Kautch, Wolfgang; June 10, '61; disc. for wounds, Dec. 31, '63.

Kenedy, B. F.; Mar. 4, '62; trans. to 190th; disc. at expiration of term.

Larden, T. P.; June 23, '61; wounded at Fred.; pris. May 5; disc. Mar. 14, '65.

Linsay, F.; June 10, '61; died Jan. 4, '63, of wounds rec'd at Fred. Dec. 13, '62; bur. M. A. C., D. C.

Livermore, J.; Oct. 1, '61; trans. V. R. C., Dec. 31, '63.

Miller, S.; June 10, '61; pris. May 5, '64; disc. Mar. 5, '65.

M'Cleary, S. E.; June 10, '61; pris. May 5, '64; disc. Mar. 5, '65.

M'Gill, W. B.; June 10, '61; disc. on sur. cer., Dec. 30, '61.

Malarkey, D.; June 23, '61; disc. Feb. 11, '63.

Moore, W. E.; June 10, '61; disc. for w'ds, Sept. 1, '63.

M'Murry, S.; June 10, '61; disc. for w'ds, Dec. 3, '62.

M'Elhany, R.; June 10, '61; disc. for w'ds, Dec. 29, '62.

M'Elvain, R.; June 10, '61; disc. for w'ds, Jan. 15, '63.

M'Call, Alex.; Feb. 8, '62; disc. for w'ds, rec'd at Fred.

Milford, J. P.; Aug. 26, '62; trans, to 190th.

Monnie, F. H.; Sept. 21, '62; trans, to 190th; disc. at expiration of term.

M'Murry, R.; Feb. 8, '62; trans, to 190th; disc. at expiration of term.

M'Camy, J.; Feb. 24, '62; trans. V. R. C., Dec. 21, '63.

Miller, Isaiah; June 10, '61; died Aug. 13, '62; bur. at Point Lookout.

Martin, Wm.; Sept. 21, '61; died of w'ds. Sept. 17, '62.

M'Bride, W. A.; June 10, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

Martin, P. G.; June 23, '61; deserted Mar. 20, '63.

Patterson, H. B.; June 10, '61; must. out with Co.

Pearce, J. M.; June 10, '61; disc. for w'ds, Oct. 29, '62.

Pearce, R. C.; Aug. 26, '62; died Dec. 13, '62; bur. M. A. C., D. C.

Pettigrew, A. J.; June 10, '61; died July 11, '63, of wounds rec'd at Gettysburg.

Porter, J. R.; Oct. 5, '61; died Sept. 25, '62, of w'ds rec'd at Bull Run, Aug. 30, '62.

Rhodes, G. M.; June 10, '61; disc. on sur. cer., Aug. 23, '62.

Rothmire, G.; June 10, '61; disc. Sept. 12, '62, for wounds rec'd at Gaines' Mill.

Rinker, Wm.; June 10, '61; disc. Sept. 12, '62, for wounds rec'd at Bull Run, Aug. 30, '62.

Russel, D. H.; Aug. 26, '62; trans. to 191st.

Rosenberry, J.; June 10, '61; died at Macon, Ga., Dec. 24, '62, of wounds rec'd at Fredericksburg.

Russel, O. H. P.; June 10, '62; died at Richmond, Dec. 31, '62, of wounds rec'd at Fredericksburg.

Sloan, Wm.; June 10, '61; must. out with Company.

Seaton, Amos; June 10, '61; must. out with Company.

Shryock, S, P.; June 10, '61; pris. May 5, '64; disc. Mar. 5, '65.

Say, Hon. H.; Oct. 7, '61; trans. to 191st.

Stevenson, J. H.; June 10, '61; killed at South Mountain, Sept. 14, '62.

Schmidt, C.; June 10, '61; killed at South Mountain, Sept. 14, '62.

Shepard, J. M.; Sept 21, '61; disc. for w'ds, Feb. 24, '63.

Taylor, J. L.; June 10, '61; must. out with Company.

Thompson, W. S.; June 10, '61; disc. on sur. cer., Aug. 2, '62.

Thompson, J.; Oct. 13, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill.

White, Allen; June 10, '61; killed at Wilderness, May 5, '64.

Company D, 11th P. R. V. C.

Wm. Stewart, Capt.; July 5, '61; w'nded 2d Bull Run; killed at Fredericksburg, Dec. 13, '62.

Jacob Baiers, Capt.; July 5, '61; disc. April 9, '64, for wounds received at Gaines' Mill.

Jas. P. Boggs, Capt.; July 5, '61; Brev. Maj.; wd. twice, pris. once, must. out with Co.

J. S. Kenedy, 1st Lt.; July 5, '61; disc. June 13, '63, for wds. received at South Mountain, Sept. 14, '62.

Jesse Donaldson, 2d Lt.; July 5, '61; died at Alexandria, Va., May 5, '62.

J. O'Harra Woods, 2d Lt.; July 5, '61; killed at Gettysburg, July 2, 63; N. C., sec. C., grave 35.

Wilson R. Potts, 1st Sergt.; July 5, '61; disc. sur. cer. June 10, '62.

Wm. C. Coleman, 1st Sergt.; Sept. 8, '61; trans. 190th to 1st Lt., Co. I; must. out June 28, '65.

Robt. Ash, Sergt.; July 5, '61; disc. sur. cer. June 10, '62.

Jn. Ganz, Sergt.; July 5, '61; must. out with Co.

Sam'l J. Chrisley, Sergt.; July 16, '61; killed at 2d Bull Run, Aug. 30, '62.

Jac. B. Kinsell, Sergt.; July 5, '61; died Jan. 20, '63; wounds received at Fred.; Alex, grave 691.

G. W. M'Gaughey, Sergt.; July 5, '61; died Rich. Feb. 10, '63, wounds received at Fred., Dec. 13, '62.

David C. Steen, Sergt.; July 5, '61; trans. 190th; wd. Gaines' Mill, Fred., Wild.; killed Weldon R. R., Aug. 19, '64., vet.

Geo. Weber, Sergt.; July 5, '61; wounded Fred.; pris. May 5, '64; disc. Dec. 17, '64.

Jas. M'Clelland, Sergt.; July 29, '61; must. out with Co.

Jas. M. Graves, Sergt.; July 12, '61; pris. May 5, '64; must. out Dec. 18, '64.

Jn. Dunbar, Corp.; July 5, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

Silas Amberson, Corp.; July 5, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

Robt. G. Gilleland, Corp.; July 5, '61; disc. sur. cer., Feb. 4, '63.

David P. Stewart, Corp.; July 5, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

David S. Parks, Corp.; July 6, '61; killed May 30, '64.

Jas. R. Moore, Corp.; July 29, '61; disc. on sur. cer., Feb. 7, '63.

Jas. B. Shafer, Corp.; July 29, '61; trans. 190th; must. out June 28, '65.

Dan'l Graham, Corp.; July 5, '61; pris. May 30, '64; died ——.

Jesse Fry, Corp.; July 5, '61; must. out with Co.

Chas. Minnemyer, Musician; July 6, '61; promoted to prin. must., Nov. 1, '63; must. out with Co.

Alf. Nixon, musc.; July 5, '61; must. out with Co.

PRIVATES.

Addleman, Lind. H.; Feb. 24, '62; died at home on Furlough.

Barron, Barn. C.; July 5, '61; disc. sur. cer., Aug. 3, '62.

Beers, Jn.; Feb. 8, '62.; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; not accounted for.

Berchtold, Jas.; Feb. 25, '62; trans. U. S. N., Nov. '62.

Beers, Sm'l; July 5, '61; trans. V. R. C., Sept. 1, '63.

Beggs, Jn.; July 5, '61; trans. V. R. C., Sept. 1, '63.

Beatty, Jn. M.; July 5, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

Bedillion, Peter; July 16, '61; died Jan. 17, '62.

Beltz, Chas.; ——; died Sept. 4, '62; bur. Alexandria, grave 212.

Boggs, Wm.; July 5, '61; must. out with Co.

Brennamin, S.; March 18, '64; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 18, '64; not accounted for.

Brown, Robt. J.; July 16, '61; trans. 190th; not accounted for.

Brown, Jn. M.; July 5, '61; must. out with Co.

Brunnermer, Geo.; Feb. 8, '62; trans. 190th; wd. May 30, Aug. 18, '64; must. out, vet.

Burr, Jacob; Feb. 25, '64; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; not accounted for.

Cartwright, Linas; July 16, '61; disc. sur. cer., March 1, '64.

Campbell, David; July 16, '61; disc. sur. cer., Aug. 28, 63.

Cowan, Jn.; July 5, '61; disc sur. cer. ——

Corans, Jn.; Sept. 12, '61; trans. V. R. C., Sept. 1, '63.

Cress, Dan'l; July 29, 61; trans. V. R. C., Sept. 1, '63.

Critchlow, A. W.; July 5, '61; died at N. Y., Oct. 2. '62.

Critchlow, J. W.; July 5, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

Cornelius, T. J.; July 29, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

Conders, Jn.; July 5, '61; killed at Bull Run, Aug. 30, '62.

Dodds, Jasper P.; July 12, '61; died at Richmond, July 18, '62, of wds. received at Gaines' Mill.

Dodds, W. F.; July 29, '61; disc. sur. cer., Oct. 7, '62.

Deer, Jac.; July 5, '61; disc. sur. cer., March 11, '63.

Divinney, J. G.; Sept. 21, '61; disc. sur. cer, May 9, '62.

Elliott, J. P.; July 5, '61; pris. May 5, '64; died—.

Fleming, T. H.; July 5, '61; trans. 190th; must. out with Co., June 28, '65, vet.

Frail, M.; July 5, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

Fry, W. M.; July 5, '61; died at Washington, D. C., May 31, '62.

Graham, D. W.; Sept. 21, '61; disc. sur. cer., Aug. 18, '62.

Gilleland, R. S.; Feb. 10, '64; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; not accounted for.

Gilleland, W.; Feb. 10, '64; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; not accounted for.

Gilpatrick, M.; March 17, '64; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; disc. July 5, '65.

Gibson, Israel; March 17, '64; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; disc. July 5, '65.

Graham, D. W.; Aug. 19, '61; trans. V. R. C., Sept. 1, '63.

Greer, J. A.; July 5, '61; trans. V. R. C., Sept. 9, '63.

Hussleton, G. W.; July 5, '61; pris. May 5, '64; disc. Dec. 22, '64.

Haslett, S. F.; Sept. 10, '61; disc. sur. cer., Nov. 21, '62.

Haslett, J. B.; March 3, '62; trans. V. R. C., Sept. 1, '63.

Hare, Peter; July 12, '61; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; shot Salis., N. C., Dec. 22, '64, vet.

Hoyt, Oscar C.; Sept. 21, '61; trans. V. R. C., Sept. 1, '63.

Johnson, J. B.; July 25, '61; died May 30, '62; bur. M. A. C., D. C.

Johnston, Vernon; July 5, 61; died July 9, '61.

Kenedy, Alex.; July 29, '61; disc. sur. cer., Feb. 9, '63.

Kenedy, W. H. H.; July 5, '61; trans. 190th; pris. May 5, '64; must. out June 28, '65, vet.

Kalb, Eckart; March 10, '62; trans. 190th; wd., loss of arm, May 30, 64.

List, Wm.; July 14, '61; must. out with Co.

Lyon, Sm. A.; July 24 '61; k. Bull Run, Aug. 30, '62.

Leonard, Jas.; July 5, '61; deserted Aug. 31, '61.

M'Nair, Robt. A.; July 5, '61; must. out with Co.

Mushrush, B. L.; July 5, '61; wd. May 5, '64; must. out with Co.

M'Donald, D. (1); July 5, '61; must. out with Co.

M'Donald, D. (2); July 16, '61; disc. sur. cer., June 25, '63.

M'Aleer, B. W.; Feb. 24, '62; trans. 190th; pris, Aug. 19, '64; not accounted for.

M'Bride, R. E.; Dec. 15, '63; trans. 190th; must. out June 27, '65.

M'Comb, J. H.; Feb. 9, '64; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; not accounted for.

Miller, Ed.; Feb, 25, '64; trans. 190th; must. out with Co., June 28, '65.

M'Curdy, S. R.; Sept. 8, '61; trans, to Co. B., May 1, '62; disc. sur. cer., June 4, '62.

M'Knight, J.; Sept. 12, '61; trans. V. R. C., Feb. 5, '64.

Moreland, C. L.; Apr. 22, '64; trans. 190th; killed at Petersb., June 24, '64; bur. in Poplar Grove Cem., grave 173, sec. C. div. D.

M'Cullough, M. F.; July 6, '61; killed May 5, '64.

Moore, Wm.; July 16, '61; killed at Gaines' Mill, June 27, '62.

M'Kinney, J. A.; July 5, '61; killed at Bull Run, Aug. 30, '62.

M'Neal, W. R.; Sept. 8, '61; died Oct. 25, '62, of wds. rec'd at Bull Run, Aug. 30, '62; bur. M. A. C., D. C.

Nixon, J. E.; July 6, '61; disc. sur. cer., March 28, '64.

Overdoff, W. C.; March 31, '64; trans. 190th; killed Oct. '64.

Parker, S. C.; July 5, '61; must. out with Co.

Pisor, D. W.; July 16, '61; died Nov. 16, '62; buried Camp Parole, Hospital Cem. Annapolis, Md.

Pherson, R. J.; July 29, '61; killed at Bull Run, Aug. 30, '62.

Rodgers, H.; July 16, '61; disc. sur. cer., June 23, '62.

Richardson, W.; March 21, '62; trans. 190th; wd. at Fred.; must. out June 28, '65, vet.

Robertson, J.; Feb. 16, '64; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; died ——.

Rice, T. G.; Feb. 13, '64; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; died Dec. 23, '64, Salisbury, N. C.

Rosenberry, S. J.; Feb. 24, '62; died June 23, '62; bur. Mil. As. Cem., D. C.

Rouch, L.; Oct. 5, '61; died at home, Butler County, Sept. 8, '63.

Smith, S. F.; Sept. 8, '61; disc. sur. cer., Aug. 1, '62.

Shearer, W. M.; Sept. 8, '61; disc. sur. cer., Aug. 27, '62.

Stevenson, B.; Feb. 24, '62; disc. sur. cer., March 25, '62.

Snow, Alf. M.; July 5, '61; trans. 190th; pris. Aug. 19, '64; died Salisbury, N. C, vet.

Shank, A.; Sept. 8, '61; trans. 190th; must. out June 28, '65., vet.

Shank, Jn.; Feb. 26, '64; trans. 190th; not accounted for.

Silvers, M.; Sept. 21, '61; trans. V. R. C.

Stanley, J. S.; March 31, '64; trans. 190th; wd. May 30, '64; not accounted for.

Sinott, Wm.; Sept. 8, '61; killed at Bull Run, Aug. 29, '62.

Summerville, J. H.; July 5, '61; died at Annapolis, Md., Feb. 28, '63, of wds. rec'd at Fred. Dec. 13, '62.

Teets, Al.; July 5, '61; absent at muster out.

Thompson, R. W.; July 5, '61; must. out with Co.

Thompson, G.; July 23, '61; must. out with Co.

Williamson, Hugh; July 5, '61; wd. at Fred.; absent at muster out.

Woods, Wm.; July 5, '61; died at Camp Pierpont, Dec. 6, '61.

Young, Geo.; Feb. 8, '62; disc. sur. cer., June 11, '62.



Company C, 190th P. V.

Neri B. Kinsey, Capt.; June, 1, '61; Brev. Maj. Oct. 1, '64; wounded Oct., '64; disc. Mar. 8, '65.

Moses W. Lucore, 1st Lt.; June 1, '61; pris. Aug. 19, '64; must. out June 28, '65.

Benj. F. Wright, 2d Lt.; pris. Aug. 19, '64; must. out June 28, '65.

—— Keeley, Sergt.; must. out June 28, '65.

—— Haslett, Sergt.; must. out June 28, '65.

David C. Steen, Sergt.; killed Aug. 19, '64; sec. D., 11.

Thos. H. Lindsay, Corp.; Dec. 21, '63; disc. gen. ord., June 1, '65.

PRIVATES.

Brown, Robt. J.; July 16, '61; vet., not accounted for.

Beers, Jn.; Mar. 17, '62; vet., not accounted for.

Burr, Jacob; Feb. 25, '64; vet., not accounted for.

Brunnermer, George; Feb. 8. '62; ward 2; mus.

Brennamin, Sl.; Mar. 18, '64; pris. Aug. 19, '64; not accounted for.

Bovard, Joseph O.; June 8, '61; must. out with Co., June 28, '65; vet.

Conner, Wm.; Sept. 22, '62; pris. Aug. 19, '64; disc. gen. ord., June 1, '65.

Coleman, Mike; Dec. 15, '63; must. out with Co., June 28, '65.

Dunn, Geo.; Sept. 22, '62; disc. gen. ord., June 1, '65.

Edgar, Jn.; must. out with Co., June 28, '65, vet.

Eshelman, Abram; Dec. 9, '63; died of wounds rec'd at Petersburg, June 17, '64.

Fulkerson, Smith; Mar. 31, '62; disc. at expiration of term.

Fleming, Thorn. H.; July 5, '61; must. out with Co., June 28, '64; vet.

Fuller, Jn. A.; pris. Aug. 19, '64; died at Salisbury N. C., Dec. 12, '65.

Fairbanks, D.; pris. Aug 19, '64; died Nov. 24, '64.

Gilpatrick, Mark; Mar. 15, '64; pris. Aug. 19, '64, to Oct. 8, '64; disc. July 5, '65.

Gilleland, Robt. S.; Feb. 10, '64; not accounted for.

Gilleland, Wilson; Feb. 10, '64; not accounted for.

Gibson, Israel; Mar. 17, '64; not accounted for.

Hare, Peter; July 12, '61; pris. Aug. 19, '64; died at Salisbury, N. C., Jan. 30, '65, vet.

Harris, Abram; Feb. 3, '64; disc. gen. ord., May 16, '65.

Harris, Wm.; Feb. 3, '64; must. out with Co., June 28, '65.

Kalb, Eckart; Mar. 10, '62; wounded, with loss of arm, May 30, '64.

Kenedy, W. H. H.; July 5, '61; pris. May 5, '64; must. out with Company, June 28, '65, vet.

Klinglesmith, C.; Feb. 5, '64; must. out with Co., June 28, '65.

Lewis, Wm.; Oct. 25, '64; disc. gen. ord., June 5, '65.

Lyons, Owen; Dec. 21, '63; trans. V. R. C.

M'Aleer, Bernard W.; Feb. 24, '62; not accounted for.

M'Bride, R. E.; Dec. 15, '63; must. out with Co.

M'Comb, Jas. H.; Feb. 9, '64; pris. Aug. 19, '64; not accounted for.

M'Guire, Robt. R.; June 8, '61; mustered out with Company, vet.

M'Guire, Jas. N.; June 8, '61; must. out with Company, vet., wounded.

Miller, Ed.; Feb. 25, '64; must. out with Company.

Nicholson, Jn.; Dec. 31, '63; pris. Aug. 19, '64, to Feb. 7, '65; disc. June 12, '65.

Overdoff, Wm. C.; Mar. 31, '64; killed Oct., '64.

Payne, Wm.; Oct. 20, '61; disc. at expiration of term.

Rice, Thos. G.; Feb. 13, '64; pris. Aug. 19, '64; died at Salisbury, N. C.

Richardson, Wm.; Mar. 21, '62; must. out with Co., wounded.

Robertson, Jas.; Feb. 16, '64; pris. Aug. 19, '64; died at Salisbury, N. C., Dec. 23, '64.

Rutter, Wm.; wounded at Petersburg, June 18, '64; died July 15, '64.

Snow, Alf. M.; July 5, '61; pris. Aug. 19, '64; died at Salisbury, N. C., vet.

Shank, Andrew; Sept. 8, '61; must. out with Co., vet., wounded.

Shank, Jn.; Feb. 26, '64; not accounted for.

Scott, W. D.; June 8, '61; disc. Jan. 23, '65, vet.

Stohker, Abram; Dec. 21, '63; pris. Aug. 19, '64, to Jan. 22, '64; disc. June 12, '65.

Sweeney, Chas.; June 8, '61; pris. Aug. 19, '64, to March 1, '65; disc. June 24. '65.

Thiel, Anthony; Feb. 4, '62; disc. gen. ord., June 2, '65.

Walb, Leonidas C.; June 21, '61; must. out with Company, vet.

Youler, Benj. F.; June 20, '61; must. out with Co., vet.



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Address or call on Daniel F. Beatty, Washington, N. J.



Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Typographical errors corrected in the text: Page 9 Spottsylvania changed to Spotsylvania Page 26 steathily changed to stealthily Page 26 Bristor changed to Bristoe Page 27 Bristor changed to Bristoe Page 37 Spottsylvania changed to Spotsylvania Page 52 earthern changed to earthen Page 74 cookiug changed to cooking Page 129 Nintieth changed to Ninetieth Page 146 Aross changed to Across Page 174 redoutable changed to redoubtable Page 237 Fredericksbug changed to Fredericksburg

THE END