In front was the Third brigade, holding a crest which overlooked a ravine through which the rebels must pass. Behind the brigade was another ravine, in which was a thin skirt of woods. In rear of this second ravine, and behind a swell of ground, the Vermont brigade was strongly posted, forming the second line of battle. There were in each of these two brigades about three thousand men.

Now came the most fearful struggle of the campaign. At five o'clock the rebel hordes came, with deafening yells, upon the division. The divisions of Early, Anderson and McLaws rushed upon the single brigade of less than three thousand men, massing their troops in the ravine, and charging with impetuous fury. But the noble regiments heroically withstood the shock, the Germans of the Twentieth only going to the rear in confusion. The stubborn resistance of the brigade prevented the rebels from piercing our lines, and cutting off our retreat, and thus, by its gallantry, enabled the corps to cross at Banks' Ford. But one thousand men—more than one-third of the brigade—fell on that crest. Colonel Van Houghton, of the Twenty-first New Jersey, was mortally wounded, and many other choice spirits were among the fallen. General Neill was injured by the fall of his horse, which was shot. General Howe now ordered the brigade to fall back, and the decimated regiments left the front line, and fell behind the strong position held by the Vermonters. The rebels, thinking this a retreat, followed with yells of exultation, but were met by the second line of battle, which, from its position behind the swell of ground, was concealed, with a murderous fire, which sent them reeling back to the cover of the first ravine. Their charge had inflicted little damage upon the Union line. It was now nearly dark, and the reception which the rebels had received had so completely routed and broken them, that they made no further attempt upon our lines.

About nine o'clock, the division was ordered to fall back to Banks' Ford, now two miles distant from us. We fell back quietly, and found that the other divisions had preceded us, and were snugly behind rifle pits. They had fallen back as soon as it was dark, leaving the Second division to cover the retreat.

Meantime, comparatively little fighting had been done by the other divisions, though a constant skirmish was kept up, and in the evening the confederates managed to get in the rear of a part of the picket of the Light division, capturing a large number of prisoners from the Forty-third and Thirty-first New York, and Sixty-first Pennsylvania.

The position at Banks' Ford might have been held until reinforcements could have reached the corps from Hooker; but, unfortunately, that general, receiving from General Sedgwick first, intelligence that he could not safely hold the position, then that he could, ordered the corps to be withdrawn, and afterward countermanded the order; but the last order was only received when the movement had been accomplished.

Toward morning the corps recrossed the Rappahannock on pontoon bridges; not without the utmost difficulty; one bridge being destroyed by rebel artillery, and the other barely saved from destruction long enough to allow the troops hurriedly to pass over.

The corps had passed through a fearful ordeal, and had shown itself to be made of heroic material. No two more brilliant feats had been performed during the war, than the storming of the heights of Fredericksburgh, and the splendid resistance when surrounded and attacked by overwhelming forces. The men came out of the fight, not demoralized, but as ready to scale those terrible heights again, if called upon, as they had been on the 3d of May.

General Sedgwick had manifested during the fights, those masterly qualities which made him one of the greatest soldiers of the age. His conduct on the retreat was cool and unimpassioned. Personally examining every part of the ground in front and rear, riding from one end of the line to the other, now ordering a battery placed at some commanding point, and now looking out a new position to which his troops might fall back in case of necessity, he was everywhere present, full of energy, as determined to save as he had been to win.

Throughout the land the glorious deeds of the Sixth corps became household words; but its glory had been dearly purchased. Five thousand of the heroes who crossed the Rappahannock on the 2d of May, were either dead or wounded. Colonel Van Houghton, one of New Jersey's bravest sons, had received a mortal wound, from which he died in the hands of the enemy. Captain Luther M. Wheeler, of the Seventy-seventh, was shot while we halted at the foot of Marye's Hill. It was a sad loss to his regiment, and the corps. Few more gifted young men could be found in the army. He was one of our bravest and most efficient officers. Gentle in his relations with his fellows, cool and daring in battle; his youthful face beaming with fortitude, was a continual joy to his men in time of danger. He died as he had lived, a hero.

The Forty-third had lost Captain Knickerbocker and Lieutenant Koonz. Two young men of brilliant promise, greatly loved and respected in their regiment and in their native city, Albany.

The wounded men in the hospitals exhibited the same heroic fortitude in their sufferings that they had manifested in the charge and in the retreat. A few instances are given as illustrations of many: Erskine Branch of Company D, Seventy-seventh New York, when his leg was torn to shreds by a shell, hobbled off on the sound one and his gun, singing "The Star Spangled Banner." Corporal Henry West was shot through the thigh, and he was brought to the rear. "I guess," said he "that old Joe West's son has lost a leg." The corporal died soon after. While in the hospital, suffering from extreme anguish, a wounded man at his side lamented that he had come to the war. "I am not sorry that I came," instantly responded the brave corporal.

Let us now turn back and glance hastily at the maneuvers of the main army at Chancellorsville. We, of the Sixth corps, could only see by the balloon which, like some huge bird, hovered over the army, where it held its position, and the unceasing roar of artillery told us of a severe struggle with its foe; while rumor brought, now reports of brilliant success, and anon tales of sad defeat. We knew little of the true state of affairs at the right, and it was only when we mingled with our comrades of the other corps that we learned the details of the battle of Chancellorsville. We now repeat it as it was given to us. On the day that the army broke up its winter camp, General Hooker led the Fifth, Eleventh, Twelfth and Second corps, except Gibbon's division of the latter, up the river, until he reached Kelley's Ford, about twenty miles above Fredericksburgh. Here he crossed his whole force, and pushing southward and eastward, uncovered the United States Ford eight miles below, which was guarded by a brigade of rebels, and struck the intersection of the Gordonsville plank road with the Orange county turnpike, about five miles from United States Ford; having by great exertions crossed two rivers and marched twenty miles. At the crossing of the two roads, west of the turnpike, and south of the plank road, stood a single large mansion, the Chancellor house. Here General Hooker made his head-quarters, and from this point he disposed the corps of the army so as to form a line of battle, which should face south and east, with a single corps to guard against an advance from the west. The Third and First corps soon joined Hooker's forces, and the corps were posted as follows: The Eleventh corps, under General Howard, was on the right of the line, three miles southwest of Chancellorsville, facing westward; next, to the left of Howard, but far to the south, and holding the turnpike five miles in front of Chancellorsville, was Sickles with his Third corps; back almost to the plank road, and left of the turnpike, was Slocum with the Twelfth corps; and still to the right, and behind the plank road, the Fifth corps, under General Meade, faced toward the southwest; behind Meade and Slocum, the Second corps was posted, one division guarding the approach to the bridge. The country was densely wooded. Except an open space about the house, it was a tangled wilderness. The ground was low and marshy, and nearly level. Earthworks were thrown up in front of all the corps, and everything seemed in readiness for the enemy, for whom General Hooker now waited, hoping, that by fruitless assaults upon what seemed an impregnable position, the enemy would be so exhausted that he might turn upon him with fresh divisions, and rout the retreating forces. His programme was to secure a position in the rear of the rebel positions at the fords, while that portion of the army left at Fredericksburgh was to divert attention from the principal movement. Stoneman, with the cavalry, was to make a grand raid on the communications of the rebel army, burning the bridges and tearing up railroads. The main body of the army having secured its position, and accomplished its work, the Sixth corps was to press forward and harass them in their retreat toward Richmond.

Saturday afternoon, almost at dark, the First corps, Reynolds', which had that morning parted company with the Sixth corps, crossed the river and took position near the ford, four miles in rear of Howard.

The rebel army had been on the southeast of ours. Sickles, on the afternoon of Saturday, discovered a train of wagons and ambulances moving across the pike far in his front. He sent a force to cut it in two, and was successful in taking a large number of prisoners and in creating a panic in the train. He advanced, and was met by a strong force of the enemy. He now sent to General Howard for reinforcements. General Howard led a brigade to his assistance in person, and then at full speed galloped back to his corps. He was just in time. Bursting shells on the right of his line told of the presence of the enemy. "Stonewall" Jackson, with an immense force, had passed round our army, and now came like an avalanche upon the right division of the Eleventh corps, General Devins. The men were cooking their coffee, when suddenly the whizzing of innumerable bullets aroused them from their culinary engagements. The hosts of Jackson, with yells and shouts, fell like a thunderbolt upon the astonished division, and it melted away like a snowflake in summer. The next division, Shurz, tried to maintain the ground, and did what men could do, but could not withstand the shock of fifty thousand men. General Hooker, fearing that the flying Germans would stampede the whole army, directed the cavalry which was with him, to charge upon the fugitives and arrest their flight; but no power could halt them. The commanding general at once directed General Sickles to attack the enemy on the flank, and, if possible, check his farther advance.

General Howard, with great presence of mind and perseverance, succeeded in stopping the rout at a stone wall, behind which he posted his line. Forty pieces of artillery were also, by General Hooker's order, concentrated to oppose the confederates, who again rushed forward with mad desperation, and were met with terrific fire from this long line of guns. They staggered back, but soon rallied, and again charged, and again met with a terrible repulse. The conflict now ceased for the night. Hooker drew in his lines, making them more compact, changed the disposition of some of the corps: throwing the Eleventh corps from the right to the left of the line, and bringing Meade, with the Fifth corps, to the right. Sickles and Slocum, with the Third and Twelfth corps, were near the Chancellor house. Artillery was massed to command the approaches to the turnpike, and earthworks went up in the night as if by magic. At daylight, Sunday morning, Jackson, with all his forces, advanced on the turnpike, against the Chancellor place, not with the thin line of battle, but in solid mass. His men poured from the woods like a torrent, their shouts and yells making a pandemonium of the wilderness. Suddenly, from the mouths of forty cannon was hurled against them a cruel storm of grape and canister, which ploughed through the advancing column, carrying death and destruction in its course, while the infantry from the Third corps poured into the faces of the desperate foe a terrible hail storm of bullets which almost decimated the heavy column. With the desperation of madness, the rebels rushed against this terrible fire, almost reaching the muzzles of the guns, only to be hurled back again by the fearful tornado in front. The Third corps seemed hardly able to hold its position, but now General Hooker sent two divisions of the Second corps to attack the enemy in the flank. These, with the Fifth corps, came with great force upon the left of the column. It reeled, the huge mass wavered to and fro, and then fell back in flight. The troops at the house, however, had been forced back, and General Hooker again shortened his lines, making his forces still more compact.

Again, in the afternoon, the rebels came on exultingly, but not with the desperation that marked the attack of the morning. Hour after hour they strove to drive back or break in two the Union line, but it was immovable. Artillery poured into the ranks of the assailants the most deadly fire, until they fell back, long before nightfall, disheartened and defeated. Hooker had at length succeeded in accomplishing a part of his object. He had allowed his enemy to fight him until his army was exhausted and dispirited, while he himself had half his army fresh and ready to charge upon the weakened foe. Now came the time for action. If he now succeeded in putting the enemy to flight, the rebel cause was destroyed; if, on the contrary, he suffered a repulse, what would be the result? The river was swelling rapidly; the pontoons could even now with difficulty be held together. If, haply, they were to be swept away, all means of retreat would be cut off, and a repulse would amount to annihilation. Sedgwick and the Sixth corps were driven back, and Stoneman, who had gone with his cavalry toward Richmond, was not heard from. In the midst of these doubts, he called a council of corps commanders, who agreed, not unanimously, that it was advisable to recross the river. So the army, on Wednesday, was withdrawn across the river, when victory seemed ready to rest on our banners.[3] Without doubt, had the general known of the panic created by the cavalry in the rear, or had he been sure that his communications would remain intact, the result would have been far different.

[3] The author makes no attempt to discuss the merits of the controversy, which grew out of this battle, between two of the best soldiers of our army. The reader will find, in the Report on the Conduct of the War, 1865, all the facts and arguments on both sides, by those most competent to give them—Generals Hooker and Sedgwick.

The loss to the whole army, in this campaign, was over seventeen thousand in killed and wounded.[4] Very many of these were left in the hands of the enemy.

[4] The following statement exhibits the loss to the various corps in killed, wounded and missing:

1st, 292 2d, 2,025 3d, 4,039 5th, 699 6th, 4,925 11th, 2,508 12th, 2,883 Cavalry, 145



CHAPTER XVIII.

SECOND ENCAMPMENT AT WHITE OAK CHURCH AND THE PENNSYLVANIA CAMPAIGN.

The army in its old position—A trip to Dixie—The wounded at the hospitals—Introduction of army badges—Adornments of the camps—The "Third crossing"—The Barnard mansion—Exchanging papers—A broken lieutenant—The Pennsylvania campaign commenced—Restriction of baggage—A severe march—An army bathing—At Centreville—Bristow Station—March to Maryland—General Hooker succeeded by General Meade—Position of the army.

The army now turned back to its old position, encamping in line nearly as before, only all the troops which had encamped on our left, between the Sixth corps and Belle Plain, were placed far to the right, leaving the Sixth corps on the left of the army, instead of being nearly in its center. The corps occupied a line nearly a mile in rear of the old camp, where the ground had been unoccupied, and where a growth of young pines, and, in places, considerable groves of oak timber, afforded far more attractive surroundings than the old quarters.

The wounded were taken to an immense field hospital at Potomac creek, where hospital tents sufficient to accommodate eight thousand wounded men were erected in a locality where cool breezes could play freely among the encampments, and where pure water could be obtained. On the 9th, many of our wounded were brought to the side of the river at Fredericksburgh and sent over to us by the enemy, in pontoon boats, under flags of truce. On the morning of the 10th, the surgeon of the Seventy-seventh was ordered to proceed at once to Banks' Ford to receive wounded officers who were to be removed from the enemy's lines. The doctor was soon at the ford, where he found a boat and a flag of truce at his disposal. He crossed the river and met the officer in command, who received him courteously, but declared that he knew nothing of any officers to come there. The surgeon addressed a note to General Wilcox, commanding the brigade at Banks' Ford, but he knew as little about it as the officer at the river. "There are plenty of federal officers here," said he, "and we shall be glad to send them across to your lines at any time when General Hooker shall apply to General Lee for them; but I know of no arrangement of the kind now." Believing that some arrangements had been made for the transfer of the wounded officers, but that the order had not yet reached General Wilcox, the surgeon spent the day among the rebels, conversing with their officers, while his boatmen, having with them a canteen of brandy, soon made themselves very popular with the crowd of rebel soldiers who gathered about, dressed in motley colors, buff, blue, gray, butternut, and colors indescribable. They were all in good humor and lively, and the hours passed pleasantly, as the men from the two opposing armies chatted in the shade of some oak trees. Finding little prospect of executing his peaceful mission, the surgeon obtained permission from General Wilcox to get the remains of Colonel Van Houghten, of the Twenty-first New Jersey regiment, who was shot at Salem Church, and died from his wound next day. Doctor McNiel, of the Twenty-first, with a party of men, proceeded to the place where the colonel was buried, a mile and a half from the ford, and brought the remains to the river and across to our own lines. On reporting at General Hooker's head-quarters, the surgeon found that no agreement had been concluded until late in the day for the delivery of the wounded officers; so he had spent the day in rebeldom to little effect, except the restoration of the body of the colonel to his friends, and leaving a company of nurses to assist our surgeons who were already in attendance upon our prisoners.

Nearly all our wounded were at length returned to us, and were sent to Potomac Creek, or to Washington. At Potomac Creek, the cooeperation of the Sanitary Commission was of great assistance to the surgeons; and many comforts and luxuries, the gifts of our friends at home, cheered the hearts of the wounded and suffering heroes. Sheets, pillow cases, handkerchiefs, with jellies and canned fruits, were distributed in profusion. Here was the place for manifesting the overflowing interest and noble generosity of the people of the north, and thousands blessed them for their munificence.

A mistaken idea prevailed among friends at home, that the agents of the Sanitary Commission resorted to the battle-field, ministering to the wants of the wounded, dressing the wounds, bringing the crippled from the field, and feeding the hungry. Our illustrated papers were filled with fine engravings, representing these acts of mercy on the battle-field. These were pictures of the imagination. Nothing of the sort was done. No Sanitary or Christian Commission agents frequented the battle-field. All wounded were brought from the field by soldiers, placed in ambulances of the government and taken to the field hospitals, where all the wounds were dressed by surgeons or their nurses, and where all were fed by officers selected for this special duty. The Sanitary and Christian Commissions had a great mission. They were the representatives of the lively interest felt by the people of the north, for the army it had sent forth to maintain the institutions of their country. They found abundant opportunity for accomplishing their mission at the large hospitals after the roar of battles had passed away; but they had nothing to do with the care of the wounded on the battle-field.

Just before leaving camp for the campaign just closed, General Hooker had issued an order assigning to each corps and division its badge, which was to be worn by every officer and soldier connected with either of the corps. The men of the Sixth corps now regarded their cross with greater pride than had ever ancient knight looked upon the heraldry which emblazoned his arms. It had been baptized in blood, and amid wonderful achievements of heroism. Every member of the noble corps felt an exulting pride in his relation to it, and regarded his badge as a mark of great honor.

The introduction of these badges became of great service to the army. Every man could easily recognize the corps and division of any other one in the army; and each corps learned to feel a pride in its own badge.

We had seven corps in the army; First, Second, Third, Fifth, Sixth, Eleventh and Twelfth. The badge of the First corps was a lozenge, that of the Second a shamrock, of the Third a diamond, of the Fifth a Maltese cross, of the Sixth a Greek cross, the Eleventh a lunette, and of the Twelfth a star. The badge of the First division of each corps was red, that of the Second white, and of the Third blue. All wagons and ambulances were marked with their appropriate badge, and the sick soldier who fell to the rear with a pass to the ambulances, had no difficulty in finding his own train; and quartermasters and others connected with the trains were greatly assisted in their duties by this ingenious device.

The camps of all the regiments of our divisions were pleasantly located, and great pains were taken in laying them out and in decorating them. When regiments were not sheltered in groves, pines were transplanted in the company streets in great profusion; and arches and bowers of the most elaborate and elegant designs, formed of the boughs of the red cedar and pine, exquisitely entwined with the bright green holly, formed a most attractive and beautiful feature of our second camp at White Oak Church. At division head-quarters, General Howe had caused to be erected a most elegant hall of these rural materials, which was a wonder of architectural beauty as well as exquisite taste and ingenuity. Its alcoves, its vestibules and its arches, were marvels of elegance. Here came officers, high in command, and brilliant dames, and passed a night in the service of Terpsichore, while bands discoursed stirring music.

In the camp of the Seventy-seventh, the adornments were profuse and beautiful. At head-quarters, a palace of green arose among the trees near our tents. For days, mule teams hauled huge loads of cedar boughs, which were woven into massive pillars or elegantly turned arches, and the structure rose like one of those fair bowers we read of in fairy tales. Our surgeon and quartermaster were preparing the elegant structure for the reception of their wives. It was almost complete, needing only a few finishing touches, and the anxiously awaited guests were expected on the following day; when, alas for the expectations of men, an order came to be ready to march at daylight next morning! The ladies, although too late to enjoy this rustic palace, arrived in time to find the corps in line of battle, and witness fierce artillery duels between the opposing armies. In their eagerness to watch the flight of the shells, they sometimes manifested greater bravery than their companions, whose experience had taught them to regard with suspicion the shrieking missiles.

We had passed a pleasant month at this camp, and the men were eager, notwithstanding their comfortable quarters, for active campaigning. The health and spirits of the soldiers of the corps had never been better, and in spite of the failure at Chancellorsville, they felt a great deal of confidence. So the order to move was received with pleasure, and we turned away from our pleasant camps willingly.

We left camp on the morning of June 5th, one of the loveliest of days, and, taking the road we had already trod on two occasions, halted in the valley of the Rappahannock, on the very spot where we had rested at the first and second battles of Fredericksburgh, and prepared, for a third time within six months, to cross the river. A correspondent of one of the daily journals, writing from head-quarters of the army, says: "Howe's splendid division of the fighting Sixth corps was selected for the work of crossing, and the point for laying the bridges was just below the mouth of Deep Run, at the identical spot where we had crossed twice before."

Pontoons and batteries of artillery formed long lines behind the little ridge which runs parallel with the river, and the infantry marched and countermarched to get in right positions. Here, behind the little ridge, we rested, until about five o'clock in the afternoon, our men mounting the ridge, and gazing across the river, where the enemy had turned the rifle pits thrown up by our First division, to their own use; and, in return, the rebels raised their heads above the breastworks, or ventured to the river side, wondering what could be the intention of the army, so recently driven from these grounds, in making such preparations for another crossing. There seemed but a small force opposed to us; a strong picket on the bank, and the reserve posted behind the breastworks, were all that could be seen, though we well knew that the heights beyond swarmed with opposing hosts, as they had twice before. At length the engineers drew the pontoons to the edge of the river, the Seventy-seventh being detailed to assist in unloading. The rebels betook themselves to the rifle pits, and opened a brisk fire; but presently they were glad to draw their heads behind the earthworks, for five of our batteries, Williston's, McCartney's, Cowen's, Haines' and McCarthey's, were run out upon the plain, and opened a fierce fire, whole batteries firing by volleys, until the whole plain, on the further side, was a sheet of flame from the bursting shells, and huge clouds of dust, plowed up by the shrieking missiles, rose so as to obscure the heights. The rebels could only load, and thrust their guns above the earthworks, firing at random, for no man could raise his head without coming in the way of the fiery messengers of death, which filled the air. Still their fire, although at random, was annoying, and it was evident that the safest method was to cross men in boats, enough to drive the rebels from their pits, or capture them, and then build the bridge without opposition.

The Twenty-sixth New Jersey and Fifth Vermont regiments leaped into the boats, quickly crossed, and, rushing from the bank, charged upon the pits. The rebels were now, for the first time offered an opportunity for flight; for while the artillery was filling the whole plain with bursting shells, there remained no alternative but to hug the earth behind the rifle pits; now that the artillery ceased, they scattered across the plain in hot haste, before the rapid charge of our boys. The two regiments pursued the fugitives, and many of them threw down their arms; we captured about seventy-five prisoners; of these, thirty-six were captured by Captain Davenport, who, with eighteen of his men, was marching up the ravine through which passes the Deep Run, when they came upon the rebels, whom they obliged to surrender, their captain delivering his sword to Captain Davenport. Five or six men of the engineers were killed, and some wounded. The Vermonters and New Jerseymen, also, had a few men wounded.

The Seventy-seventh had one man killed. Sergeant Rex Haines was shot through the head. He was a brave man, and one of the best soldiers in the regiment. He had, until that very day, been confined to the hospital with severe illness. A few of our men, also, received slight wounds.

The engineers proceeded at once to lay the bridges, and on the following morning the whole division crossed. Our picket reserve made their rendezvous at the ruins of the fine mansion which we had used for our Second division hospital at the first battle. Now nothing but the bare walls and heaps of rubbish marked the place where the beautiful residence had stood. A regiment of Mississippians had occupied the place, and had ruthlessly and willfully burned it. Yet the fine chestnuts and broad-spreading oaks afforded as luxurious a shade as in the palmy days when the old bachelor proprietor lounged beneath their shadow.

The picket line extended nearly to the railroad, and, as before, formed a semi-circle, radiating from the pontoon bridge. The enemy had also formed a strong picket to oppose us, and the two lines of skirmishers were within a few yards of each other.

It was a beautiful Sabbath, and all day long the troops lay upon the plain, wondering what was to be done. There were the frowning batteries of the enemy on the hills in front, apparently able to blow the whole division into the air, and we could, with our glasses, discover great numbers of infantry at the base of the hills, half hidden by the low growth of pines. The main body of our army still remained in camp; only our Sixth corps had moved. Evidently the enemy concluded that the advance was rather one of observation than attack, and quietly awaited our movements. Some firing was for a time kept up on the skirmish line, and now and then a shell would come crashing through some of the houses at the right, where our pickets were concealed; but at length, by mutual consent, the pickets of each army watched the movements of their opponents without molesting them. During this quasi-truce, a spirit of sociability manifested itself, and our boys soon struck up an acquaintance with their dangerous neighbors. At length an exchange of papers was proposed, and upon mutual agreement of temporary amity, a Yankee and a Johnnie would step into the open space between the two lines, shake hands, inquire each other's regiment, trade papers and retire.

There came at this time, to each company of one regiment, a copy of the New York Observer, Independent, Christian Examiner, Evangelist and other papers, and Mr. Alvord, the agent of the Tract Society, had just been among the men, distributing copies of the American Messenger. These were soon collected and carried over to be exchanged for copies of the Richmond Enquirer, Sentinel, and Examiner. The trade was not kept wholly within the limits of literary exchange, but sugar and coffee passed into the rebels' hands in return for plugs of tobacco. At length an order came from division head-quarters, stopping this illicit practice. Our boys declared that they were acting the part of colporteurs to the barbarian rebels, and, if they had been allowed to continue the distribution of religious papers among them, they would soon be convinced of the error of their ways, and desist from further fighting.

During the night of the 8th, our division was withdrawn to the north side of the river, our place being taken by the Third division. We retired to Stafford Heights and bivouacked. Our bivouac became our encampment for a week. There we lay, wondering what was next to be done, while the artillery on either side exchanged shots. The 32-pounders on our hills sending their huge shot across to the opposite heights, and the rebel guns replying, sometimes with shells of most improved pattern, and at other times throwing over huge pieces of railroad iron.

An incident of much interest to Neill's brigade occurred while we were here. A lieutenant, belonging to the Twenty-first New Jersey regiment, had been tried by a court-martial, and convicted of cowardice at the battle on May 3d. The whole brigade was brought out at the hour for evening parade, and formed in a hollow square. To the center of the inclosure the culprit was brought. His sentence was then read to him, which was that he be dismissed the service in disgrace. The adjutant-general of the brigade then proceeded to execute the details of the sentence. The sword of the cowardly officer was taken from him and broken over his head; his shoulder-straps and buttons were then cut off, and his pistol broken and thrown away. The sentence, and the manner of its execution, were ordered to be published in the newspapers of the county where the regiment was raised. A similar sentence was executed in the Seventy-seventh regiment on the same evening. Lewis Burke, of Company F, was convicted of cowardice at the same battle. He was brought before the regiment, which stood in line; his sentence read, his buttons and the blue cord on his coat cut off, and a placard marked "Coward" hung to his back. A guard, with fixed bayonets pointing at his back, then marched him off, the band playing "The Rogues' March." Burke went to serve out his time at the Dry Tortugas at hard labor, without pay or allowance.

As we looked upon the execution of these humiliating sentences, we could not help feeling how much better it would have been to have fallen nobly on that field of battle, honored and lamented, than to live to be thus degraded and despised. It had never been so forcibly impressed upon our minds, how much better it was to die nobly than to live in disgrace. When we thought of the noble Wheeler and his brave companions, who had given their lives for their country on yonder heights, and then turned to the sickening scene before us, we could but exclaim, "How are the dead to be envied!"

At length, on Saturday night, June 13th, we withdrew from Fredericksburgh, and commenced the memorable Pennsylvania campaign. There had been, for several days, indications that General Lee was throwing his army to our right, and was crossing the Rappahannock in the vicinity of Culpepper. At length this had become a certainty; and the whole army was quickly moved to come up with him. All day long the hurrying of trains, the movements of troops, the intense activity at the railroad station, where everything was being hastily thrown into cars, had indicated a sudden leave-taking.

At length the trains were off, and the whole army in motion. Our own corps being rear-guard, started at ten o'clock at night. The darkness was intense, and a thunder shower prevailed. Our route for a long time lay through a thick woods, where the branches of the trees, meeting over our heads, shut out the little light that might have penetrated the thunder clouds, and the column was shut in perfect darkness. The road was terribly muddy, and the batteries which were trying to pass over the same route, were frequently stuck in the mire. Our men stumbled over stones and fallen trees, often falling beneath the feet of the horses. Men fell over logs and stones, breaking their legs and arms. Thus we continued the hasty and difficult march, while the rain poured in torrents upon us. Later in the night the road became more open, and the rain ceased. The darkness was not so black, still it was difficult to see the road. We were passing over corduroy; some of the logs were a foot, and others a foot and a half through. They were slippery from the rain, and the men, heavily laden with knapsacks, guns and cartridges, tumbled headlong, many of them going off at the side, and rolling far down the steep embankments. A laugh from the comrades of the luckless ones, while some one would call out, "Have you a pass to go down there?" was the only notice taken of such accidents; and the dark column hurried on, until at three o'clock in the morning, we halted at Potomac creek, where we slept soundly upon the ground until morning.

The following day was Sunday. Our corps did not march until evening; we lay resting from the fatigues of the night before, and watching the immense army trains hurrying by, the horses and mules lashed to their full speed, or viewing the destruction of the great hospitals which had been established here.

There were here immense quantities of stores; bedding, glass and earthenware, instruments and medicines, with cooking and other utensils which could not, in the haste of breaking up, be transported; so they were thrown in great heaps and burned.

All day long the trains crowded by, four and five wagons abreast; the drivers shouting and lashing their beasts to their greatest speed. No one who has not seen the train of an army in motion, can form any just conception of its magnitude, and of the difficulties attending its movements. It was said that the train of the Army of the Potomac, including artillery, at the time of which we speak, if placed in a single line, the teams at the distance necessary for the march, would extend over seventy miles.

At Fairfax Court House, soon after this, the trains were greatly reduced, and again at Fairfax Station; and after General Meade took command of the army they were still further reduced. Yet, notwithstanding all these curtailments, our trains were said to be between thirty and forty miles long.

How little did the impatient people, who clamored at all times, in winter as well as summer, for an immediate "advance" of the army, consider that this immense body must always advance with the army; that it must always be protected; that the army on every march and at every halt must be so disposed as to prevent the enemy from reaching it from front, flank or rear; and that when an advance was commenced, if the trains were to become blocked up, or stuck fast in mud, the whole army must wait for them, no matter whether it had reached a favorable position for a halt or not. It was no small undertaking to move an army with such a train; yet there were many at home who thought the army could move from one place to another with the greatest ease.

It is true that the enemy got along with smaller trains than ours, and it is true that the rebel army on that account was more easily moved than our own. It was one of the disadvantages of too liberal a government that our movements for two years were weighed down with these cumbersome trains; and even after so long an experience of their evil it was with strong feelings of opposition that the reduction was acquiesced in.

A captain or lieutenant of the line was allowed a small valise, in which to carry his company books and his clothing; and a staff officer was but little better off. Must this little be reduced? Surely the ammunition and the commissary trains could suffer no diminution. The amount of hospital supplies carried in the wagons was already limited; could it be reduced? The people were clamoring to have wagons of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions admitted to the hospital trains, to carry articles which, although they were gratefully received by the soldiers, yet were not absolutely necessary. The ambulance train was surely not too large, and we could spare no artillery.

Yet the train was reduced. Small as was the valise of the line officers, it must be still smaller; little as was the baggage of the staff officer, it must be less; and inconveniently contracted as was the size of the mess chests, they must be still further reduced.

Thus, through the day, we watched the hurrying trains as they swept by with immense clatter and tumult; and the files of troops, guards to the trains, pressing forward, amid the clouds of dust and the rattle and noise of the wagons. As the sun sunk in the west, we gathered about a green knoll, in the shade of a pine grove, and sung old familiar hymns; then the chaplain made a prayer; thus was offered the evening sacrifice for the Sabbath. Few who gathered—

"Where through the long drawn aisle or fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise,"

offered more heartfelt thanksgiving, or more earnest supplications for future protection, than the band of veterans seated on that mossy bank, while about them was the confusion of a great army, pressing to meet its foe.

At length, at nine o'clock at night, we took the road, and, joining the mighty column, marched rapidly forward. The night was dark, and the roads uneven, yet the men pressed forward with wonderful spirit. They had heard during the day that Lee with his army, avoiding us on the right, and moving with secrecy, had already eluded us, and was rapidly making his way into Maryland, taking his route through the Shenandoah Valley. This was enough to stimulate men whose greatest desire was to meet their opponents in open fight, even on rebel ground. But now the rebels were invading northern soil; Maryland, Pennsylvania, and even New York, were threatened, and the men knew no limit to their enthusiasm. "We can whip them on our own soil," said they. "There is no man who cannot fight the better when it is for his own home." Such expressions passed from lip to lip as the dark column pushed on during the whole night. At times there would be a halt; not for rest, for the men, expecting momentarily to move on, would stand in the ranks; then, on again. Here and there were the camps of troops who had occupied the extreme right of the army. Fine arbors and avenues had been erected from the cedar boughs; these were set on fire, and the whole heavens were aglow with the flames. Morning dawned, the march was becoming tedious. The men were faint, and wanted rest and coffee; but there was no halt.

Faint and weary, yet with determination, the masses of men toiled along. At length, as the morning advanced, the heat of the sun was almost intolerable, and the dust suffocating. Not a leaf stirred on the trees. Vegetation drooped under the scorching rays, and the clouds of dust was so dense, that one could not see half the length of a regiment.

The men at length began to fall from exhaustion. One after another, with faces burning with a glow of crimson, and panting for breath, would turn to the surgeons of their regiments, and receive passes to the ambulances and a draught from the surgeon's flask; but at length no more passes could be given; the ambulances were crowded, and so many were falling on every side, that it became useless to require or attempt to give passes, or even for the surgeons to attempt to relieve the sufferers.

In every corner of the rail fences, and under every tree and bush, groups of men, with faces glowing with redness, some with streams of perspiration rolling down their cheeks, and others with their red faces dry and feverish, strewed the wayside and lined the hedges. Here the color-bearer of a regiment, his color lying beside him, lay gasping for breath; there a colonel, his horse tied to the fence, strove to fan the air into a little life with his broad-brimmed hat. Under one little clump of cedars might be seen an exhausted group of line officers, captains and lieutenants, and under the next, a number of enlisted men who could no longer keep the road. The spectacle along the roadside became appalling. Regiments became like companies, and companies lost their identity; men were dying with sunstroke; and still the march was continued. This could not last much longer, for the brave men who still held out were fast losing strength, and soon there would be no troops able to move. At length, at nearly three o'clock, we came in sight of the little, old, depopulated town of Dumfries. Here, to the joy of all, we saw men filing into the fields for a halt. There was no cheer, no expression of gladness; for the tired men, with feet blistered and raw, worn out by seventeen hours' constant march, almost melted and smothered, cared little for demonstrations. Throwing themselves upon the ground, they rested for half an hour, and then, rousing long enough to cook their coffee, they refreshed themselves with their hard tack, pork and coffee, and were ready to sleep. Here the Vermont brigade was drawn up in line, and some half a dozen men, skulkers, principally from the Twenty-sixth New Jersey, were drummed out of camp, the bands of the brigade playing "The Rogues' March." All who were participants of that day's work, remember it as the most trying march of the Army of the Potomac. Very grateful to the weary army was sleep that night, but, at two o'clock in the morning, the shout passed along the line, "fall in! fall in!" And so, without coffee, we rolled our blankets and fell into line. But, as often happens, when the whole army is to move, some parts must wait long before the others are out of the way. So we of the Sixth corps waited until four o'clock, and got our coffee finally before the rest of the column had made way for us. It was another hot, dusty day, but not so intolerable as the day before, and about two or three o'clock we arrived at Occoquan creek, crossing at Wolf Run Shoals. Here we had two or three hours' rest. The men had no sooner halted than they plunged into the stream, and the wide creek was soon alive with swarms of men splashing and diving in the cooling element.

It was a novel sight. An army bathing. A brigade of nine months Vermont troops, had been stationed here during the winter. They were full regiments, never thinned by exhausting labors, hard campaigns or the trying ordeal of battle. They now bade farewell to their comfortable quarters and picket duty, and joined the Grand Army on a real campaign. Although we had already made a long march, at four o'clock we were again on the road, and before dark we reached Fairfax Station, six miles from Wolf Run Shoals. This was a more cheerful march than the others. The men, refreshed by their bath, and strengthened by a good dinner and two hours' rest, now went shouting, singing and laughing, as though marching was but play.

This day we heard that some part of Lee's army was in Pennsylvania! The men were as anxious to go forward as were their commanders. The corps bivouacked in groves on the turnpike, which led from Fairfax to Manassas, resting for the night and the following day. Here our train underwent a process of purging. Needless articles, and many useful ones, which could be disposed of, were sent to the rear. The trains were to go with smaller loads, and many teams were to be taken from them.

We had marched, since setting out from before Fredericksburgh, through a country, well enough by nature, but neglected, barren and depopulated. How large a portion of this great State was in this sad condition? Its naturally rich fields were grown up to scrub pines, mugworts and wormwood. Its fair valleys desolate of inhabitants, or inhabited by low white trash, as idle as ignorant. The groves and fields where we now rested were pleasant for a bivouac, but the fields were waste land, and the oak timber was all that seemed of any value, as far as we could see. Yet we were now within a few miles of Washington, where articles of food brought fabulous prices, and wood could scarcely be procured. Why were these fine lands desolate? Was it because agriculture was unprofitable? Surely, with Washington and Alexandria so near, and Baltimore at a short distance farther, there should be a good market for produce. Was it because the war had put a stop to agricultural pursuits? The scrub pines and dwarf oaks growing upon deserted tobacco fields, where the ridges were still plainly visible, showed that before the war indolence prevailed.

At five o'clock on the morning of June 19th, we were again on the march, reaching Fairfax Court House before noon. Again our train was overhauled, baggage reduced, and teams sent to the rear. By this time the train began to assume more reasonable dimensions. General officers were strictly forbidden the use of ambulances, henceforth all ambulances were to be used for their legitimate purposes, and general officers and their staffs were to get along with a more reasonable amount of baggage, while regimental officers were to be allowed only the most limited amount of transportation. A single small valise only was the extent of baggage for each regimental officer, and a mess chest of the size of a cracker box, was to be the allowance for all officers of a single company.

About Fairfax Court House was stationed a division of cavalry and some infantry, under the command of General Stahl. These troops, like the brigade of Vermont troops, had been employed in guarding the country against the inroads of guerilla bands. These were now also to join the Army of the Potomac, and their gallant conduct at Falling Waters, a few days after, showed them to be composed of the best material.

General Hooker, unwilling to favor General Lee, by uncovering the capital, and wisely judging of his wary enemy's motives, instead of pushing rapidly forward to Maryland, as Lee desired, threw the different corps into positions, which should at once be favorable for watching his movements, and resisting any attack. Accordingly, our own corps, turning partly back from our line of march, on the 20th, marched towards Bristow Station.

We passed through Centreville, its powerful forts and redoubts garrisoned by large regiments of men, who wore bright new uniforms, and whose officers had red tufts upon their caps. These new uniforms were soon to be as grimy and dusty as those of the veterans, at whom they now gazed with so much interest, and the full regiments were soon to find their ranks thinned by the same terrible process which had made those passing by them only fragments of regiments.

The works about Centreville were of most powerful character, having been made even stronger than at the last battle of Bull Run. In the forts and redoubts upon the commanding positions, was mounted heavy artillery, and the long lines of trenches and breastworks, stretching far to the flanks, and commanding declivities where musketry and artillery could sweep an advancing force with terrible effect, rendered the position impregnable from any direct assault. The few dilapidated houses still remaining to mark the site of the village, presented a forlorn and pitiful appearance. Deserted by their owners, occupied as stables and storehouses some of them falling in ruins, and all dirty and dilapidated, they were a mournful commentary on the ruthless destruction which follows in the footsteps of war. Still further on, our route led us along the Manassas Gap railroad. Here were more sad pictures of the havoc of war. The track was torn up, the ties burnt. Every now and then, numbers of car wheels and axles, iron bands and braces, couplings and reaches, showed where whole trains had been burned.

Here and there, the incombustible materials among the debris showed the lading of particular cars. The remains of fruit cans, tin plates, blacking boxes and glassware, told of sutlers who had disposed of their wares at less than the usual exorbitant prices. Heaps of spikes and handleless hammers, and iron bars, reminded us of disconcerted plans in railroad extension, while numberless solid shot, bullets and fragments of shells, showed where car loads of ammunition had been consumed in harmless explosions.

At length, after a hard day's march, we arrived at Bristow Station, where the corps turned into the fields and bivouacked.

The tower and wind-mill which had been used for raising water to the tank, remained alone to show where the station had been; all the other buildings being destroyed, except where still remained the dismantled ruins of what had once been a hotel.

Here, as for miles back on the road, were the remains of ruined cars and their contents.

The surrounding country was delightful. A mile or two south of us was a little church in the midst of an oak grove. It is an agreeable peculiarity with the southern people, that they are accustomed to locate their country churches in the midst of pleasant groves, sometimes at a distance from any residence. In this respect, they certainly exhibit better taste than the people of most of our northern States, who have such a propensity for setting the church on the summit of some high hill where not a tree or shrub adorns the grounds, and the aspiring steeple seems, like Babel, to be striving vainly to reach the heavens.

On the morning after our arrival here, we heard the sounds of cannonading not far off, and learned that the cavalry under General Pleasanton were hotly engaged at Aldee and Upperville, with Stuart's rebel cavalry, and that our forces were getting the best of the desperate encounter, winning laurels for themselves and gaining another of that series of victories which was destined to remove the derision in which that arm of the service had been held, not from any previous want of good fighting qualities on the part of our cavalry. General Pleasanton had attacked Stuart's forces near Middleburgh, driving the rebels in confusion through Upperville to Ashby's Gap, taking some pieces of artillery and a large number of prisoners. General Kilpatrick, in this engagement, had exhibited fighting qualities of the first order, riding in front of the men and leading the way when they hesitated. His gallant conduct inspired for him the confidence and admiration of his men. It was the commencement of a brilliant career which made him one of the first cavalry commanders in the army. His dashing ride from the Peninsula to Fredericksburgh, with but a handful of men, eluding the watchfulness of the wily Stuart, had already established his talent for bold adventure, and his conduct on this occasion proved his personal bravery. These are the two great qualities needed for a cavalry officer, and Kilpatrick's name at once became a tower of strength among his men.

In this pleasant locality the corps remained, an outpost for the army, guarding the passes from the Shenandoah, for five days. The weather was delightful, and the men enjoyed, to the utmost, the needed rest. They lounged in the shade of their tents or in the neighboring groves, or strolled along the railroad track, examining curiously the ruined remains of the trains. In a delightful spot at a distance from the camps, almost surrounded by a grove of oak trees, the hospital tents of our Second division were erected. To this quiet and lovely spot, where cool breezes always played, were brought the sick and weary, and carefully nursed.

But General Lee despaired of inducing General Hooker to uncover the capital, so, leaving Virginia with his whole army, he pushed toward Pennsylvania, determined at least to draw our army as far away from Washington as possible, and to reap rich harvests of spoils among the overflowing granaries of the Keystone State. No sooner had the movement of the main body of Lee's army into Maryland commenced, than General Hooker, with his forces, commenced the pursuit.



CHAPTER XIX.

THE GETTYSBURGH CAMPAIGN.

The rebels in Pennsylvania—Panic at Harrisburgh—Alarm at Baltimore and Washington—Sixth corps leaves Bristow Station—A surprise—General Meade takes command—Position of the army—Marching through Pennsylvania—An unprecedented march—Exciting news—Battle of Gettysburgh—Death of Reynolds—First and Eleventh corps fall back—Second day's battle—The battle-field—Fighting at Round Top—On the right—The grand onset—The battle decided—Rebel and Union wounded.

Meanwhile, great excitement prevailed at the north, especially in Maryland and Pennsylvania, on account of the invasion of the rebel army. As early as the 15th of the month, more than a thousand rebel cavalry had reached Chambersburgh, which they had sacked. Two days before, the battle of Winchester was closed. Ewell, with overwhelming numbers had fallen upon General Milroy's force, which had unwisely been, by order of somebody, thrust far away from its base, and out of the reach of reinforcements, routing the division, and in its flight capturing its artillery and a large portion of the infantry.

Nothing now opposed the march of the invaders through the Shenandoah Valley. In Harrisburgh, the excitement rose almost to a panic. All the paintings, books, papers, and other valuable articles, were removed from the capitol, packed in boxes and loaded into cars, ready to be sent off at the first sign of immediate danger. The citizens formed themselves into military companies, and worked day and night throwing up redoubts and rifle pits about the city. Men unaccustomed to manual labor vigorously plied the pick and the spade, and kept up their unwonted toil with an earnestness worthy of veteran soldiers. To add to this confusion and alarm, the trains of Milroy's division that had escaped capture were rattling through the streets in search of a resting place. Throughout the State of Pennsylvania business was suspended. The governor was calling loudly for men to rush to arms in defense of their homes; and General Couch was striving to organize the militia which presented itself.

Baltimore and Washington were like besieged cities. Stuart was threatening the Baltimore and Ohio road, and bodies of rebel cavalry had penetrated within half a dozen miles of Washington. Bells rung out the alarm, and the affrighted citizens rushed to arms. Loyal leagues were now of service, forming the nucleus of many an improvised company of defenders. All these facts we learned from the newspapers, a few stray copies of which fell within the path of the army, and from the highly colored accounts of citizens, who, with expressions of the utmost alarm and anxiety, related what they had heard or seen.

On the night of the 26th of June, the Sixth corps left Bristow Station. The darkness was intense, and a drizzling rain rendered marching disagreeable. The march was rapid, and some of the men fell behind, and were next day collected and marched off to Richmond, by the guerilla parties that constantly hung upon our flanks and rear. Before daylight we halted at Centreville. The men threw themselves upon the wet ground, and slept for two hours, while the rain beat upon them. Then, at six o'clock, they were again roused, by the order to be ready to move at once. While taking our coffee, and waiting for the final order to march, some villain, belonging to the troops stationed at Centreville, set fire to the little Episcopal chapel that stood not far from us, and was the only building remaining in the little village which pretended to any appearance of modern architecture. Those vandals who follow an army, bent on nothing but destruction, are among the unavoidable evils of war, and even the most severe discipline is insufficient to effectually arrest all mischief of the kind.

Our march was a severe one for men who had been on the road all night, and the men were glad when we bivouacked a little before dark, in a beautiful oak grove near Drainsville. Very early next morning, descending into the lovely valley of the Potomac, we reached Edwards' Ferry, where troops were crossing; after a delay of one or two hours, waiting for troops of another corps to cross the pontoon bridge, we followed, and were in Maryland again. All day long troops were passing over the bridges and taking their positions upon the neighboring hills, ready for starting anew in the morning; for nearly the whole army was crossing at this point, and as the process was necessarily slow, those who went over first waited for those behind.

On Sunday, we left Edwards' Ferry; marched through Poolesville and Barnstown to Hyattstown. A halt was made at Barnstown for dinner, and the Sixth corps left the road and occupied a pleasant valley, where the chestnut trees afforded a grateful shade for the men. They had just unslung knapsacks, when we were all startled by the sound of a church bell, which seemed in our midst. The boys gazed for a moment in mute astonishment in the direction from which the sound came, when they discovered at a short distance from them, a little church half hidden among the trees, and the parishioners gathering for service. When the first surprise was over, the word passed from one to another, "It is Sunday!" "It is Sunday!" and they set up a shout that demonstrated that they had not forgotten to love the institutions of civilization, even after so long an absence from a civilized country. Few who were present at this time, will ever forget the thrill of pleasurable surprise which we all experienced at hearing once more the sounds which so forcibly reminded us of home.

Some of the men attended the service. It was a Catholic church, a small edifice which had once been white, but, by the action of the weather for many years, it had now become brown. The seats and altar had never been painted, and the plaster of the inner wall had, in places, fallen from the lath. The parishioners seemed quite devout people, and the pastor a sincere man. In his prayers he remembered the President and the government, and he supplicated for peace. The reverend father said that, owing to the confusion in town, there would be no sermon, but he wished the good people to pray for sister A., who was at the point of death, and for the repose of the soul of brother B., who was already dead. Some of our officers engaged in a pleasant conversation with the pastor after service. He was an agreeable, shrewd man, and professed to be a good Unionist.

It was at Hyattstown that we first learned that General Hooker had been superseded, in the command of the army, by General George B. Meade. The announcement of this unexpected change at such a time, was received with astonishment, and by many with indignation. To deprive the leader of a great army of his command just upon the eve of a great battle, when, by the most brilliant marches and masterly strategy, he had thrown this army face to face with his enemy, thwarting his designs of moving upon the capital, without some offense of a grave character, was an act unheard of before in the history of warfare. It seemed, from later information regarding this extraordinary measure, that a difference had arisen between General Hooker and his superior at Washington in regard to the disposition of troops at Harper's Ferry, and that, each refusing to surrender his opinion, General Hooker was relieved. His successor demanded the same disposition on the very next day, and it was granted!

The army was not dissatisfied with the appointment of General Meade; the soldiers would as readily fight under Meade as under Hooker. They were anxious to retrieve what had been lost at Chancellorsville, and would have been glad could General Hooker have shared in the victory which they believed they were about to achieve; but the men of the Union army fought for their country and not for their leaders. So they at once transferred their hopes and their obedience to the new commander. General Meade was well known to the army as a good soldier, the brave general who had, with his single division, dashed upon the rebels at the first Fredericksburgh, and as the leader of a corps which behaved gallantly at Chancellorsville. All were willing to try him, and hoped for the best.

The movement from Fredericksburgh had been conducted with consummate skill and energy, and now the army was moving in several columns by roads nearly parallel, with the twofold object of greater rapidity of movement, and of sweeping a greater extent of country.

The Sixth corps was now upon the extreme right, marching toward Manchester; next, on our left, was the Twelfth corps, at Taneytown, a little hamlet named in honor of the chief justice of the United States, whose residence was there. At a point a dozen miles north and west of us, was the head-quarters of the army, and the Second and Third Corps. Further to the left, at Emmitsburgh, were the First, Fifth and Eleventh corps. Upon either flank of this line, extending twenty miles, was cavalry. Thus the army was guarding a great extent of country, at the same time that the different corps were within supporting distance of each other.

The rebel army under General Lee, one hundred thousand strong, occupied an equally extended line to the north and west of us, stretching from Harrisburgh through Chambersburgh and Cashtown.

At five o'clock, Monday morning, 28th, the corps marched again, passing through Monroville, New Market, Ridgeville and Mount Airy Station, halting for the night at Sam's creek. As the corps passed through Westminster on the following day, the people welcomed us with demonstrations of joy, which were all the more earnest, as the rebel cavalry had, but two hours before, taken a hasty leave of them. At night we were at Manchester, at least twenty miles from the left of the army, and between the line of march of the enemy and Baltimore. We rested here until evening of the next day. The plot was thickening, and the hostile forces were moving cautiously, each watching the movements of the other, and each ready to seize any opportunity for rushing upon its enemy to destroy it. Thus far our marches had been of most fatiguing character. We had, in the last four days, passed over one hundred miles of road. It is to be remembered that these marches were made under burning suns, and that each soldier carried with him his gun, knapsack, haversack, containing five days' provisions, and forty rounds of cartridges. The men had kept up wonderfully during this trying campaign, but the great march of all, in which this magnificent corps was to outdo all that was ever recorded of wonderful marches, was yet in store for it.

We waited at Manchester until evening. The inhabitants were well supplied with rye whisky, and it must be confessed that soldiers have a way of finding out the existence of that luxury, and of supplying themselves with it; and as the men of the old Sixth corps were in no respect behind their comrades of the other corps, many of our brave fellows became, long before dark, considerably inebriated.

At nine o'clock in the evening of the 1st of July, we were on the road, but it was eleven before we were fairly under headway. Those who during the day had indulged so freely in the rye whisky of the farmers, as to disable them from marching or even standing in line, were quietly thrown into the clumps of bushes by the roadside, and left to be gathered up by cavalry squads that were scouring the country for stragglers. Those that were left by our own provost-guards were picked up by rebel scouts.

The column now pushed rapidly on; all night the weary march was kept up. A halt of ten minutes for breakfast, and then on again. Now we heard that a part of the army, the First corps, had already engaged the enemy at Gettysburgh, with doubtful issue, and that its commander, General Reynolds, was killed.

New ardor was now kindled in the breasts of the men of the Sixth corps at these tidings, and they pressed forward at a pace unusual, even for them. The day was bright, the sun pouring scalding rays from a cloudless sky. The men strove hard to keep in the ranks, for few in that corps were willing to be left behind in a fight.

Yet some gave out from exhaustion, but even these, at a slower pace, followed the rapidly moving column.

At the houses on the roadsides, the citizens, their wives and daughters, were bringing water, from which the soldiers filled their canteens as they passed. At Littletown we saw citizens bringing the wounded from the field in their carriages, and many wounded soldiers who could walk were making their way to the village. The marching was more rapid. Our friends were waiting for us. Soon we saw above the valley that lay before us, clouds of smoke and the white puffs of bursting shells. As yet we could distinguish little of the sound of battle, but those small fleecy clouds which appeared so suddenly, flashing forked lightning, told us of work ahead. It was five o'clock when the Sixth corps arrived on the battle-field, having made an unprecedented march of thirty-four miles! We halted in reserve, not to rest, but to wait a few moments until our place should be assigned us in front. We had more marching to do! Four miles more of marching and countermarching that night, made thirty-eight miles in a single day. Such marching as had been done by the Sixth corps since leaving Bristow Station, is unparalleled in the history of armies.

The roar of battle was terrific. On our left, where rose a hill covered with timber on the top and side, a fearful struggle seemed in progress, and the roll of musketry and the rapid discharge of artillery was almost deafening.

Let us now turn back and review the operations of the First and the Eleventh corps since yesterday morning. We give it as it was related to us by members of the First and Eleventh corps. General Buford, commanding the cavalry on the left flank of the army, had advanced north of the town of Gettysburgh, and had fallen in with large bodies of cavalry, supported by infantry. He became hotly engaged with this force, and at once reported the information to General Meade that he had found the enemy in large force. General Reynolds, who, with the First corps had by this time reached Marsh creek, within easy striking distance of Gettysburgh, was directed to urge his troops forward to Gettysburgh as rapidly as possible. The corps pushed on, and reaching Gettysburgh, filed through the town, leaving it to the rear. General Buford was found fiercely struggling to maintain his position against the infantry of the enemy. At once, General Reynolds proceeded to select a position for his line of battle. Without a moment's hesitation, the corps was deployed; the division of Wadsworth, leading the van, was in position; a battery which had been brought to the front was slowly forced back, but the gallant Wadsworth, bringing more infantry into line, arrested the retreat, and in turn forced back the hostile forces, who were now found to be in large numbers. It was at this time that General Reynolds, riding forward with a few members of his staff, to inspect the field with the view of bringing the rest of his troops into favorable position, was shot through the neck, the enemy having, at the moment, opened a full volley of musketry. The noble commander, feeling the wound, turned to his soldiers and shouted, "Forward men! for God's sake, forward!" and fell, dying, into the arms of one of his companions.

This sad loss only fired the hearts of the soldiers to more desperate determination, and they rushed into line upon the run, burning to avenge their beloved leader. General Doubleday, of the Second division of the corps, was next in rank, and took command. The encounter was sharp, and the rebels were giving way. Three hundred prisoners were brought in, and the corps was put into position to hold its ground. The force of the enemy now engaged, proved to be the corps of General A. P. Hill, and the prisoners declared that the rest of the confederate army was close at hand. A column of the enemy now moved toward the left of our line, debouching from a piece of woods, and occupying a close proximity to our forces. Volley after volley was poured into the advancing column, without avail, except to stretch many of its men upon the ground, wounded and dying.

At length the brigades of Doubleday's own division were ordered to charge upon the obstinate line. They obeyed with alacrity, their cheers and shouts ringing above the roar of musketry. The rebels gave way before this impetuous charge, and several hundred more prisoners were brought in.

Thus far the First corps was victorious, but its ranks were becoming terribly thinned.

In the meantime, General Howard, with the Eleventh corps, was hastening to the assistance of the First. Just before receiving his fatal wound, General Reynolds had sent a messenger to Howard, who, with his corps, was ten miles behind, to hasten forward as rapidly as possible.

The men of that corps were burning to wipe out the unfortunate record of Chancellorsville, and the roar of artillery before them, inspired vigor in their movements and urged them forward; but the noise of the battle was heard by others.

Ewell, with his confederates, was but three miles off; and while the Unionists looked for the coming of help, a fresh corps reinforced the rebels. But the opposing forces were, for the time, willing to allow a lull in the battle. So, from ten o'clock until half-past two the First corps held the enemy at bay. By this time a division of the Eleventh corps was on the ground and another on the other side of Gettysburgh. General Howard took command. The Union reinforcements were just arriving; those of the rebels had already taken their position, and were ready for a desperate charge.

Suddenly, rushing from the cover of the woods in which they had debouched from the York road, the old corps of Stonewall Jackson, now under Ewell, charged, with yells, down upon the Eleventh. The Germans, this time stood their ground, returning with spirit, the volleys of their old antagonists.

On the left, Hill was also charging fiercely upon the First corps, and the sturdy divisions of Wadsworth and Cutler were almost destroyed.

The rebel line now overlapped that of the Union forces on either flank, and the two corps under Howard were in danger of being surrounded by the greater numbers of their adversaries. The lines began to waver under the fearful storm of lead and iron, and the order was given to fall back. The lines retired in good order until they reached the town. There, in passing through the streets, the Germans became confused and alarmed, and the retreat of the corps became a rout. Twelve hundred were taken prisoners in the streets. The First corps maintained its line of battle and held its foe at a distance in spite of the deadly fire which was decimating its ranks. The heroic Wadsworth cheered and encouraged his men by his own noble example, while the messengers of death shrieked thickly about him. On the right of the corps, Hill had already forced back the line, and now the Eleventh corps having left him, both flanks of his division were exposed. It was useless to protract the hopeless struggle, and these sturdy troops also fell back, retiring slowly and firmly, while the rebels, flushed with victory, were pouring into front and flank the most deadly fire. It was a moment of vital importance to our army and our cause. A rout of these two corps, while the remaining two-thirds of the army was separated in columns far distant from each other, must insure the destruction of each column in detail, and give to the rebels undisputed sway throughout the north. But the christian hero, whose empty sleeve testified of hard fought fields before, was still sufficient for the crisis. Halting the retreating divisions as they reached the line of hills upon the south side of the town, and selecting a ridge called Cemetery Hill for his second line of battle, he reformed his disordered ranks, and planting batteries so as to sweep the declivity in front and on right and left, awaited the onset of the victorious hosts. On they came, until half through the town, when, from the whole line of guns on the crest, burst a murderous fire, from which the assailants staggered in consternation.

The tide was turned; for now a part of Hancock's Second corps was coming up, and in half an hour the rebels retired, and the one-armed general was master of the situation. But the day had been a fearful one for the two corps.

The First corps had lost its general, loved and admired for his bravery. Hundreds from the ranks of the corps, lay beyond the village stretched in death. Of those who went into the fight in the morning, but one-half remained.

The havoc was almost as fearful in the Eleventh corps. Hundreds had been killed and a greater number captured. Yet there was no faltering among those veterans, and when, toward evening, the Third and Twelfth corps arrived upon the field, their confidence and hope rose, and all now believed that our army was yet destined to achieve a grand victory.

No further demonstrations were made on either side that night. Each party was gathering its strength for the grand conflict. Late in the evening General Meade arrived on the field, and with General Howard proceeded to inspect the ground, and make arrangements for posting the troops of the army.

The Eleventh corps was still to occupy Cemetery Hill, just opposite the town. Upon a knoll to the right of the Eleventh corps was the First corps, and still farther, and forming the extreme right of the army, was the Twelfth corps, General Slocum. On the left of Cemetery Hill, occupying the extension of the ridge and a prominent hill, Round Top, the Third corps, General Sickles, was posted, and the Second corps, General Hancock. The Fifth corps was to be held in reserve until the arrival of the Sixth corps. Thus through the night, the two armies lay upon their arms, each watching the other, to wake to a contest more fearful than the last.

At daylight Thursday morning, July 2d, the rebel skirmishers opened fire upon parts of our lines of pickets, but there was little betokening any general engagement. Occasionally a few of the skirmishers of the enemy, would make a charge upon parts of our line forcing back the pickets, but a gun from some one of our batteries would hastily send them to the rear again. Doubtless it was for the purpose of disclosing the positions of our batteries, that their dashes were made. Thus the day wore on until four o'clock.

General Sickles, with the Third corps, had moved out beyond the general line of battle nearly a mile, and had come upon the advance of the enemy, where Longstreet, with one-third of the rebel army, was concentrating his forces against the left flank, with the hope of turning it and seizing the ridge.

The battle opened at once. Seven batteries of artillery opened upon front and flank of the exposed corps, and large bodies of infantry in column by division. The corps withstood the shock heroically, and was soon strengthened by troops from the Second corps. Our artillery now opened upon the rebels from the ridge, and hurled destruction upon them. The valley was filled with bursting missiles, and the smoke rolled up in huge columns. It was at this stage of the great battle that the Sixth corps arrived on the ground, after its unparalleled march, and the Fifth corps was at once ordered into the fight. For an hour the Sixth corps was the reserve of the army, but even this reserve was soon called into action.

The writer, while our corps waited for orders, rode along the front, from where the Second and Third corps were engaged in their deadly struggle with the enemy, across Cemetery Ridge and to the hill where, on the right of the line, Slocum had established his head-quarters, and he will attempt to describe the field as he saw it.

To form a correct idea of the position of the armies, one should imagine two ranges of hills, between which was the valley and the village of Gettysburgh.

These ridges are nearly parallel, and are from a mile to a mile and a half asunder. Their course is not a direct line but curving. The ridge on which our forces are posted, bend outward and backward, so that the line is in the form of a half circle, fronting from the center, while the rebels were forced to occupy an exterior line facing towards the center.

At Gettysburgh several roads converge, first, on the right is the Baltimore turnpike, next is the road to Taneytown, and further to the left is the Emmitsburgh road. These all meet at Cemetery Hill, which is the key to the whole situation.

Cemetery Hill is in the center of a range of hills running south and west from Gettysburgh, and considerably in front of the others. Standing upon its summit, the spectator looks down upon the village, a little to his right and upon the long declivity stretching between the crest and the town.

The crest of this ridge is bristling with batteries, which are so arranged as to sweep the declivity, the valley below, and the opposite range of hills. Here, by the side of the Baltimore pike, General Howard has his head-quarters, and just in front lie long lines of infantry, who wear the crescent badge, which distinguishes the Eleventh corps.

Stretching to the left and rear, Cemetery Ridge gradually diminishes in elevation, until it reaches an abrupt peak which rises considerably above the other hills of the range. This is Round Top. It is covered with timber at its summit, its sides are rugged, and, toward the enemy, quite steep. On the north slope of Round Top, the Second and Third corps are maintaining the unequal struggle with one-third of the rebel army. The roar of musketry is awful beyond description, and the whole valley trembles with the thunder of the artillery. On the right of Cemetery Ridge is another elevation, Slocum's Hill, where the commander of the Twelfth corps sits among the huge fragments of rock, watching his own and the enemy's line in his front, and where is another battery, which from time to time is sending its screaming messengers to the hills beyond or across a little stream which winds along the right of his position.

In rear of Slocum's Hill is a little whitewashed cottage, surrounded by a picket fence. There are two or three wall tents in the yard, and many horses are tied to the fence. This is the head-quarters of the army. From this point General Meade is directing all the movements of the Union forces.

It will be seen that our troops could be sent from one point to another of the line, easily and quickly, while the rebels, who occupied the exterior of the circle, must make long circuits in order to reinforce one part of the field with troops from another. For the first time since Malvern Hill, our forces had the advantage of position.

The rebel lines which had so fiercely attacked the Third corps, steadily advanced, pouring destruction before them, while the two corps, unable to resist the weight of the advancing columns, steadily fell back. At the moment that the Sixth corps reached the field, the Fifth were rushing to the assistance of the wavering lines on Round Top.

It was a glorious spectacle, as the veteran wearers of the St. Andrew's cross rushed along the rear of the peak and among the rocks, at double-quick, and then suddenly moving by the flank, formed in line of battle. Through the woods and down the slope they rush, fall upon the advancing columns, and check their progress. The Union line now advance upon the rebels, who fall back more. Shot and shells pour in a fearful storm from the rebel batteries, sweeping the slope of Round Top and the crest of Cemetery Hill. Here, near Howard's quarters, a train of ambulances and army wagons attract the fire of the enemy, and the bursting shells soon send them hurrying through the narrow defile in the rocks through which the road passes, panic stricken. For more than two hours the desperate battle rages on the left, while the right, except that on either side artillery belches forth its thunders, is quiet. The Sixth corps, the only reserve of the army, is also put into the line on the left; only one brigade, Neill's, is sent to the right to reinforce Slocum, who has also sent a great portion of his corps to the left, and against whom the rebels are now charging. The doubtful contest ceases as darkness gathers over the battle-field, leaving the rebels still in possession of some of the ground occupied by Sickles' corps at four o'clock.

Both armies again lay upon their arms, waiting for daylight, by which to renew the contest. The losses in the Second and Third corps had been fearful, and scarcely less were those of the Fifth. From our own Sixth corps, there were many killed and wounded, but compared with these others, the loss was slight. General Sickles had been wounded early in the fight, and suffered amputation of a leg. The morning of July 3d dawned brightly, and at once the rattle of musketry told of the renewal of strife. On the right, where Slocum with a single division of his own troops and our Third brigade of Howe's division, Sixth corps, held the long line, an attempt was made to retake the rifle pits which the rebels had captured yesterday. The rebels in turn charged furiously. They had possession of some of our pits, and now they hoped to turn our flank and rout the army; but the small force replied to the desperate charge of the whole of Ewell's corps with the most stubborn resistance. Charge after charge was made, but to no avail. At length Neill's brigade passed far to the right of the rebel line, and poured an enfilading volley into the gray-coats. They, supposing that a heavy force had got on their flank withdrew, when our forces charging in turn, drove them with great loss from the rifle pits, which were held during the remainder of the engagement in spite of repeated efforts to dislodge our forces. By noon quiet prevailed along the whole line, except that now and then a shot from some of our batteries screamed across the valley, but eliciting no reply. The rebel lines could be seen moving here and there as if preparing for a desperate struggle. The men at our batteries declared that so completely had they got the range of the other crests that the rebels dare not open a piece. Little did they imagine that more than a hundred guns were concentrating just behind the little strip of woods below them.

This unwonted silence continued until about one o'clock, when suddenly, as though pandemonium had broken loose, the air was filled with the shrieks, screams, howls and clangor of bursting shells. The sky was filled with smoke, amid which flames darted in every direction, and the valley and hills quaked with the thunders of artillery. Never on this continent had been heard such cannonading as this. For two hours this storm of shell and shot raged in all its fury. At the first opening of the storm, parts of our line were forced back, but they quickly advanced again. Horses and men fell together, mangled and torn by the screaming missiles. In some of our batteries every horse was destroyed, and the men drew back the pieces by hand to save them from capture. One hundred and twenty-five guns were concentrated against our left center, which continued for two hours to belch forth death and destruction. At length, when it was supposed that our guns were silenced, and our infantry confused by the fearful cannonade, came the expected charge of infantry. Longstreet's corps, massed, with Picket's division in front, rushed forward with the well known yells, which rang above the clangor of musketry and artillery, and threw themselves with utmost fury upon the Union lines. Our men had waited the onset with unflinching courage, and now poured into the assailants a most murderous fire, which hurled them back and strewed the ground with their dead and dying. Again, with the fierceness of desperation, they rush forward, and again are met with the same deadly reception. Hundreds from the attacking columns, in order to escape the certain doom, threw down their arms and came in as prisoners. The tide of battle lulled for a time.