I found the balance of the regiment had passed our street and were in confusion further down the main street. As the second company was about turning to follow the column a shell had exploded in their faces, killing and wounding some ten men and throwing it into disorder. Before it could be rallied the advancing column was out of sight. It was the work of but a few moments to straighten out the tangle and head them again for the front. No body of men could have more quickly and bravely responded, though they told me afterwards that they read in my pallid face the character of the work before them. Back we went up that street on the run, having to pick our way to avoid stepping on the dead and wounded, for the ground was now blue with our fallen heroes.



CHAPTER X

THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG—CONCLUDED

Reaching the place in the rear of that railroad embankment, where I had left the brigade, I found it had just gone forward in line of battle, and a staff officer directed me to bring the rest of the regiment forward under fire, which I did, fortunately getting them into their proper position. The line was lying prone upon the ground in that open field and trying to maintain a fire against the rebel infantry not more than one hundred and fifty yards in our front behind that stone wall. We were now exposed to the fire of their three lines of infantry, having no shelter whatever. It was like standing upon a raised platform to be shot down by those sheltered behind it. Had we been ordered to fix bayonets and charge those heights we could have understood the movement, though that would have been an impossible undertaking, defended as they were. But to be sent close up to those lines to maintain a firing-line without any intrenchments or other shelter, if that was its purpose, was simply to invite wholesale slaughter without the least compensation. It was to attempt the impossible, and invite certain destruction in the effort. On this interesting subject I have very decided convictions, which I will give later on.



Proceeding now with my narrative, we were evidently in a fearful slaughter-pen. Our men were being swept away as by a terrific whirlwind. The ground was soft and spongy from recent rains, and our faces and clothes were bespattered with mud from bullets and fragments of shells striking the ground about us, whilst men were every moment being hit by the storm of projectiles that filled the air. In the midst of that frightful carnage a man rushing by grasped my hand and spoke. I turned and looked into the face of a friend from a distant city. There was a glance of recognition and he was swept away. What his fate was I do not know.

That same moment I received what was supposed to be my death wound. Whilst the men were lying down, my duties kept me on my feet. Lieutenant Charles McDougal,[D] commanding the color company, called to me that the color-guard were all either killed or wounded. We had two stands of colors, the national and State flags. These colors were carried by two color-sergeants, protected by six color-corporals, which made up the color-guard. If either sergeant became disabled the nearest corporal took the colors, and so on until the color-guard were down. This was the condition when this officer called to me to replace these disabled men, so that the colors should be kept flying. He had one flag in his hand as I approached him, and he was in the act of handing it to me when a bullet crashed through his arm and wrist, spattering my face with his warm blood. I seized the staff as it fell from his shattered arm. The next instant a bullet cut the staff away just below my hand. An instant later I was struck on the head by the fragment of a shell and fell unconscious with the colors in my hand. How long I remained unconscious I do not know, possibly twenty minutes or more. What were my sensations when hit? I felt a terrific blow, but without pain, and the thought flashed through my mind, "This is the end," and then everything was black. I do not remember falling. It takes time to write this, but events moved then with startling rapidity. From the time we went forward from the embankment until the line was swept back could have been but a few minutes, otherwise all must have been killed.

When I revived I was alone with the dead and wounded. The line of battle had been swept away. The field about me was literally covered with the blue uniforms of our dead and wounded men. The firing had very perceptibly decreased. I had worn into the battle my overcoat, with my sword buckled on the outside. I had been hit on the left side of my head, and that side of my body was covered with blood down to my feet, which was still flowing. My first thought was as to my condition, whether mortally wounded or not. I was perceptibly weakened from loss of blood, but lying there I could not tell how much strength I had left. I did not dare move, for that would make me a target for the guns that covered that terrible wall, the muzzles of which I could plainly see. Many of them were still spitting out their fire with a venom that made my position exceedingly uncomfortable. What should I do? What could I do? To remain there was either to bleed to death or be taken prisoner and sent to Libby, which I felt would mean for me a sure lingering death. To make a move to get off the field would draw the fire of those guns, which would surely finish me. These were the alternatives.

I carefully stretched my legs to test my strength, and I made up my mind I had enough left to carry me off the field, and I resolved to take my chances in the effort. I determined that I would zigzag my course to the rear so as not to give them a line shot at me. So getting myself together I made a supreme effort and sprang up and off in jumps, first to the right, then to the left. As I expected, they opened on me, and the bullets flew thick and fast about me. The first turn I got a bullet through my right leg just above the ankle. It felt like the stinging cut of a whip and rather accelerated my speed. About fifty yards back was an old slab fence to my right, and I plunged headlong behind that, hoping to find shelter from those bullets. I fell directly behind several other wounded men, two of whom rolled over dead from bullets that came through the slabs and which were probably aimed at me. This flushed me again, and by the same zigzag tactics I succeeded in getting back to the railroad embankment, where, to my great joy, I found Colonel Albright with what remained of the regiment. Colonel Albright grasped me in his arms as I came over, with the exclamation, "We thought you were killed." Sergeant-Major Clapp told me that he had rolled me over and satisfied himself that I was dead before they went back.

As I reached cover under this embankment I remember noticing a field-officer rallying his men very near us on our right, and that instant his head was literally carried away by a shell. So intense was the situation that even this tragic death received only a passing thought. Then came the Irish brigade, charging over our line as they did at Antietam. They came up and went forward in fine form, but they got but a few yards beyond the embankment, when they broke and came back, what was left of them, in great confusion. No troops could stand that fire. Our division and the whole Second Corps, in fact, were now completely disorganized, and the men were making their way back to the city and the cover of the river-bank as best they could, whilst the splendid old Ninth Corps was advancing to take its place. Profiting by our experience, they did not advance by those streets through which we came, but made their way through houses and yards and so escaped that concentrated fire on the streets. Their advancing lines, covering the whole city front, looked magnificent, and it was dreadful to think that such a splendid body of men must march into such a slaughter-pen. Their movement was a repetition of ours. With bayonets unfixed they moved forward and attempted to maintain a firing-line under Marye's Heights on the ground from which we had been driven, only to be hurled mercilessly back as we had been. Our line had been the first to make this effort, and for some reason we had approached to within about one hundred yards of their main line of infantry, much closer than any of the troops that followed. The others had barely got beyond the embankment, when they were swept away. We, having approached nearer their line, were, of course, longer exposed to their fire and lost more heavily.

I was always curious to know why we of the first line of that fateful movement succeeded in getting so much nearer their works than the equally brave and determined men who followed us. Some years afterwards on revisiting this location I met an ex-Confederate who commanded one of the rebel batteries on those heights that day. In answer to my questions, he said the first "Yankee" line was permitted to approach much nearer than those that followed, for, said he, "we knew they were our meat, and when we finally opened on them with our full force, the slaughter was so awful it made me heart sick. But you kept coming with such persistency that we did not dare repeat those tactics." This may have been partially true so far as concerned their infantry fire, but a more potent reason, in my judgment, was that we had developed the utter hopelessness of the attempt, and men could not put heart into the effort.

Recurring to myself again, Colonel Albright stanched the flowing of blood from my wound in the head by making a strong compress of my large bandana handkerchief. The other wound in my leg did not give me much trouble then. In that condition, accompanied by another wounded man, I made my way back into the city. We found it one vast hospital. Every house was literally crowded with wounded men. We were fortunate enough to run against our brigade surgeon, who had taken possession of a brick building on the main street for hospital purposes. The only thing he could give me to lie down upon was a wooden bench. We had dismounted and left our horses with a servant when we went forward, and our blankets, etc., were with them, and where they were now there was no means of knowing. I was therefore without those comforts. Everything of that nature left by the rebels had long before been appropriated. The doctor hastily examined my wounds, pronounced them not dangerous, ordered the hospital steward to dress them, and was away. He, however, appropriated my red handkerchief. I had been presented by a friend on leaving Scranton with two large old-fashioned red silk bandana handkerchiefs, and they were exceedingly useful. The doctor, seeing them, said, "I must have these to nail up over the outside door to show that this is a hospital," and, without so much as saying by your leave, carried them off. The effort was to secure as much protection as possible from the fire of the enemy, and to do this the red flag of the hospital must be displayed. It is against the rules of civilized warfare to fire upon a hospital. The doctor said my red silk handkerchiefs were the first red stuff of any kind he had been able to get hold of. Of course I was glad to part with them for that purpose, though they were worth at that time $2 each in gold. The wound in my head was fortunately a glancing blow from a fragment of a shell. It tore the scalp from the bone about three inches in length in the form of a V. It has never given me serious trouble, more than to be a barometer of changing weather. The wound in my leg nearly severed the big tendon. They both quickly healed, and I was off duty with them but the one day I took to get back to camp.

After my wounds had been dressed I tried to sleep, being not only very weak from loss of blood, but almost in a condition of nervous exhaustion. I laid down on my bench, but shells were continually crashing through the building, and sleep was impossible. I went out on the street. It was crowded with wounded and straggling soldiers. The stragglers were hunting for their regiments, the wounded for hospital room. It seemed as if the army must have disintegrated. This was practically true of the Second and Ninth Corps, which had made the assault. Towards night General French rode down the street, accompanied by his staff. Seeing me, he stopped his horse and exclaimed, "Adjutant, where is my division? Tell me where my men are. My God, I am without a command!" and the tears were flowing down his red, weather-beaten face. He was beside himself over the awful losses of his division. Well he might be, for a great number of them were lying on yonder field in front of Marye's Heights, and the balance were scattered through the houses and on the river-bank practically disorganized.

I was greatly alarmed for our safety that night. It seemed to me highly probable that General Lee would come down upon us and capture all that were in the city, as he could easily have done. Possibly he was satisfied with the damage already inflicted, and did not care to assume the care of our wounded, which that would have involved. I remained on my bench in that hospital through that long night without food or covering. I had eaten nothing since early morning. With the constant whanging of shells through ours and adjacent buildings and the moaning of the wounded lying all about me, sleep or rest was impossible. It was a night too dreadful to think of, and makes me shudder again as I write. We remained in the city the next day, Sunday, and I rejoined our regiment, which, with other troops, was lying under the shelter of the river-bank. Officers were getting their men together as far as possible and bringing order out of chaos. We had Sunday about two hundred for duty out of three hundred and fifty taken into the battle. On Monday, the 15th, we who were wounded were told to make our way across the river back to our old camps as best we could. I was now very weak, and my head and leg were very sore. The latter gave me much trouble in walking, nevertheless there was a three-mile tramp before us. Lieutenant Musselman, also wounded, went with me on this weary tramp. We did not reach camp that night, and so had to find shelter at a farm-house, already full of straggling and wounded soldiers. The owner was a widow, living with a grown-up daughter, and was a bitter rebel, although professing Union sentiments whilst our army was there. She was, of course, greatly annoyed by the presence of these soldiers, most of whom were eating up her provisions without paying for them. Some of them were "bummers," who had run away from the battle and had persuaded her to feed and shelter them for the protection they professed to afford her. She was in great wrath when we reached there and peremptorily forbade us entering. But I told her firmly that we were wounded men and must have shelter; that I would willingly pay for accommodations, but, permission or not, the latter we must have. This argument seemed to be convincing, and the daughter led us up to the garret, which, she said, was the only unoccupied room in the house. Here she spread a blanket on the floor for us to sleep on. I suppose this was the best she could do. Then, at our solicitation, she got us some supper, an exceedingly frugal meal, but we were glad to get that. The daughter did not seem to share her mother's bitterness, but as often as she could would interject a word in our favor, and really did all she could for us. I sincerely hope she was ultimately made a permanent prisoner by some good "boy in blue." Here would have been an excellent opportunity to have woven into this narrative the golden thread of romance. This pretty secesh girl, with flashing blue eyes and golden hair, rebel to the core, yet befriending a wounded Union soldier, etc. How readily it lends itself, but the truth must be told. The little arrow god had already driven home his shaft, and so the romance could not mature.

During the evening General Franz Sigel and staff came to the house and demanded supper. Our lady was very polite, assured him that it was impossible. "Very well," said General Sigel, "I think I shall want this place to-morrow for a hospital. Madam, your kindness will be reciprocated." He spoke very emphatically, whereat the pretty daughter began to cry, and the mother to stammer apologies, and said she would do the best she could for them, but she really had nothing to cook. The general retired very indignant. Whether or not his threat was carried out I do not know, for the next morning we were off without trying to get breakfast. On asking for her bill we were surprised to find her charges were evidently based on the highest war-time hotel rates. We had so poor a supper that we had no desire for breakfast there, and had slept on the garret floor. For this she demanded one dollar. We paid her fifty cents, which was more than double its worth, and left amidst a great volley of her choicest anathemas.

We reached camp towards noon, and found we had tramped about five miles out of our way. The regiment was there ahead of us, the troops having evacuated Fredericksburg on Monday, two days after the battle, without opposition. We were actually under fire in this battle, that is, from the time the assault began until we were swept back, probably not more than thirty minutes as against four and one-half hours at Antietam. Yet our losses were proportionately much heavier. During my absence on sick leave, our regiment, after leaving Warrenton, had been detailed on heavy "fatigue" duty, loading and unloading vessels and various kinds of laborer's work at Belle-plain, and in consequence many were on the sick list, others were on various details, so that when we went into this battle we had only three hundred and fifty men for duty, against seven hundred and fifty at Antietam. Of this number my diary, written the 15th, says we lost: Killed, 7; wounded, 80; missing, 20; total, 107. Lieutenant Hoagland, Company H, was killed. Of the wounded, four were officers,—Captain Richard Stillwell and First Lieutenant John B. Floyd, Company K; First Lieutenant Musselman, Company E, and First Lieutenant McDougal, commanding Company C. Lieutenant McDougal's arm was shattered by a minie-ball whilst handing me the colors, detailed above. Captain Stillwell received a very singular wound. A bullet struck the side of his neck near the big artery and appeared to have gouged out a bit of flesh and glanced off. It bled more than this circumstance would have seemed to warrant, but the captain was sure he was not hurt and made light of it. Swelling and pain speedily developed in his shoulder, and it was found that the missile, instead of glancing off, had taken a downward course and finally lodged near his shoulder-joint, a distance of ten or twelve inches from where it entered. He was given leave of absence on account of wounds, and the ball was cut out after his return home, and ultimately the whole channel made by the ball had to be opened, when it was found lined with whiskers which the ball had carried in with it.

Most of those computed above as missing were undoubtedly killed, but had not been so reported at that time. Our loss in that half-hour was nearly one-third. One stand of our colors, the one whose staff was shot away in my hand, was missing, and the other was badly torn by shells and bullets.



CHAPTER XI

WHY FREDERICKSBURG WAS LOST

I promised to give my convictions relative to the responsibility for the disaster of Fredericksburg, and I might as well do it here.

Recalling the fact heretofore stated that we seemed to have been thrown against Marye's Heights to be sacrificed; that we were not ordered to charge their works, but to advance and maintain a line of battle-fire where such a thing was absolutely impossible, I come to the inquiry, what was the character and purpose of the movement and why did it fail? So thoroughly impressed was I that there was something radically wrong about it, that I determined to solve that question if possible, and so made a study of the subject at that time and later after my return home. I had personal friends in the First and Sixth Corps, which had operated on the extreme left, and I discussed with them the movements that day. Finally, after my return home, I got access to Covode's congressional reports on the conduct of the war covering that campaign, and from all these sources learned what I then and now believe to be substantially the facts about that campaign. The army was divided into three grand divisions, composed of two army corps each, namely, the Second and Ninth, the right grand division, commanded by Sumner; the First and Sixth, the left grand division, commanded by Franklin, and the Third and Fifth, the centre, commanded by Hooker. The plan of battle was to hold Lee's army at Fredericksburg by a "feint in force" (which means an attack sufficiently strong to deceive the enemy into the belief that it is the real or main attack) at that point, whilst the left grand division was to throw a pontoon bridge across the river three miles below and turn his flank (i.e., get behind them) in the rear of Marye's Heights. For this purpose the left grand division was to advance and attack vigorously. If successful, Lee would then have been between Franklin's forces on the left and our own on the right, with every possibility of being crushed. Hooker was to hold his division in readiness to support either wing. Had this plan been carried out, our work at the right would, at its conception, have been as it appeared to be, a mad sacrifice of men, but with an opportunity later on of pushing forward and reaping a victory. In that event, our position would have made us a tremendous factor in the result.

Now how was the plan carried out? The student will be puzzled on finding such a paucity of records concerning this disastrous movement. The official documents are remarkable for what they do not contain. A study of Covode's reports on the conduct of the war will, I think, justify my conclusions, viz., that the disaster of Fredericksburg was due not to accident, nor to a faulty plan of battle, but to a failure of the left grand division to perform the vital part assigned to it. My information gained at the time was that Franklin was to remain concealed until the signal for our attack came; then he was to cross over and attack vigorously, a military expression, meaning to put all possible vigor and power into the movement. The signal was given as our attack began. Whatever force may have crossed the river at that time, my information was that the division known as the Pennsylvania Reserve, now numbering probably not more than six thousand men, under General Meade, was the only body of troops which made a determined attack on Lee's right, in support of our work in front of Marye's Heights. Realizing the opportunity, General Meade pushed forward with his usual vigor and, though meeting strenuous opposition, soon found himself well in Lee's rear, but without support. He sent back aide after aide to hurry forward the supporting lines, but without avail, finally galloping back himself. He found General Birney resting near the bridge with his division. An eye-witness[E] to Meade's interview with Birney says the language of General Meade as he upbraided Birney for not coming to his support was enough to "almost make the stones creep;" that Meade was almost wild with rage as he saw the golden opportunity slipping away and the slaughter of his men going for naught. He said Birney responded that he agreed with General Meade fully, and was ready and most anxious to come to his support, but that his orders were peremptory to await further orders in his present position: that he had been for an hour trying to find General Franklin to obtain permission to move forward. This loss of time and want of support to Meade's charge changed a possible victory into a fearful disaster. This was substantially the testimony of Major-General Reynolds, commanding the First Corps, before the Committee on the Conduct of the War. Burnside rode down to the left and vigorously expostulated with Franklin for his failure to carry out his orders, and peremptorily ordered him to make the attack as originally directed, whilst he repeated the movement at the right. It was now considerably after noon, and this order was undoubtedly a mistake. The plan of battle had been revealed, and there was practically no hope of success. Had the left grand division vigorously performed its part in the earlier movement, can any one doubt the result? I cannot think so. Had Meade, Reynolds, or Hancock been in command on the left that day, I feel confident that Fredericksburg would have been recorded a glorious victory instead of a horrible slaughter.

Now, why did the left grand division fail to make the attack as ordered? Halleck, in his report on the operations at Fredericksburg, says "alleged misunderstanding of orders." Here is his language:

"It was intended that Franklin's grand division, consisting of the corps of Reynolds (First) and Smith (Sixth), should attack the enemy's right and turn his position on the heights in the rear of Fredericksburg, while Sumner and Hooker attacked him in front. But by some alleged misunderstanding of orders Franklin's operations were limited to a mere reconnoissance, and the direct attacks of Sumner and Hooker were unsupported." "Rebellion Records," vol. xxi., page 47.

Is the theory of a misunderstanding of orders tenable? The records show that on the 11th of December, two days before the battle, Burnside ordered his division commanders to so dispose their troops as to bring them within easy reach of Fredericksburg, and that on that day at twelve o'clock noon these officers were ordered to meet him personally at his head-quarters for final instructions. There are no records of what those instructions were, but is it credible that either general retired from that conference with a misunderstanding as to the plan of battle or of his own part in it? Certain it is that neither Sumner nor Hooker misunderstood.

And the excuse said to have been made by Franklin, that he did not deem the attack on the left practicable, is not consistent with the idea of misunderstanding. Otherwise, why did he attack at all? General Halleck's guarded language clearly indicates where he placed the responsibility for that disaster, and that he did not credit the "misunderstanding of orders" theory. It is plainly evident Burnside did not accept that excuse, as appears from his celebrated Order No. 8, issued a month later, relieving Franklin, Smith, Newton, Cochran, and Ferrero, and stating as his reason that "it being evident that these officers can be of no further service to this army,"—the first named being the commander of the left grand division, the second the commander of the Sixth Corps, and the others subordinate commanders in that wing of the army. General Burnside explained to the Committee on the Conduct of the War[F] that in asking the President to approve this order, and making that a condition upon which he would consent to remain at the head of the army, he had explicitly stated, "that was the only condition on which he could command the Army of the Potomac." In other words, he could not command that army with those officers as his subordinates. The inference that there had been insubordination is inevitable. It was the current belief amongst us officers of the army that the battle of Fredericksburg had been lost through a want of hearty co-operation, if not direct disobedience of orders, on the part of the officer commanding on the left that day, and some of his subordinates, and that this was due to a spirit of jealousy. McClellan had but recently been removed from the command of the army, and the officers relieved were strong personal friends and partisans of the latter. Again, Burnside, his successor, was alleged to be junior in actual rank to Franklin. Whether either of these facts supplied the motives for the jealousy which lost that battle, if such was true, the judgment day alone will reveal. It is devoutly to be hoped that the light of that day will relieve the terrible disaster of Fredericksburg of this awful shadow, and that nothing worse than a "misunderstanding of orders" was responsible for it.

That Order No. 8 was disapproved at Washington, and General Burnside promptly tendered his resignation of the command of the Army of the Potomac. He felt that he had not received and was not likely to receive the cordial and hearty support of all his subordinate officers, and under those circumstances he did not want the responsibility of command. He expressed himself as anxious to serve his country and willing to work anywhere it might please the President to place him. He was not relieved, however, until a month or so later. In writing the foregoing I know that many brave men will take exception. I would say, however, that I have made a somewhat careful study of the subject from an absolutely unprejudiced stand-point, and such are the conclusions I reached, and they were shared by many of my fellow-officers who were in that campaign. The losses in this battle amount to nearly one-third the troops actually engaged, a most remarkable fact, and which stamps this engagement as one of the bloodiest in all history. Burnside reports his loss as twelve hundred and eighty-four killed and nine thousand six hundred wounded, making a total loss, including the missing, of twelve thousand six hundred and fifty-three. Of this loss the right grand division (the Second and Ninth Corps) lost five thousand three hundred and eleven. The left grand division, Franklin's (First and Sixth Corps, which numbered considerably more than the right grand division), lost three thousand four hundred and sixty-two, and most of this was sustained in the second attack in the afternoon. These facts sustain the belief above referred to in the army, that the main attack in the morning on the left was not what it should have been, and was the cause of the disaster.

A remarkable fact connected with this loss is the great number of wounded as compared with the killed. Usually the former exceeds the latter in the proportion of three and four to one, but at Fredericksburg it was nearly nine to one. How this is to be explained I never understood, unless it be that most of the casualties were from exploding shells. The minute fragments of a shell scatter very widely and wound, whilst there are fewer of the large pieces which kill. For example, the shell that exploded in the front of our second company, as it was turning to enter the street leading out towards Marye's Heights, previously described, knocked out ten men, only one of whom was instantly killed. It is safe to estimate that of the nine thousand six hundred reported as wounded, one-third died or were permanently disabled therefrom.

To show how quickly troops can recover from such a shock as the disaster of Fredericksburg, the Second Corps had a grand review back of Falmouth the second week after the battle. Major-General Edwin V. Sumner, commanding the right grand division, was the reviewing officer. I have spoken before of this distinguished officer. This was his farewell to the Second Corps, which he had long commanded and to which he was greatly attached, a sentiment which was most cordially reciprocated by the men. He was now probably the oldest in years of all the officers in the army, yet still vigorous, intrepid, and efficient. He was relieved from active command in the field and assigned to the command of the Department of the Ohio, but a few months later died peacefully at his home in New York. Is it not singular that this old hero should have escaped the numberless missiles of death in all the battles through which he had passed, so soon to succumb in the quietude of retirement?

Our regiment had present at this review but few over two hundred men, and the other regiments were proportionally small, so that the corps was scarcely larger than a good-sized division, yet it appeared in splendid condition. Its depleted numbers and battle-scarred flags alone told the story of its recent experiences. The following week our regiment was detailed for a ten-days' tour of picket duty, and was encamped some distance above Falmouth in a pretty grove. This change of service was a welcome one to the men in many respects, for there was better foraging opportunities, and there was also considerable excitement attending this service in the presence of the enemy. The Rappahannock River was the dividing line of the two armies, and their respective pickets lined its banks. At this time the two lines were kept as far as possible concealed from each other, though there was practically no picket firing. Later on the two lines were posted in full view of each other, and by agreement under a "flag of truce" all picket firing was strictly forbidden. Thereafter, although forbidden, there was more or less conversation carried on between the two lines.



CHAPTER XII

LOST COLORS RECOVERED

In addition to our heavy loss of men at Fredericksburg was the loss of our colors, the stand whose staff had been shot away in my hand as described in a former chapter.

It can be well understood that we felt very keenly the loss of our flag, although we knew that it had been most honorably lost. It was known to have been brought off the field in the night by Corporal William I. D. Parks, Company H, one of the color-guard, who was mortally wounded, and left by him in a church used as a temporary hospital. Corporal Parks was removed to a hospital at Washington, where he died shortly afterwards, and the colors mysteriously disappeared. The act of this color-bearer in crawling off the field with his colors, wounded as he was to the death, was a deed of heroism that has few parallels. We made every effort to find the flag, but without success, and had concluded that it must have been left in Fredericksburg, and so fallen into the hands of the enemy, when a couple of weeks after the battle, on returning from a ride down to Falmouth, I noticed a regiment of our troops having dress parade. I rode near them, and my attention was at once attracted to the fact that they paraded three stands of colors, a most unusual circumstance. My suspicion was at once aroused that here were our lost colors. Riding closer, my joy was great on recognizing our number and letters on their bullet-and shell-tattered folds, "132 P. V." Anger immediately succeeded my joy as I saw that our precious colors were being paraded as a sort of trophy. This flag, under whose folds so many of our brave men had fallen, and which had been so heroically rescued from the field, exhibited to the army and the world as a trophy of the battle by another regiment! It was, in effect, a public proclamation of our cowardice and dishonor and of their prowess in possessing what we had failed to hold and guard, our sacred colors. It stung me to the quick. I do not remember ever to have been more beside myself with anger. It was with difficulty that I contained myself until their ceremony was over, when I rode up to the colonel, in the presence of all his officers, and in a voice which must have betrayed my emotion, demanded to know why he was parading our colors. His reply was, "Those are the colors of a d——d runaway regiment which my men picked up on the battle-field of Fredericksburg." My hair and whiskers were somewhat hot in color those days, and I have not kept a record of my language to that colonel for the next few minutes. I sincerely hope the recording angel has not. Still, I am sure it was the explosion of a righteous indignation.

Full of wrath I galloped at topmost speed to camp and made known my discovery to Colonel Albright. If I was "hot," what shall be said of him? Of a fiery, mercurial disposition, his temper flew in a moment. He mounted his horse and bade me lead him to this regiment. The brave heralds who carried "the good news from Ghent to Aix," did not gallop faster than did we two, and the wicked fellow who was hired to say two dollars' worth of "words" for the Quaker did not do his work a bit more effectively than did my brave colonel in denouncing the man who had made that charge of cowardice against our regiment. Well, he began to hedge immediately. He evidently saw that there was trouble ahead, and offered to give us the colors at once, but Colonel Albright peremptorily refused to accept them that way, and said he would demand a court of inquiry and would require full and complete vindication, cost what it might. A court of inquiry was at once asked for and granted. It was made up of officers outside of our division, and was directed to investigate the loss of our flag, and how it came into the possession of this other regiment. Colonel Albright was a good lawyer and conducted his own case before the court. It came out in the investigation that in making his report of the part his regiment took in the battle of Fredericksburg this colonel had used substantially the same language he had to me concerning how he came into possession of the flag. Here is the paragraph referring to our colors, taken from his report printed in the "Rebellion Records," vol. xxi., page 275:

"I would also state that some cowardly members of a regiment unknown (?) abandoned their colors, which were recovered by Captain Northrup, of my regiment, and saved the disgrace of falling into the hands of the enemy." My diary notes that I interviewed this Captain Northrup, and he promptly stated that he took the colors from the hospital and brought them with him when their regiment left Fredericksburg. He said he did not know how they got into the hospital, but supposed a wounded sergeant had left them there. He disclaimed any idea of their having been abandoned in a cowardly manner, and could not understand why his colonel had made such a declaration. The statement that his men rescued them from an unknown regiment was false upon its face, for our name was inscribed on its folds in plain letters, "132d P. V." Why he made such a statement, and why he treated the colors as he did, I could never understand, for had the statement been true it was outrageously unmilitary to proclaim to the world the cowardice of one of our own regiments. It was his duty to promptly send the colors to head-quarters, with a statement of the facts, so that the alleged runaways could be properly disciplined. As it was, it seemed a most contemptible effort to secure a little cheap, unearned glory. It was heartlessly cruel and unworthy of a brave soldier.

The result of the court of inquiry was a full and complete vindication of our regiment, as shown by the following paragraph from an order issued by Major-General O. O. Howard, commanding the Second Corps: "The last color-bearer, badly wounded, left his regiment after dark, and in the town entered a church used as a hospital, taking his colors with him. He was carried away from this place and the colors left behind. The very fidelity of the color-bearer holding to his colors as long as he was conscious was the occasion of their loss to the regiment. Not only no fault should be found with this regiment, but it should receive unqualified commendation."

General French, commanding our division, published this order to the division, adding the following: "As the commander of the division, and knowing the character of the One Hundred and Thirty-second Pennsylvania Volunteers, which has fought under my eye in two of the bloodiest engagements of the war, and which has the highest encomiums from its brigade commander, General Kimball, who knows what brave men are, I have deemed it my duty to make this record to go with whatever may have transpired in reference to this subject during my short absence." The above paragraphs were taken from Bates's "History of Pennsylvania Volunteers." The colors were ordered returned to us with proper military honors. They were brought to General French's head-quarters by a military escort from that regiment, and I had the satisfaction of officially receiving them with a like escort from our regiment, commanded by First Lieutenant J. D. Laciar, of Company G. The ceremony was to us a joyous and impressive occasion. It took place in the presence of General Alfred Sully, temporarily commanding the division, and staff, and our brigade officers. The two escorts were drawn up, facing each other. The order of Major-General Howard, above referred to, was read. This was followed by a little speech from General Sully, in which we came in for some more praise; then both escorts presented arms, whilst their color-bearer transferred the colors to ours, and the ceremony was over. A happier escort never marched than was ours bearing home those restored colors.

The weather was now getting very cold, and we set about making ourselves as comfortable as possible in camp. The men were allowed to fix up their tents as best they could without much regard for architectural beauty or regularity. Some of them dug cellars four to five feet deep, made puncheon floors,—that is, floors made of split logs smoothed off and laid the flat side up,—whilst the sides were made of logs plastered up with mud. Mud fireplaces were made with old barrels for chimneys. The roofs were canvas, of course, but fairly waterproof. A favorite bit of horse-play of the men at this time was to watch when the occupants of some tent were having a good time, and smoke them out by throwing a wet blanket over the top of their barrel chimney. In about a second the smoke would be almost dense enough to suffocate, and every fellow would pile out and hunt for the culprit. Woe be unto him if they found him. A favorite ruse on the part of the culprit was to plunge into his tent and be placidly snoring when the victims began their hunt. Sometimes the simulation would be too sonorous, and give him away, and then he had trouble on hand for the next hour. The ingenuity of these sons of Belial in their pranks was beyond description. I have laughed until absolutely exhausted many a time. How did I know so much about them? Well, I had two of the liveliest of these boys in my office as clerks, and, as they were generally in the fun, I was kept posted, and to tell the truth, as long as it did not seriously transgress, and there was fun in it, I knew nothing about it "officially." Often have I seen these boys put up a job on some fellow quietly sleeping, by smoking out his next-door neighbors and then directing their attention to him as the culprit. To see him hauled out of a sound sleep and mauled for something he was entirely innocent of, vehemently protesting his innocence, yet the more he protested getting the more punishment, the rascals who put up the job doing most of the punishing, I have nearly split my sides. Of course, no one was seriously hurt. The victim knew enough to keep his temper, and in the end enjoyed the lark as well as the rest. I speak of these things, for they were the oases in army life and drudgery. Except for them it would have been unendurable. Seldom were things so bad but that some bit of raillery would relieve the strain and get up a laugh, and everybody would feel better.

We had a young fellow in one of the companies who was certainly the most comical genius I ever saw. He was known by a nickname only. No length of march and no severity of service could curb his spirits. When all were down in the dumps this fellow would perform some monkey-shine that would make even a horse laugh, and all would be in good spirits again. Colonel Albright used to say he was worth his weight in gold. He was with us until after Fredericksburg, where he was either killed or wounded, and I do not remember to have seen him afterwards.

I have spoken of the men's winter-quarters. We officers had our wall tents, and had them fixed up with puncheon floors also, and sheet-iron stoves, so that as long as we kept a fire burning all were fairly comfortable. But wood fires would last but an hour or so without replenishing, and so during the night we had great difficulty in keeping warm. Some of the coldest nights my clerks and myself took turns in keeping up our fire. I rather prided myself on the construction of my bed. It was made of two springy poles held in place by crotched sticks driven into the ground. On the poles nailed crosswise was a bottom made of barrel-staves, the hollow side down, and on these was laid a bed of hay, kept in place by some old canvas sacking. On cold nights the only article of clothing we took off was our shoes or boots. Then rolling ourselves in our blankets, with gum blanket outside tucked well around our feet and the whole surmounted with our overcoats, we managed to sleep pretty well. These puncheon floors were all the proceeds of foraging. No lumber of any kind was furnished by the government. The men cut the trees and split the logs wherever they could find them. Most of them were "backed" into camp anywhere from one to four miles.

After this little of note occurred in camp until Christmas. We had made ourselves as comfortable as we could with the materials at hand, which were not in super-abundance. The weather was what we were told was characteristic of Virginia winters,—rather mild, slush and mud, with its raw, disagreeable dampness, being the prevailing conditions. It was exceedingly trying to our men, and many, in consequence, were on the sick list. My diary notes that on Christmas day we actually had a little sunshine, and that by way of adding good cheer to the occasion a ration of whiskey was issued to the men. The ration consisted of a gill for each man. Each company was marched to the commissary tent, and every man received his gill in his cup or drank it from the measure, as he preferred. Some of the men, who evidently were familiar with the intricacies of repeating in ward elections, managed in various ways to repeat their rations of this vile stuff until we had a good deal more than a gill of whiskey's worth of hilarity in camp. However, the noise was winked at, believing it would soon subside and pass off. All drills were suspended and the men were allowed passes freely out of camp, being required to be in quarters promptly at taps. The officers passed the day visiting and exchanging the compliments of the season. The wish for a "Merry Christmas" was about all there was to make it such. I remember our bill of fare for Christmas dinner consisted of boiled rice and molasses, "Lobskous" and stewed dried apples. The etymology of the euphonious word "Lobskous" I am unable to give. The dish consisted of hardtack broken up and thoroughly soaked in water, then fried in pork fat. I trust my readers will preserve the recipe for a side dish next Christmas. One of the boys, to show his appreciation of this extra fare for Christmas dinner, improvised the following blessing:

"Good Lord of love Look down from above And see how a soldier's grub has mended,— Slushed rice, Lobskous, and shoat, Where only hardtack and hog were intended."

The day was not without its fun, however. Among other things, an impromptu foot-race was gotten up between the Fourth New York and our regiment. The former regiment, with which we were now brigaded, was from New York City, and in its general make-up was decidedly "sporty." They had in their ranks specimens of almost all kinds of sports, such as professional boxers, wrestlers, fencers, and runners. One of the latter had been practising in the morning, and some of our boys had remarked that "he wasn't much of a runner," whereupon they were promptly challenged to produce a man who could beat him, for a cash prize of twenty dollars in gold. Win or lose, our fellows were not to be bluffed, and so promptly accepted the challenge. Back they came to camp with their "bluff," to look up a man to meet this professional. So far as our men were concerned, it was another case of the Philistine defying the armies of Israel. Where was our David? All hands entered into the fun, from the colonel down. The race was to be a one-hundred-yard dash from a standing mark. We found our man in Corporal Riley Tanner, of Company I. He was a lithe, wiry fellow, a great favorite in his company, and in some trial sprints easily showed himself superior to all of the others. He, however, had never run a race, except in boys' play, and was not up on the professional tactics of such a contest. It was decided that the affair should take place at five o'clock P.M., on our regimental front, and should decide the championship of the two regiments in this particular. The course was duly measured and staked off, and was lined on both sides by a solid wall of the men, nearly our whole division being present, including most of the officers. If the championship of the world had been at stake, there could hardly have been more excitement, so much zest did every one put into it. On the minute the Goliath of the bloody Fourth appeared, clad in the most approved racing garb. He was a stockily built young Irishman, and looked decidedly formidable, especially when our poor little David appeared a moment later, with no other preparation than his coat and cap off and pants rolled up. Nevertheless, our boys thoroughly believed in him, and we all gave him a rousing cheer. The signal was given and away leaped our little champion like a frightened deer, literally running away from the professional from the start and beating him leisurely in the end by more than a dozen feet. Great was the furore which followed. The victor was carried on the shoulders of his comrades of Company I triumphantly back to his quarters, and afterwards through all the company streets, the victim of an immense popularity. Corporal Tanner, scarcely beyond his teens, was a good, brave, and true young man, popular with his comrades and faithful in all his duties. Was this little race, so short and gloriously won, prophetic of his life's brief course? He came home to survive but a few years, and then die of injuries received in the service. He was as much a sacrifice upon the altar of his country as if he had been killed in battle. He was long ago laid to rest in a soldier's grave. But he still lives in the hearts of his comrades.

Here let me say a few words of our "friends, the enemy," we had just beaten, the Fourth New York. Its colonel was a Scotchman named McGregor, and he was a true McGregor, a splendid officer. He was in command of the brigade after Colonel Andrews was wounded at Fredericksburg, until himself disabled by a wound. His lieutenant-colonel was a captain in the New York police force when he entered the service, and after the war as Inspector Jameson he achieved a national reputation. He was a splendid fellow personally, and physically a king among men. He stood six feet two inches, beautifully proportioned, square, and straight as an Indian, with heavy jet black hair and whiskers, and an eye that I imagine could almost burn a hole in a culprit. He could be both majestic and impressive when occasion required, and was more gifted in all these things than any man I ever knew. The following incident will illustrate his use of them. I met him in Washington whilst returning to my regiment the day before the battle of Fredericksburg. I joined him just before reaching the wharf where we were to take the boat. He had been up to Washington on a day's pass, all any one could then get, and had for some reason overstayed his leave. I think he had missed his boat the day before. In consequence he could not get a pass through the lines to go back. I asked how he expected to get through the provost guard. "Oh, that's easy," he said. "Just watch me go through," and I did. There was a double guard at the entrance to the boat and a sergeant and lieutenant examining all passes. Jameson threw his cape over his shoulders to conceal his shoulder-straps, put on one of his majestic airs, looked the officer through, as much as to say, you do not presume to question my rights here, and waved him and the guards aside, and deliberately stalked aboard, as though he commanded the army. I came meekly along behind, pass in hand. The officer had by that time recovered himself sufficiently to ejaculate, "Who the h——l is that—general?" I repeated the ejaculation to the colonel afterwards to his great amusement. He was all right, and on his way to rejoin his regiment, where he was wounded next day, splendidly doing his duty. Because he had overstayed his leave twenty-four hours, red tape would have required him to remain in Washington, submit to a court-martial or court of inquiry, and probably after three or four weeks be sent back, duly excused, the country being deprived of his services in the mean time.

Well, to get back to Christmas. After the foot-race the men were given free rein until ten o'clock P.M., and passes out of camp were not required. As the evening wore on, it became evident that John Barleycorn had been getting in some extra work, from the character of the noise emanating from the company streets, and I became somewhat nervous about it. Lieutenant-Colonel Albright's tent adjoined mine, and I could see that he was becoming a little exercised over this extra noise. The fear was that we might get a peremptory summons from division head-quarters to "explain immediately the causes of the unusual noises emanating from our regiment, and why it is not suppressed." Just about ten o'clock there was an extra outburst, and I noticed Colonel Albright, with sword dangling, pass rapidly out of his tent and down towards the company streets from whence the noise came. I feared trouble, and slipped on my boots and followed as quickly as possible. But before I reached the scene, the colonel had drawn his sword and ordered all the men to their quarters, at the same time striking right and left with the flat of his sword, hitting two of the men. One proved to be a sergeant who was trying to quell the noise and get his men into quarters. The latter resented the blow and made a sharp retort to the colonel, who immediately repeated it, whereupon the sergeant struck him a terrible blow in the eye with his fist, knocking him down. I got there just in time to see the colonel fall, and immediately seized the sergeant and placed him in arrest. He was handed over to the division provost guard. The colonel was found to be seriously hurt. His eye swelled up and turned black and gave him great pain all night. And it was several days before he recovered the use of it.

The most serious thing about this unfortunate culmination of our Christmas festivities was not only the breach of discipline, but the present status of this sergeant. He was an exceptionally good non-commissioned officer, with a splendid record in both battles and in all service, yet he had now committed an offence the punishment for which, in time of war, was death,—viz., striking his superior commissioned officer. The next day Colonel Albright reported the affair to General French, commanding the division, who promptly advised him to prefer charges against the culprit and make an example of him. The matter was generally discussed by both officers and men in camp, and although it was felt that the sergeant had committed a grave offence, yet that the colonel was in a measure responsible for it. The latter was justly popular with all as a brave officer and good man, yet he had been guilty himself of an offence which had brought upon him the blow he had received. He had no right to strike a soldier as he did, even with the flat of his sword. Nor was it the proper thing for him to take the place of his "officer of the guard" or "officer of the day" in enforcing his own orders regulating camp discipline. He should have sent for the latter and required them to do their duty in the matter. As a matter of fact, this was just what the officer of the day was doing when the colonel appeared. The colonel sent for me next morning, on his return from General French's head-quarters, and freely told me of the advice of the latter, and indicated his purpose to proceed.

This splendid man has long since entered into rest. No truer man or braver officer entered the service than he, and it has been one of the greatest satisfactions of my life that I was able to possess his confidence to the fullest degree. He invited my views now and he afterwards thanked me for the service I then rendered him by opposing his contemplated action. He was still suffering very much from his injury and was in a poor mood to brook opposition. Nevertheless I felt that if he subjected this man to the possible results of a court-martial, later on he would never forgive himself, and I so told him. I reminded him of the mistake he had made in assuming the duties of his "officer of the day," and of his graver error, if not offence, in striking the men; that such action would be very likely to produce similar results with almost any of the men upon whom it might be committed; that he had failed to respect the rights of his men even in matters of discipline, and that all this being true, it would be a mistake he would always regret if he failed to treat this affair in as manly and generous a way as discipline would permit. It was an occasion of keen regret that I had to differ with Colonel Albright, for I really loved the man. He dismissed me rather cavalierly with his thanks for my drastic frankness. By his direction a meeting of all the officers of the regiment was summoned to meet at his head-quarters in the afternoon to give their views as to the course to be pursued. The question, as submitted by the colonel being one purely of discipline, seemed to admit of but one treatment,—viz., court-martial; and this was the unanimous sentiment as expressed in this meeting, although outside, I well knew nearly all had expressed themselves differently. Perhaps the way the colonel took to get their views was partly responsible for his failure to get their real feelings. He began with the youngest lieutenant and asked each officer up to the senior captain, what he thought the offence merited. The answer was, "I suppose court-martial." None seemed willing to accuse the colonel of his own error, and to have answered otherwise would have involved that, so they simply replied as above.

The colonel said, after all had given their answers, that the adjutant did not agree with him nor them, and called on me to state my position, saying I was to be excused, as he supposed the sergeant was a personal friend. Whilst it was true that I had known him at home, I disclaimed being influenced by that fact in this matter. The colonel, to my relief, adjourned the meeting without announcing his determination. I felt sure that a little more time would bring him to my way of thinking, and so it turned out. I saw the sergeant over at the provost-guard tent, and found him very anxious about his situation and thoroughly sorry for his hasty conduct towards the colonel, whom he sincerely respected. He said he felt terribly hurt at being so roughly treated. He was not to blame for the noise, but was actually doing his best to quiet the noisy ones and get them into quarters when the first intimation he had of the colonel's presence was the blow from his sword. He said this blow hurt him and roused his anger and he replied sharply, and on getting the second blow he struck without stopping to think of the consequences. I told the colonel of this conversation, and said if he would permit this man to express to him personally his sorrow for his conduct, and, under the circumstances, restore him to duty with no greater punishment than a loss of his rank as sergeant, I felt sure he would win the hearts of all the men and do an act he would always be glad of. Two days later, to my great joy, he ordered me to prepare an order practically embodying my recommendations, the order to be read at dress parade that day, and the prisoner to be publicly released at that time. I think I never performed a more willing or difficult task than reading that order on parade that afternoon. Just before the ceremony, the sergeant had been brought by the provost guard to the colonel's tent and had, in a manly way, expressed his sorrow for his act. The colonel had stated this fact to the regiment, and then directed me to read the order releasing the prisoner and restoring him to duty. The tears blinded my eyes and my emotions almost choked my voice as I tried to read, and I doubt if there was a dry eye in the ranks when I had finished. The outcome of the unfortunate affair was exceedingly satisfactory. The colonel, always popular, had now the hearts of all—officers and men.



CHAPTER XIII

THE WINTER AT FALMOUTH

Our brigade was now commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Marshall, Tenth New York Volunteers, who was the senior officer present for duty, Colonels Kruger, First Delaware, and McGregor, Fourth New York, being absent on account of wounds received at Fredericksburg, and Colonel Wilcox, of our regiment, absent, sick. I mention this to show how the exigencies of the service thrust upon junior officers the duties and responsibilities of much higher grades. Here a lieutenant-colonel was discharging the duties appertaining to a general; sergeants frequently commanded companies, whilst a captain in command of a regiment was not an infrequent thing. These junior officers performing the duties of higher grades got no more compensation than the pay of their actual rank. On the 24th of January, Colonel Wilcox sent in his resignation, and Lieutenant-Colonel Albright was commissioned colonel. Major Shreve was promoted to be lieutenant-colonel, and I had the honor to receive the rare and handsome compliment of an election to the office of major, although, being a staff-officer, I was not in the regular line of promotion. Sergeant-Major Clapp succeeded to my position as adjutant, and Private Frank J. Deemer, Company K, who had been a clerk in my office, was appointed sergeant-major. Just at this time I had a somewhat singular experience. I had received a three-days' leave of absence with permission to visit Washington on business for the officers. This detail I mention because no leaves of absence other than for sickness or disability were obtainable at this time, except on urgent business for the officers of a regiment, and for but one officer to a regiment, and three days was the limit. To get to Washington—only about sixty miles away—I had to start from camp before daylight in the morning, ride three miles to the railroad in a heavy, springless army wagon, across fields and over rutted roadways that were barely passable, the jolting of which was almost enough to shake one's bones loose; then ride twenty miles in a freight car, perched on whatever truck one could get a seat on, thence by boat to Washington. The morning was exceptionally cold and I had to leave without breakfast; the result was I caught a severe cold, and when I reached my destination I was suffering terribly from an attack of dysentery. I was barely able to get to the Ebbitt House, the clerk of which seeing my plight summoned a physician, who had me sent to the Seminary Hospital for Officers at Georgetown. Here I received most excellent care.

This institution was for officers only. There must have been upward of two hundred sick and wounded officers there at that time. It was under strict military rules. The surgeon in charge was its commanding officer, as absolute as though a general commanding a division in the field. When I reached the hospital I was registered, put to bed, and all clothing and personal effects taken from me. A warm bath followed with the assistance of a stalwart nurse and medicines were administered, and I soon found relief in a refreshing sleep. A couple of days later I had a remarkable visit. I was not allowed to sit up yet, but a fine-looking old gentleman, wearing the insignia of a major-general, appeared at my cot and extended his hand. His face was an exceedingly kind one and his voice, if possible, more so. His hair was white and he had the unmistakable appearance of advanced age, though he stood fully six feet high and was still square and unbent in form. He proceeded to say he had learned that a young officer bearing the name of Hitchcock had been taken suddenly very ill and sent to this hospital, and inasmuch as his name was Hitchcock, he was doubly interested to know, first how I was, and second who I was. My visitor was none other than Major-General Hitchcock, military attache of President Lincoln's cabinet and the first general commissioner for the exchange of prisoners of war. I think he was a retired regular army officer called from his retirement to special service as military adviser of the president and now in charge of the bureau for the exchange of prisoners of war. His call was very pleasant, and I learned from him that all of our name in this country were distantly related. That two brothers came to this country with the Regicides and settled, one in New Hampshire, the other at New Haven. He was of the former stock, whilst I was from the latter. On retiring he bade me call on him when well. I greatly regret I never had the opportunity of returning his gracious visit. On the cot next mine lay an officer convalescing from a wound received at Fredericksburg. I have forgotten his name, but we soon became well acquainted, and he proved a valuable and companionable acquaintance. He was the best posted man in military tactics I ever met, and was thoroughly familiar with all its branches from the school of the soldier to the grand tactics of a division. It was very profitable pastime for me to go over the tactics under his instruction, he illustrating each battalion movement by the use of matches on the coverlets of our cots. In that way I learned the various tactical movements as I had never been able to do before, and it was of immense value to me, having now been promoted to the position of a field-officer. This hospital was no better and in no wise different from those for private soldiers, except that we were charged a per diem for board, whereas there was no charge for the privates. I thought I could return at the end of a week, and asked to be discharged, but was rather curtly informed by the surgeon in charge that when the time came for my discharge he would inform me.

The papers now contained rumors of another movement on foot, and, of course, I was very anxious to return. A few days later, after an examination, the doctor gave me my discharge. It was now ten days since I had left camp on a three-days' leave, but my discharge from the hospital operated as an extension, and I had no difficulty in getting transportation and passes through the lines to rejoin my regiment. I performed my errands for the officers of the regiment, which consisted in getting various articles for their comfort, and in several cases a bottle of something to "keep the cold out." As I write, I have before me, in perfect preservation, all the official papers covering that trip. Here are copies of the papers required to get back to the regiment. They will give an idea of the conditions, getting in and out of Washington at that time, as well as of the load I had to carry back:

HEAD-QUARTERS MILITARY DISTRICT OF WASHINGTON, WASHINGTON, D. C., January 22, 1863.

Lieutenant F. L. Hitchcock, 132d P. V., with servant, has permission to proceed to Falmouth, Va., for the purpose of rejoining his regiment, and to take the following articles for officers and men: (1) one drum, (3) three express packages, carpet sack containing liquors, (1) one box of provisions, (1) one box of clothing. Quartermaster please furnish transportation.

By Command of Brigadier-General Martindale, Military Governor of Washington.

JOHN P. SHERBURNE, Assistant Adjutant-General.



No. 247.

ASSISTANT-QUARTERMASTER'S OFFICE, SIXTH STREET WHARF, WASHINGTON, D. C., January 23, 1863.

Pass on government boat to Aquia Creek, three boxes and one drum, liquors and sutlers' stores strictly excluded.

For Adjutant F. L. Hitchcock, 132 Pa. Vols.

J. M. ROBINSON, Captain and A. Q. M.



The word liquors above is erased with a pen. It is difficult at this day to realize that Washington was surrounded with a cordon of sentries. All places of entrance and exit were under the strictest military surveillance. General Martindale, as its military governor, was supreme in authority. No one could come or go, and nothing be taken in or out, without his permission.

The servant included in the above pass was a "contraband," picked up in Washington for the trip. There were hundreds of them clamoring for an opportunity to get down to the army. They were glad to do all one's drudgery for the chance of going, for once there, plenty of jobs could be found, besides the excitement and attractions of "Uncle Sam's" army were to them irresistible. I reached camp early in the evening and delivered my supplies, the officers being promptly on hand to receive them. The return of an officer from "civilization" was an event of no ordinary moment, and I had many calls that evening. The following anecdote of Major-General Howard was told that evening, apropos of the delivery of the "commissions" I had brought. The general was well known to be uncompromising in his opposition to the presence of liquor of any kind in camp, or elsewhere, and especially among the members of his official family. Yet shortly after the battle of Fredericksburg, one of his staff had a present of a bottle of "old Rye." He put it away until some time during the general's absence he could safely bring it out and treat his fellow-members of the staff. The opportunity came one day when his chief announced his absence at army head-quarters for a couple of hours, and mounted and rode away. The hidden treasure was brought out and due preparation made for the delectation of all hands, and he was in the act of pulling the cork in front of his tent, when, suddenly hearing the clatter of horse's hoofs, he looked up just in time to see the general returning for a forgotten paper. He had barely time to swing the bottle behind his heels as he closed them in the position of a soldier, and arose and respectfully saluted. The position and salute were strictly according to army regulations, but with a general's own staff such formality was not usual. The general evidently caught the situation, for he was tantalizingly deliberate in acknowledging the salute, and finally remarked, with a twinkle in his eye, looking him full in the face: "Mr.——, your position is faultless and your punctiliousness in saluting truly admirable. Were you getting it ready to send to the hospital? Very commendable, indeed; it will do so much good." And to the hospital, of course, it had to go, much to the chagrin of all the staff.

The event of special interest at this time was the movement later known as the "mud march." Troops had for three days been moving up the river, destination, of course, unknown to us, but now they were returning, a most sorry, mud-bedraggled looking crowd. We were glad enough not to have been with them. Our corps had been for a week under marching orders, to move at a moment's notice, but the final order never came, and we were spared this experience. Whatever the movement was designed to be, it was defeated by plain, simple MUD. It should be spelled in the largest capitals, for it was all-powerful at this time. Almost immediately after the movement began, it commenced to rain heavily. The ground was already soggy from previous rains, and it soon became a vast sea of mud. I have already spoken of Virginia mud. It beggars description. Your feet sink into it frequently ankle deep, and you lift them out with a sough. In some places it seemed as bottomless as a pit of quicksand. The old-established roads were measurably passable, but, as I have heretofore explained, most of the troops had to march directly across the fields, and here it proved absolutely impossible to move the wagon-trains and artillery any distance. This was the main reason why the movement had to be abandoned. I saw many wagons down over their hubs, stalled in the mire. And the guns and caissons of a battery of artillery were stalled near our camp, and had to be abandoned for the time. The horses were saved from miring with great difficulty. A few days later the guns and caissons were hauled out with ropes.

There were dead mules and mired and broken wagons all along the route of the marching troops. The number of animals that perished in this futile march must have run up into thousands, killed by exposure over pulling or miring. It should be understood that when the army moves, and the mule trains of ammunition and rations are ordered to move, they must go as long as it is physically possible, mule or no mule. The lives of a thousand mules, more or less, is nothing compared with the necessity of having ammunition and rations at the proper place at the required time. I saw one mule team stalled in one of these sloughs. The heavy wagon was down so that the box was in the mud and the four mules were wallowing in a death struggle to get out. Harness was cut and they were freed, all to no purpose. Their struggles had made the slough like a stiff pudding, which was apparently bottomless; the more they struggled the deeper they got. Finally a chain was hooked about the neck of one of the leaders and fastened to another wagon and the mule hauled out, but with a broken neck. The experiment was repeated in a modified way with the other leader, now over back in the mire, but with no better results. The others had ceased to struggle and were slowly sinking, and were mercifully killed and allowed to bury themselves in the mire, which they speedily did. It may be asked why more civilized methods were not employed to extricate these valuable animals. Why fence rails or timbers were not placed under them as is usual? The answer is, there was not a fence rail nor anything of that nature probably within ten miles. Everything of this kind had long ago been used for fire-wood for the soldiers' cooking. And as for timbers there probably was not a stick nearer than Aquia Creek, more than ten miles away. Again it may be wondered why the chain was not passed around the mule's body rather than his neck. Simply because the former was impossible without running the risk of miring the driver in the slough, and he was not disposed to run any risk of that kind. Had this been practicable, it is doubtful if the result would have been any better, for without padding the chains would have killed or mangled the mule, and there were no means at hand for that purpose. The destruction of this class of property, always very severe under favorable circumstances in the army, was during this mud movement simply appalling. The loss of one or more mules meant an abandonment of the wagon and its contents to the weather in many instances, and the same was true where a team was mired.

The rebels were evidently interested observers of this mud march, for their pickets taunted ours with such questions as "How d'ye like Virginia mud?" "Why don't you 'uns come over?" "How are you, mud?" etc., and they put up rude sign-boards on which were scrawled in large letters, "Burnside stuck in the mud!" "Burnside's name is Mud!" etc.



The "mud march" had evidently settled it that there would be no further attempt to move until better weather conditions prevailed, which could not reasonably be looked for before April, and so we settled down for a winter where we were, back of Falmouth. The several corps were spread out, occupying an area extending from within three miles of Fredericksburg, nearly down to the Potomac. Our corps, the Second, was located nearest to the latter city, and our picket lines covered its front to Falmouth and some miles up the river. Our division, the Third (French's), had the line from the railroad bridge at Fredericksburg to Falmouth, something over two miles. Being now a field-officer, my name was placed on the roster of picket field-officers of the day. My first detail on this duty came almost as soon as my commission. My duties had hitherto been confined almost exclusively to the staff or executive business of the regiment. Further than making the necessary details of officers and men for picket duty, I had never had anything to do with that branch of the service. I had, therefore, only a smattering knowledge of the theory of this duty. It may well be judged, therefore, that I felt very keenly this lack, when I received my order to report for duty as division field-officer of the day, the following morning. Here I was suddenly confronted with the responsibility of the command of the picket forces covering the dividing line between the two hostile armies. A demonstration of the enemy was to be looked for any moment, and it was most likely to occur on our front. I had hoped to have a few days to study up and by observing its practical work get some little idea of my new duties. But here was the detail, and it must be obeyed. It should be explained that the picket line consists of a cordon of sentinels surrounding the army, usually from two to three miles from its camp. Its purpose is to watch the enemy, and guard against being surprised by an attack. Except for this picket line, the main body of troops could never sleep with any degree of safety. To guard against attacks of the enemy would require it to remain perpetually under arms. Whereas with its picket lines properly posted it may with safety relax its vigilance, this duty being transferred to its picket forces. This picket service being a necessity of all armies is a recognized feature of civilized warfare. Hence, hostile armies remaining any length of time in position near each other usually make an agreement that pickets shall not fire upon each other. Such agreement remains in force until a movement of one or the other army commences. Notice of such a movement is, of course, never given. The other party finds out the fact as best it can. Frequently the withdrawal or concealment of the picket line will be its first intimation. Ordinarily, picket duty is not only of the very highest responsibility, but an exceedingly dangerous duty. Until agreements to cease picket-firing are made, every sentinel is a legitimate target for the sentinels or pickets of the enemy, hence extreme vigilance, care, and nerve are required in the performance of this duty.

The picket line in the presence of the enemy is generally posted in three lines,—viz., First, the line of sentries; second, the picket supports, about thirty yards in rear of the sentries, and third, the guard reserves, about three hundred yards farther in the rear, depending upon the topography of the country. Each body constitutes one-third of the entire force, i.e., one-third is constantly on duty as sentinels, one-third as picket supports, and one-third as grand reserves. The changes are made every two hours, usually, so that each sentry serves two hours on "post" and four hours off. The latter four hours are spent half on grand reserve and half as picket supports. The supports are divided into companies, and posted in concealed positions, near enough to the sentry line to be able to give immediate support in case of attack, while the grand reserves, likewise concealed, are held in readiness to come to the assistance of any part of the line. Ordinarily this part of the picket force is able to sleep during its two hours of reserve service. The supports, however, while resting, must remain alert and vigilant. It being the duty of the picket-line to prevent a surprise, it must repel any sort of attack with all its power. In the first instance the sentinel must promptly challenge any party approaching. The usual formula is: "Halt! Who comes there?" The approaching party failing to obey the command to halt, it is his duty to fire at once, even though he be outnumbered a hundred to one, and it cost him his life. Many a faithful sentinel has lost his life in his fidelity to duty under such circumstances. For although the picket is there to prevent a surprise, the attacking party is equally bent on getting the advantage of a surprise, if possible, and many are the ruses adopted to capture sentinels before they can fire their guns. He must fire his gun, even though he be captured or run through with a bayonet the next instant. This gives the alarm, and the other sentries and picket supports open fire at once, and the reserves immediately join them, if necessary, to hold or impede the progress of the enemy. It is thus seen that in case of an attack the picket force finds itself maintaining a fight possibly against the whole opposing army, or whatever the attacking force may be. Fight it must, cost whatever it may, so that time may be gained to sound the "long roll" and assemble the army. Many of our picket fights were so saucy and stubborn that the attacks were nipped in the bud, the enemy believing the army was there opposing them. In the mean time, mounted orderlies would be despatched to army head-quarters with such information of the attack as the officer of the day was able to give.

Having now given some idea of picket service, I return to my own first experiences as field-officer of the day. I was fated to have several rather singular experiences on that first day. The first occurred in connection with my horse. I mounted and started for division head-quarters, about a half-mile away, in ample time to reach there a little before the appointed time—eight o'clock, but reaching the outer edge of our camp my horse balked, and in answer to my efforts to move him began to kick, rear, and plunge. He tried to throw me, and did nearly everything except roll over. Every time I headed him forward, he would wheel around and start back for his stable. I coaxed him, then tried the spur, all to no purpose. I was losing valuable time, besides having a very uncomfortable kind of a fight on hand. I realized I must make him obey me or I could never handle him again. An orderly from General French came galloping over with the expected peremptory message. One minute's delay with him was almost a capital offence. I could only return word that I was doing my best to get there. The general and his staff then rode over to see my performance. He reassured me with the remark, "Stick to him and make him obey you, or kill him." Well, it took just about one hour to conquer him, at the end of which time I had ploughed up several acres of ground, my horse was in a white lather, and I was in the same condition. When he quit, he did so at once, and went on as cleverly as though nothing had happened. The cause of this freak I never understood, he never having done so before, and never did again.



May I digress long enough to speak a little more of this remarkable horse. Dr. Holland says there is always hope for any man who has heart enough to love a good horse. Army life was well calculated to develop the sterling qualities of both man and beast. Hence, I suppose every man who had a good horse could safely regard him as "most remarkable." How many such have I heard cavalrymen talk about, descanting on the "remarkable" qualities of their half-human favorites, whilst the tears wet their cheeks. I had named this splendid animal "Don Fulano," after that superb horse in Winthrop's "John Brent," not because he was a magnificent black charger, etc.; on the contrary, in many respects he was the opposite of the original Don Fulano. Raised upon an unromantic farm near Scranton, an unattractive yellow bay, rather too heavy limbed and too stockily built to be called handsome, yet powerful, courageous, intelligent (he could almost talk), high spirited, with a heavy, shaggy mane and forelock, through which gleamed a pair of keen, fierce eyes, he had many of the qualities which distinguished his noble prototype. He had not the high honor to die carrying a slave to liberty, but when the final accounts come to be squared up in the horses' heaven, it is possible that the credit of having passed unflinchingly through the battles of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, and of having safely carried a wounded soldier off each field may prove to be a little something in favor of my splendid "Don." As a saddler, he came to me practically unbroken. He was sold from the farm because he would jump all fences, yet under the saddle, when I took him, he would not jump the smallest obstacle. This is really as much of an art on the part of the rider as with the horse. An unskilled rider is liable to seriously injure both the horse and himself in jumping. If he is unsteady, the motion of the horse as he rises to make his leap is liable to pitch him over his head. On the other hand, if he clings back, a dead weight in his saddle, he is liable to throw the horse backward. I have seen both done. The secret of successful jumping is to give the horse his head as he rises, feel your knees against his sides firmly, rising with him as he rises and be again in your seat before his feet reach the ground. This helps him and saves both a killing jounce. I finally trained him so that as a jumper he was without a peer in our part of the army. I have had the men hold a pole fully a foot higher than my head, as I stood on the ground, and have jumped him back and forth over it as readily as cats and dogs are taught to jump over one's arm. And the men insisted that he cleared the pole at least a foot each jump.

This jumping of horses was considered quite an accomplishment in the army, it being often a necessity on the march in getting over obstacles. One day I saw our general's son, a young West Pointer, attached to his father's staff, trying to force his Kentucky thoroughbred to jump a creek that ran past division head-quarters. The creek was probably ten to twelve feet wide and, like all Virginia creeks, its banks seemed cut vertically through the soil and the water at the edges was about a foot deep. After repeated trials the best the young man's horse could do was to get his forefeet on the opposite bank. His hindfeet always landed in the water. Mr. West Pointer was way above noticing in any way a poor volunteer plebeian like myself mounted on an old plug like Don. But Don had taken in the situation as well as I, and when I said, "Come, Don, let's us try it," he just gathered himself and sailed over that creek like a bird, landing easily a couple of feet on the other side, and swung around for another try. The young fellow gathered up his thoroughbred and with an oath of disgust retired. Don and I became great friends, and after our fight, above mentioned, in all our practice jumping or on the march, or riding about, I never had occasion to use the spur,—indeed, I seldom wore one. A simple "Come, Don," and he was quick to obey my every wish. He was kind and tractable with others, but it was a singular fact that, as for jumping or any other favors, he would do nothing for anybody but me, not even for my man who took care of him. Others, including horse-trainers, repeatedly asked to try him, thinking they could improve his work, but he drew the line on all; not even a little jump would he make for any of them. I had been jumping him, one day, to the delight and admiration of the men. Among them was a horse-trainer of the Fourth New York, who asked the privilege of trying him. He mounted and brought him cantering up to the pole as though he was going over all right, but instead of making the leap he suddenly whirled, almost dumping the trainer, to the infinite amusement of the men; nor could he induce him to make the leap. I mounted again and he went over, back and forth, without the slightest hesitation. I brought him home from the war, and it was a great grief to me that I was unable to keep him as long as he lived. I secured him a good home, where he lived to a dignified old age. One of my household gods is a photograph of Don and myself, with a section of the camp of Hancock's division of the Second Corps for a background, taken at this time, whilst we lay back of Falmouth.

My second adventure that first day on picket duty occurred shortly after I reached the head-quarters of the picket at the Lacey House, directly opposite the city of Fredericksburg. I had seen the new line posted and the old line relieved, when a grizzly bearded old gentleman rode up and inquired for the "Officer of the day." His dress was exceedingly plain. He wore a much-battered slouch hat down over his eyes, and on the shoulders of his blouse, scarcely discernible, was what had been the silver stars of a brigadier-general. I answered his inquiry by saluting, and then recognized General Alfred Sully, long famed as an Indian fighter before the war. He introduced himself as "Corps officer of the day" and my superior officer for this tour of picket duty. The peculiar thing about his presence was his treatment of me. He evidently saw that he had a greenhorn on hand, for the first question he fired at me was, "How many times have you served as picket officer of the day?" I candidly replied that this was my first experience. "Your knowledge of the duties of officer of the day is somewhat limited?" I admitted the fact. "That is all right," said he with a pleasant smile. "You are just the man I want. You shall remain with me all day, and I will teach you all there is about it." I shall never forget that day's experience with this splendid old officer. I rode with him over the whole corps line in the morning, and after that he made his head-quarters at the Lacey House with me. Our division front, said he, is where an attack is most to be looked for, and then he went over it carefully with me, pointing out the most probable points of attack and how they should be met; what to do at this point and that, and so on, in a most intelligent and entertaining manner gave me the practical idea of a picket defence, out of his long and ample experience as a regular army officer. It was just what I needed and was of the greatest value to me. It was practical experience under a superb instructor. If all the regular army officers I came in contact with had been as kind and considerate as this superb Indian fighter, I should have been equally grateful. Unfortunately, this was not the case. My experience in this respect may have been exceptional, but the instance above narrated is the one solitary case in which my duties brought me in contact with regular army officers that I did not receive a rebuff, frequently most brutal and insulting. Doubtless the lack of knowledge of army customs and routine on the part of us volunteer officers was calculated to try their patience, for they occupied all the higher executive staff positions, and routine business of all kinds had to pass their scrutiny.

But what were they given West Point education and training at the public expense for if not to impart it to those who should be called to fill volunteer positions in times of the country's need? And how should a volunteer, called into the service of his country without a particle of military education, be expected to understand the interminable routine of army red tape? I will dismiss this digression with a single instance of my experience in seeking information from one of the younger West Pointers. It occurred while I was still adjutant and shortly before my promotion. Some special detailed report was called for. There were so many of these wanted, with so many minute and intricate details, that I cannot remember what this particular one was, but they were enough almost to drive a man to drink. This one, I remember, utterly stumped me, and I rode over to Captain Mason, assistant adjutant-general of our brigade, a thoroughly competent officer, for information. He looked at it a moment, then said: "It beats me; but go down to corps head-quarters and you will find Lieutenant——, a regular army officer, whose business it is to give just such information as you require." I rode there at once and inquired for Lieutenant——, as directed. The reply was, "Here he is. What in h——l do you want?" Not specially reassured by this inquiry, I handed him the paper and made known my wishes for information. He literally threw it back at me with the reply, "Go to h——l and find out." I replied that from his manner of speech I appeared to be pretty near there now. I went back to Captain Mason and recounted my experience, to his intense disgust, but that was all that ever came of it. We volunteers learned to avoid a regular officer, especially of the young West Point type, as we would a pestilence.

Returning now to my picket duties of that day, a third incident occurred in the afternoon. The captain of the picket came into our office at the Lacey House with the information that there was a hail from the opposite bank of the river with a flag of truce—a small white flag. We all rushed out, and General Sully directed the captain to take a corporal's guard—a corporal and four men—from his reserve, and go down to the water's edge under a like flag and inquire what was wanted. This formality, he said, was necessary to properly recognize their flag of truce, and to guard against a possible fake or bit of treachery. The reply from the other side was that a young woman in Fredericksburg was exceedingly desirous of reaching her home some distance within the Union lines, and would the Union commander receive a communication upon the subject. General Sully replied that he would receive their communication and forward it to head-quarters, whereupon an orderly was sent over in a boat with the communication. He was unarmed, as were those who rowed him over. The letter was despatched to army head-quarters, whilst the orderly and his boatmen were detained at the landing under guard of our detail. They sat down and in an entirely easy and friendly way chatted with our guard. One would not have believed that these men would shed each other's blood instantly the little white flag was lowered. Yet such was the fact. A half-hour brought a reply to the communication. We, of course, saw neither their letter nor the reply, but my lady was immediately brought over and escorted by a mounted guard to army head-quarters, an ambulance being utilized for the purpose. She was really a very pretty young woman, and evidently a thorough lady, though a spirit of hauteur made it apparent she was a Southerner through and through. She maintained a perfect composure during the formality of her reception into our lines, for the officer from the rebel lines who escorted her required a receipt from the officer who had been sent down from head-quarters to receive her; and the appearance of a pretty woman in our lines was so unusual an event that Uncle Sam's boys may have been pardoned if they were all anxious to get a square view of the charming vision. This receipt had to be made in duplicate, one for each army, both officers, as well as the young woman, attesting it with their signatures. General Sully more than half suspected she was a rebel spy. If she was, they wisely chose a beauty for the work.



CHAPTER XIV

THE WINTER AT FALMOUTH—CONTINUED

During the remainder of the winter at Falmouth, I was on as field-officer of the day about every fifth day, so that I was much of the time at the Lacey House, and on the picket-line described in the foregoing chapter. The scenes here enacted constituted my chief experience at this time. The Lacey House was famous during the war as being the head-quarters of either the picket lines between the two armies or of commanding officers of portions of both so frequently that it deserves more than a passing notice. It was a large old-time brick mansion, beautifully situated on the bank of the Rappahannock, just opposite Fredericksburg, and was, at the outbreak of the war, the private residence of Colonel Lacey, who was at the time I write a colonel in the rebel army. The house was very large; its rooms almost palatial in size, had been finished in richly carved hardwood panels and wainscoting, mostly polished mahogany. They were now denuded of nearly all such elegant wood-work. The latter, with much of the carved furniture, had been appropriated for fire-wood. Pretty expensive fuel? Yes, but not nearly so expensive as the discomfort of staying there without a fire, with the temperature just above the freezing-point, and your feet and body wet through from the rain and slush of the storm outside, in which you were doing picket duty. The only other fuel obtainable was a few soggy green logs; whether these had been cut from the old shade trees surrounding its ample grounds or not I do not know. I more than suspect they had, but the only way they could be made to burn in the old-fashioned open fireplaces was to assist the flames with an occasional piece of dry wood, the supply of which, as long as it lasted, was from the panels, wainscoting, and furniture of the house. Later on the interior doors, all of heavy, elegant hardwood and finished in keeping with the other appointments of the place, had to go. This may seem at this distance as vandalism pure and simple. But if the would-be critic will place himself in the shoes of the soldier doing picket duty that winter, with all its hardships, and then remember that Colonel Lacey, the owner of the place, was not only in active rebellion against the government we were fighting to maintain, but was a colonel commanding a rebel regiment as a part of that great rebel army encamped not a rifle-shot away, which made it necessary for us to do this picket duty, he may reach the same conclusion as did our men, that it was not worth while to freeze ourselves in order to preserve this rebel's property. The large and ample grounds had been laid out with all the artistic care a landscape gardener could bestow upon them. Rare plants, shrubs, and trees from all over the world had been transplanted here in great variety. They were now feeling the bitter blight of war. Army wagons and artillery had made sad havoc of the beautiful grounds, and such of the rare trees and shrubbery as interfered with a good vision of the operations of the rebels in and around Fredericksburg had been ruthlessly removed, and this included the larger part of them.