The Christian Commission had its head-quarters in one wing of the house during this winter. It was presided over by Mrs. John Harris, of Philadelphia, a most benevolent and amiable elderly lady. She was assisted by two or three young women, among whom was a daughter of Justice Grier, of the United States Supreme Court. These ladies were engaged in distributing supplies of various kinds, furnished by this association, to the sick and wounded soldiers in the various hospitals. They had an ambulance at their disposal, and one or two orderlies detailed to assist them. Their work was most gracious and helpful, and they were entitled to the greatest credit for their hard and self-sacrificing labors. The red flag of the hospital floated over them, and such protection as it afforded they had; but it may be well understood that this location between two hostile armies, with active hostilities likely to be resumed any moment, and in the midst of a picket force keenly on the alert night and day, was not likely to be selected as a sanitarium for cases of nervous prostration. The men on picket had reason to remember Mrs. Harris, for those located at the Lacey House daily partook of her bounty in the way of hot coffee, and frequently a dish of good hot soup; and the officers stationed there, usually three or four, were regularly invited to her table for all meals. These invitations were sure to be accepted, for they afforded an opportunity for a partially civilized meal. Her meals were always preceded by a "grace" said by herself, while breakfast was followed by a worship service, at which a chapter from the Bible was read and prayer offered by her. These prayers I shall never forget—their sweet fervency, in which the soldiers came in for a large share of her earnest requests. This large-hearted, motherly little woman made a host of friends among the boys in blue that winter. But her motherly kindness was occasionally taken advantage of by some of those sons of Belial. One of them told this story of his former tour of duty: The weather was beastly uncomfortable, from rain and snow making a slush and mud, through which they had tramped until thoroughly soaked. They concluded they must have some hot whiskey punch. Mother Harris, they knew, had all the necessary ingredients, but how to get them was the question. One of them feigned a sudden attack of colic, and was all doubled up on the floor, groaning piteously. Mother Harris was told of it. Of course, she rushed in to render assistance. In reply to her inquiries, the rascal could think of but one thing that would help him, and that was whiskey. A bottle was instantly produced, and a dose administered which gave partial relief; and now if he only had some hot water he was sure it would relieve him. A pitcher of steaming hot water was immediately sent in. Then it was found that the strong liquor nauseated him, and one of the other scamps suggested that perhaps a lemon would relieve that, and a nice lemon was instantly produced. They had plenty of sugar themselves, and so from good Mother Harris's benevolent provision for the colic these rascals deliberately brewed a pitcher full of excellent hot whiskey punch. They had to invent a number of additional lies to keep her out of the room, but they were equal to it. She sent her orderlies in, one after the other, to inquire how the patient was progressing, and the boys secured a proper message back by letting them in for a swig. I hope the good old lady never discovered the fraud. I am sure she would not have believed anybody who might have undertaken to enlighten her, for her confidence in her "boys in blue" was so unbounded.

Almost every tour of picket duty revealed some new incident. Our pickets were now posted in full view of those of the enemy, and the river was so narrow that conversation between the pickets could be carried on without difficulty. Peremptory orders were issued forbidding our pickets from replying, or in any manner communicating with them, but it required the greatest care and vigilance on the part of all the officers of the picket to enforce this order. One of their sentries would hail one of ours with some friendly remark, and it was difficult to suppress the desire to reply. If a reply was not forthcoming, a nagging ejaculation, calculated to provoke, would follow, such as, "What's the matter, Yank, are ye deaf?" "Maybe ye are afeared o' those d——d officers." "We 'uns don't give a d—— for our officers," and so volley after volley would follow, whilst poor Yank had to continue silently walking his beat. Sometimes the "Johnny" would wind up with a blast of oaths at his silent auditor. Frequently our men would reply if they thought no officer was near to hear; they seemed to feel that it was only decent to be courteous to them. Strange as it may seem, there was a strong disposition to fraternize whenever opportunity offered on the part of the men of both sides. This was manifested daily on this picket-line, not only in talk across the river, but in communication by means of miniature boats. Our men were generally short of tobacco, and the Johnnies had an abundance of this article of the very best quality; on the other hand, our men were "long" on coffee, of which commodity they were "short." So "Johnny" would fix up a trade. "Say, Yank, if I send you over a boat-load of 'backy,' will ye send her back filled with coffee?" If he got an affirmative reply, which he often did, he would place his little boat in the stream with its rudder so fastened that the current would shoot it across a hundred yards or so further down. Yank would watch his opportunity, get the boat, take out its precious cargo of tobacco, reload it with coffee, reverse the rudder, and send it back to "Johnny," who was watching for it further down the stream. Newspapers soon were called for by "Johnny," and became a regular part of the cargo of these boats, for the rebels were wild to get our papers. The exchange of coffee and tobacco was a comparatively harmless matter and would probably have been winked at, but the sending of our Northern papers into their line, containing news of every movement of our forces, was a thing that must be prohibited. A large part of the special instructions of all picket officers related to the suppression of this traffic. Scarcely a day passed that we did not confiscate one or more of these boats. The tobacco our men were allowed to take, but the boat and all rebel newspapers had to be sent to army head-quarters. Some of these miniature boats were marvels of beauty, and showed mechanical skill in construction of the highest order. Others were rude "dugouts." They were generally about thirty inches long, six to ten inches wide, and about six inches deep. They were therefore capable of holding quite a quantity. It was a traffic very difficult to suppress, for our men wanted the tobacco and were unwilling to take that without sending back the proper quid pro quo. I doubt if it was ever altogether stopped that winter. The desire for tobacco on the part of our men was so great that they would break over, and some of the subordinate officers participated in it. These exchanges generally took place in the very early dawn, when the officer of the day and the officers of the picket were not supposed to be around. The officer of the day was required to make the "rounds" of his picket-line once after midnight, and then if everything was all right he could rest, his officers of the picket being responsible to him for their respective sections of the line. What is known in army regulations as the "grand rounds," a ceremonial visiting of the line by the officer of the day, accompanied by a sergeant and detail, was omitted on the picket-line as too noisy and ostentatious. In its place the officer of the day went over his line as quietly as possible, assuring himself that each man was in his proper place and was alert and doing his duty.

The sleepy time was from two o'clock A.M. until daylight, and this was the time I found it necessary to be on the line. It took from two to four hours to get over the entire line and visit every sentry. The line, as I have stated heretofore, extended from the railroad bridge at Fredericksburg to the village of Falmouth, a distance of two and a half to three miles. In the daytime I could ride over it comfortably, but in the night I had to take it on foot. When these were dark as ink, and rainy, and the ground was slushy and muddy, as it usually was at that time, it was not a very agreeable duty. However, my duty was so much lighter than that of the men (who, though they were only two hours on post at a time, were out in the storm all the while), that I could not complain. The fidelity of our men to duty under these trying circumstances was most remarkable. Twice only that winter did I find a man sleeping on post. In both of these cases the delinquent was scarcely more than a boy, who I really believed told the truth when they said they sat down because unable to stand up any longer, and, of course, instantly fell asleep. I had them relieved and sent back to camp, and did not report their offence.

A disagreeable duty I had to perform occurred one morning just at break of day. I had just returned from my trip over the line and was about entering the Lacey House, when I noticed a man running down towards the water's edge on the other side of the river. On these night tours of duty I wore a large cavalry overcoat with a long cape, which thoroughly concealed my rank and sword. I stepped out to the top of the bank to see what this man was doing, and he hailed me with: "Hello, Yank. I am going to send ye over a nice boat, with tobacco and newspapers. Look out and get her, and send her back with coffee and newspapers, and don't let any of your d——d officers get hold of it. If they catch ye they'll raise h——l with you, and swipe the whole business." I did not say a word, but quietly walked down to where I saw the boat would touch the shore and waited for it. In the mean time he kept up a running fire of admonitions like the above, chiefly directed to the need of watching against the vigilance of our d——d officers. I picked up the boat, took it up the bank, and then threw my coat open, disclosing my sword and my sash as officer of the day. Oh! the profanity and billingsgate that followed beggars description. I thought I had heard swearing before, but never anything to touch this fellow, and I really could not blame him very much. He had simply hailed the wrong man. The man he thought he was hailing, seeing my presence, kept out of the way. The boat was a little beauty, one of the handsomest I ever saw. It contained five or six pounds of the best Virginia plug tobacco and several newspapers from Richmond. I would have been glad to have kept the boat as a souvenir, but had to despatch it to head-quarters with all its contents at once. Of course I never saw it again.

The "Johnnies" were not without their fun, as well as our boys. Several times I was saluted by their pickets as officer of the day. Army regulations require the sentry nearest the picket reserve, on seeing the officer of the day approach, to call out, "Turn out the guard, officer of the day." Thereupon the officer of the picket parades his reserves, which presents arms and is then inspected by the officer of the day. The red sash worn crosswise over the shoulder is the insignia of the officer of the day. Several times that winter, as I was riding along our line, a rebel sentry yelled, "Turn out the guard, officer of the day," and a sergeant paraded his guard, faced towards me across the river, and presented arms. Of course, I lifted my cap in acknowledgment of the compliment, even though it was a bit of deviltry on their part. This indicated a grave want of discipline on the part of their troops. I am sure such an act would not have been thought of by our men.

General Burnside was relieved from command of the army on the 26th of January, 1863, and was succeeded by Major-General Joseph Hooker. "Fighting Joe," as he was familiarly called, was justly popular with the army, nevertheless there was general regret at the retirement of Burnside, notwithstanding his ill success. That there was more than the "fates" against him was felt by many, and whether under existing conditions "Fighting Joe" or any one else was likely to achieve any better success was a serious question. However, all felt that the new commander had lots of fight in him, and the old Army of the Potomac was never known to "go back" on such a man. His advent as commander was signalized by a modest order announcing the fact, and matters moved on without a ripple upon the surface. Routine work, drills, and picket duty occupied all our time. Some of our men were required to go on picket duty every other day, so many were off duty from sickness and other causes. Twenty-four hours on picket duty, with only twenty-four hours off between, was certainly very severe duty, yet the men did it without a murmur. When it is understood that this duty required being that whole time out in the most trying weather, usually either rain, sleet, slush, or mud, and constantly awake and alert against a possible attack, one can form an idea of the strain upon physical endurance it involved.

The chief event preceding the Chancellorsville movement was the grand review of the army by President Lincoln and staff. The exact date of this review I do not remember, but it occurred a short time before the movement upon Chancellorsville. Owing to the absence of Colonel Albright and the illness of Lieutenant-Colonel Shreve, the command of the regiment devolved upon me, and I had a funny experience getting ready for it. As a sort of preliminary drill, I concluded I would put the regiment through a practice review on our drill grounds. To do this properly, I had to imagine the presence of a reviewing officer standing before our line at the proper distance of thirty to forty yards. The ceremony involved opening the ranks, which brought the officers to the front of the line, the presenting arms, and dipping the colors, which the reviewing officer, usually a general, acknowledged by lifting his hat and gracefully bowing. I had reached the point in my practice drill where the "present arms" had been executed, and the colors lowered, and had turned to the front myself to complete the ceremony by presenting sword to my imaginary general, when lo! there rose up in front of me, in the proper position, a real reviewing officer in the shape of one of the worst looking army "bums" I ever saw. He assumed the position and dignified carriage of a major-general, lifted his dirty old "cabbage-leaf" cap, and bowed up and down the line with the grace and air of a Wellington, and then he promptly skedaddled. The "boys" caught the situation instantly and were bursting with laughter. Of course I didn't notice the performance, but the effort not to notice it almost used me up. This will illustrate how the army "bummer" never let an opportunity slip for a practical joke, cost what it might. This fellow was a specimen of this genus that was ubiquitous in the army. Every regiment had one or more. They were always dirty and lousy, a sort of tramp, but always on hand at the wrong time and in the wrong place. A little indifferent sort of service could be occasionally worked out of them, but they generally skulked whenever there was business on hand, and then they were so fertile of excuses that somehow they escaped the penalty and turned up again when the "business" was over. Their one specialty was foraging. They were born foragers. What they could not steal was not to be had, and this probably accounts in a measure for their being endured. Their normal occupation was foraging and, incidentally, Sancho Panza like, looking for adventure. They knew more of our movements, and also of those of the enemy, than the commanding general of either. One of the most typical of this class that I knew was a young fellow I had known very well before the war. He was a shining light in society, occupying a high and responsible business position. His one fault was his good-fellowship and disposition to be convivial when off duty. He enlisted among the first, when the war broke out in 1861, and I did not see him again until one day one of this genus "bummer" strayed into our camp. He stuck his head into my tent and wanted to know how "Fred Hitchcock was." I had to take a long second look to dig out from this bunch of rags and filth my one-time Beau Brummel acquaintance at home. His eyes were bleared, and told all too surely the cause of the transformation. His brag was that he had skipped every fight since he enlisted. "It's lots more fun," he said, "to climb a tree well in the rear and see the show. It's perfectly safe, you know, and then you don't get yourself killed and planted. What is the use," he argued, "of getting killed and have a fine monument erected over you, when you can't see it nor make any use of it after it is done? Let the other fellows do that if they want to. I've no use for monuments." Poor fellow, his cynical ideas were his ruin. Better a thousand times had he been "planted" at the front, manfully doing his duty, than to save a worthless life and return with the record of a poltroon, despised by himself and everybody else.

This review by President Lincoln and the new commander-in-chief, General Hooker, was, from a military, spectacular point of view, the chief event of our army experience. It included the whole of the great Army of the Potomac, now numbering upward of one hundred and thirty thousand men, probably its greatest numerical strength of the whole war. Deducting picket details, there were present on this review, it is safe to say, from ninety thousand to one hundred thousand men. It was a remarkable event historically, because so far as I can learn it was the only time this great army was ever paraded in line so that it could be seen all together. In this respect it was the most magnificent military pageant ever witnessed on this continent, far exceeding in its impressive grandeur what has passed into history as the "great review," which preceded the final "muster out" at the close of the war in the city of Washington. At the latter not more than ten thousand men could have been seen at one time, probably not nearly so many, for the eye could take in only the column which filled Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol to the Treasury Building. Whereas, upon our review the army was first drawn up in what is known as three lines of "masses," and one glance of the eye could take in the whole army. Think of it! One hundred thousand men in one sweep of vision! If the word "Selah" in the Psalm means "stop! think! consider!" it would be particularly appropriate here.

A word now about the formation in "lines of masses." Each regiment was formed in column of divisions. To those unfamiliar with military terms, I must explain that this very common formation with large bodies of troops consists in putting two companies together as a division under the command of the senior officer, thus making of a regiment of ten companies a column of five divisions, each two-company front. This was known as "massing" the troops. When so placed in line they were called a line of "masses;" when marching, a column of "masses." It will be seen that the actual frontage of each regiment so formed was the width of two companies only, the other eight companies being formed in like manner in their rear. Now imagine four regiments so formed and placed side by side, fronting on the same line and separated from each other by say fifty feet, and you have a brigade line of masses. The actual frontage of a brigade so formed would be considerably less than that of a single regiment on dress parade. Now take three such brigades, separated from each other by say fifty feet, and you have a division line of masses. Three divisions made up an army corps. The army was formed in three lines of masses, of two corps each, on the large open plain opposite Fredericksburg, to the south and east of where the railroad crossed the river. Each of these lines of masses contained from seventy to eighty regiments of infantry, besides the artillery, which was paraded on the several lines at different intervals. I do not remember seeing any cavalry, and my impression is that this branch of the service was not represented. Some idea may be formed of the magnificence of this spectacle when I state that each of these lines of masses was more than a mile in length, and the depth of the three lines from front to rear, including the spaces between, was not less than four hundred yards, or about one-fifth of a mile. Each of the regiments displayed its two stands of silk colors, one the blue flag representing the State from which it came, the other the national colors. There were here and there a brace of these flags, very conspicuous in their brilliant newness, indicating a fresh accession to the army, but most of them were tattered and torn by shot and shell, whilst a closer look revealed the less conspicuous but more deadly slits and punctures of the minie-balls.

Now place yourself on the right of this army paraded for review and look down the long lines. Try to count the standards as the favoring wind lifts their sacred folds and caressingly shows you their battle scars. You will need to look very closely, lest those miniature penants, far away, whose staffs appear no larger than parlor matches protruding above lines of men, whose forms in the distance have long since merged into a mere bluish gray line, escape your eye. Your numbering will crowd the five hundred mark ere you finish, and you should remember that each of these units represented a thousand men when in the vigor and enthusiasm of patriotic manhood they bravely marched to the front. Only a fifth of them left? you say. And the others? Ah! the battle, the hospital, the prison-pen, the h-ll of war, must be the answer.

How can words describe the scene? This is that magnificent old battered Army of the Potomac. Look upon it; you shall never behold its like again. There have been and may yet be many armies greater in numbers, and possibly, in all the paraphernalia of war, more showy. There can never be another Army of the Potomac, with such a history. As I gazed up and down those massive lines of living men, felt that I was one of them, and saw those battle-scarred flags kissed by the loving breeze, my blood tingled to my very finger-tips, my hair seemed almost to raise straight up, and I said a thousand Confederacies can't whip us. And here I think I grasped the main purpose of this review. It was not simply to give the President a sight of his "strong right arm," as he fondly called the Army of the Potomac, nor General Hooker, its new commander, an opportunity to see his men and them a chance to see their new chief,—though both of these were included,—but it was to give the army a square look at its mighty self, see how large and how strong it really was, that every man might thereby get the same enthusiasm and inspiration that I did, and know that it simply could not be beaten. The enemy, it is not strange to say, were intensely interested spectators of this whole scene, for the review was held in full view of the whole of their army. No place could have been chosen that would better have accommodated their enjoyment of the picture, if such it was, than that open plain, exactly in their front. And we could see them swarming over Marye's Heights and the lines to the south of it, intently gazing upon us. A scene more resplendent with military pageantry and the soul-stirring accessories of war they will never see again. But did it stir their blood? Yes; but with bitterness only, for they must have seen that the task before them of successfully resisting the onslaughts of this army was impossible. Here was disclosed, undoubtedly, another purpose of this grand review, viz., to let the enemy see with their own eyes how powerful the army was with which they had to contend.

A remarkable feature of this review was the marvellous celerity of its formation. The various corps and subdivisions of the army were started on the march for the reviewing ground so as to reach it at about the same time. It should be remembered that most of them were encamped from four to eight miles away. Aides-de-camp with markers by the score were already in position on the plain when the troops arrived, so that there was almost no delay in getting into position. As our column debouched upon the field, there seemed an inextricable mass of marching columns as far as the eye could see. Could order ever be gotten out of it? Yet, presto! the right of the line fell into position, a series of blue blocks, and then on down to the far left, block after block, came upon the line with unerring order and precision, as though it were a long curling whiplash straightening itself out to the tension of a giant hand. And so with each of the other two lines. All were formed simultaneously. Here was not only perfection of military evolution, but the poetry of rhythmic movement. The three lines were all formed within twenty minutes, ready for the reviewing officers.

Almost immediately the blare of the trumpets announced the approach of the latter, and the tall form of the President was seen, accompanied by a large retinue, galloping down the first line. Our division was formed, as I recollect, in the first line, about three hundred yards from the right. The President was mounted on a large, handsome horse, and as he drew near I saw that immediately on his right rode his son, Robert Lincoln, then a bright-looking lad of fourteen to fifteen years, and little "Tad" Lincoln, the idol of his father, was on his left. The latter could not have been more than seven or eight years old. He was mounted on a large horse, and his little feet seemed to stick almost straight out from the saddle. He was round and pudgy, and his jolly little body bobbed up and down like a ball under the stiff canter of his horse. I wondered how he maintained his seat, but he was really a better horseman than his father, for just before reaching our regiment there was a little summer stream ravine, probably a couple of yards wide, that had to be jumped. The horses took it all right, but the President landed on the other side with a terrific jounce, being almost unseated. The boys went over flying, little "Tad" in high glee, like a monkey on a mustang.

Of course, a mighty cheer greeted the President as he galloped down the long line. There was something indescribably weird about that huzzah from the throats of these thousands of men, first full, sonorous, and thrilling, and then as it rolled down that attenuated line gradually fading into a minor strain until it was lost in the distance, only to reappear as the cavalcade returned in front of the second line, first the faintest note of a violin, then rapidly swelling into the full volume, to again die away and for the third time reappear and die away as the third line was reviewed. The President was followed by a large staff dressed in full uniform, which contrasted strongly with his own severely plain black. He wore a high silk hat and a plain frock coat. His face wore that peculiar sombre expression we see in all his photographs, but it lighted up into a half-smile as he occasionally lifted his hat in acknowledgment of the cheering of the men.

About one hundred yards in rear of the President's staff came the new commanding general, "Fighting Joe." He was dressed in the full uniform of a major-general, and was accompanied by his chief of staff, Seth Williams—he who had held this position under every commander of the Army of the Potomac thus far—and a large and brilliant staff. There must have been fully twenty officers of various ranks, from his chief of staff, a general, down through all grades to a lieutenant, in this corps of staff officers. It was the first time I had seen General Hooker to know him. His personal appearance did not belie his reputation. He had a singularly strong, handsome face, sat his superb horse like a king, broad-shouldered and elegantly proportioned in form, with a large, fine head, well covered with rather long hair, now as white as the driven snow and flowing in the wind as he galloped down the line, chapeau in hand; he was a striking and picturesque figure. It was evident the head of the army had lost nothing in personal appearance by its recent change. The same cheering marked the appearance of "Fighting Joe" which had greeted the President, as he and staff galloped down and up and down through the three long lines.

Both reviewing cavalcades moved at a brisk gallop, and occupied only about twenty minutes covering the three miles of lines; and then the President and staff took position, for the marching review, some distance in front and about midway of the lines. Instantly the scene was transformed. The first line wheeled into column by brigades successively and, headed by General Hooker and staff, moved rapidly forward. There were but few bands, and the drum corps had been consolidated into division corps. On passing the President, General Hooker took position by his side and remained throughout the remainder of the ceremony. The troops marched in columns of masses, in the same formation they had stood in line; that is, in column of two companies front and only six yards between divisions. This made a very compact mass of troops, quite unusual in reviews, but was necessary in order to avoid the great length of time that in the usual formation would have been required for the passing of this vast body of men. Yet in this close formation the balance of the day was nearly consumed in marching past the President.

It must have been a trying ordeal to him, as he had to lift his hat as each stand of colors successively dipped in passing. Immediately on passing the President, the several brigades were wheeled out of the column and ordered to quarters. I remember that we returned to our camp, over a mile distant, dismissed the men, and then several of us officers rode back to see the continuation of the pageant. When we got back the second line was only well on its way, which meant that only about half the army had passed in review. We could see from fifteen to twenty thousand men in column—that is to say, about one army corps—at a time. The quick, vigorous step, in rhythmical cadence to the music, the fife and drum, the massive swing, as though every man was actually a part of every other man; the glistening of bayonets like a long ribbon of polished steel, interspersed with the stirring effects of those historic flags, in countless numbers, made a picture impressive beyond the power of description. A picture of the ages. How glad I am to have looked upon it. I could not remain to see the end. When finally I was compelled to leave the third line was marching. I can still see that soul-thrilling column, that massive swing, those flaunting colors, that sheen of burnished steel! Majestic! Incomparable!! Glorious!!!



CHAPTER XV

THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE

An interesting item in the experience that winter at Falmouth was the celebration of St. Patrick's day by the Irish brigade and their multitude of friends. They were encamped about a mile to the south of our brigade upon a beautiful, broad, open plain between the surrounding hills, which gave them a superb parade and drill-ground. Upon this they had laid out a mile race track in excellent shape, and they had provided almost every conceivable sort of amusement that was possible to army life—matches in running, jumping, boxing, climbing the greased pole, sack races, etc. But the usual pig performance had to be omitted owing to the enforced absence of the pig. The appearance of a live porker would have stampeded the army in a wild chase for fresh meat.



The chief events were horse races. The army abounded in excellent thoroughbreds, private property of officers, and all were anxious to show the mettle of their steeds. Everybody was invited to be present and take such part as he pleased in any of the events. It was a royal gala day to the army; from morning until night there were excitement and side-splitting amusement. Nor was there, throughout the whole day, a thing, not even a small fight, that I heard of, to mar the wholesome fun, until towards night our old enemy, John Barleycorn, managed to get in some of his work.

The chief event of the day and the wind-up was a hurdle and ditch race, open to officers only. Hurdles and ditches alternated the course at a distance of two hundred yards, except at the finish, where a hurdle and ditch were together, the ditch behind the hurdle. Such a race was a hare-brained performance in the highest degree; but so was army life at its best, and this was not out of keeping with its surroundings. Excitement was what was wanted, and this was well calculated to produce it.

The hurdles were four and five feet high and did not prove serious obstacles to the jumpers, but the ditches, four and five feet wide and filled with water, proved a bete noir to most of the racers. Some twenty-five, all young staff-officers, started, but few got beyond the first ditch. Many horses that took the hurdle all right positively refused the ditch. Several officers were dumped at the first hurdle, and two were thrown squarely over their horses' heads into the first ditch, and were nice-looking specimens as they crawled out of that bath of muddy water. They were unhurt, however, and remounted and tried it again, with better success.

The crowning incident of the day occurred at the finish of this race at the combination hurdle and ditch. Out of the number who started, only three had compassed safely all the hurdles and ditches and come to the final leap. The horses were about a length apart each. The first took the hurdle in good shape, but failed to reach the further bank of the ditch and fell over sideways into it, carrying down his rider. Whilst they were struggling to get out, the second man practically repeated the performance and fell on the first pair, and the rear man, now unable to check his horse, spurred him over, only to fall on the others. It was a fearful sight for a moment, and it seemed certain that the officers were killed or suffocated in that water, now thick with mud. But a hundred hands were instantly to the rescue, and in less time than it takes to tell it all were gotten out and, strange to say, the horses were unhurt and only one officer seriously injured, a broken leg only to the bad for the escapade. But neither officers nor horses were particularly handsome as they emerged from that ditch. The incident can be set down as a terrific finale to this first and last army celebration of St. Patrick's day.

The tedium of routine duty occupied our time without specially exciting incident until pleasanter weather towards the middle of April brought rumors of impending army movements again. About April 20 we heard the cavalry under Stoneman were on the move, and this was confirmed the next day, when I saw that general with quite a body of cavalry marching leisurely north. The horses appeared in excellent condition after a winter of partial rest. General Stoneman was a large man, with short gray whiskers and gray hair and a strikingly bronzed red face. This story was told of him anent this movement, that Hooker had told him to do something with his horses; to cross the river at one of the fords above and shake out his cavalry, that it was "about time the army saw a dead cavalryman." Stoneman had replied, asking for materials to build bridges with, and "Fighting Joe" had impatiently replied that he wouldn't "give a d——n for a cavalryman who couldn't make a bridge without materials," meaning who could not cross a river without a bridge.

Soon orders came to supply ourselves with extra ammunition, and be prepared to move with six days' rations at a moment's notice. This settled it that "business" was about to commence again in earnest. What the contemplated movement was we had not the remotest idea, though we knew, of course, it was to be another whack in some form at the Johnnies on the other side of the river. We set about disposing of all surplus baggage which had accumulated for winter quarters, and putting everything in trim for field living once more. We could now see columns of troops in the distance marching north. Was the new movement, then, to be in that direction? This was the topic upon all lips. The desire to know something of what was being done with us was naturally very strong. Where were we going? What were we going to do? Yet a desire that in the nature of things could not be satisfied. One can have no conception of the feeling of going day after day blindly ahead, not knowing whither or why; knowing only that sooner or later you are going to fetch up against a fight, and calculating from your surroundings the probabilities of when.

We felt one satisfaction, however, that this was to be our last campaign as a regiment. Most of our men had enlisted in the July previous for nine months, and their time was now practically out; but, to their credit be it said, they would not raise this question during an active movement. There were troops who threw down their arms on the eve of battle and refused to go into action because their time was out. Such action has been severely criticised, and I think uncharitably. After a man has honorably and patriotically served his full time and is entitled to his discharge, it would seem pretty hard to force him to go into battle and be killed or wounded. Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, nearly this whole campaign was overtime for most of our regiment, yet the question was not raised.

On April 28 our corps broke camp and joined the column northward. The winter's rest had brought some accessions to our ranks from the sick and wounded, though the severe picket duty and the excessively damp weather had given us a large sick list. We had, to start with, upward of three hundred and seventy-five men, to which was added some twenty-five or thirty from the sick list, who came up to us on the march. It is a curious fact that many men left sick in camp, unable to march when the regiment leaves, will get themselves together after the former has been gone a few hours and pull out to overtake it. I saw men crying like children because the surgeon had forbidden them going with the regiment. The loneliness and homesickness, or whatever you please to call it, after the regiment has gone are too much for them. They simply cannot endure it, and so they strike out and follow. They will start by easy marches, and they generally improve in health from the moment they start. Courage and nerve are both summoned for the effort, and the result is that at the end of the second or third day they rejoin the regiment and report for duty. This does not mean that they were not really sick, but that will power and exercise have beaten the disease. I have heard many a sick man say he would rather die than be left behind.

We marched about six miles the first day, much of our route being through a wooded country, some of it so wet and spongy that corduroy roads had to be built for the wagons and artillery. The army can, as a rule, move as rapidly as it can move its artillery and supply trains, and no faster. Of course, for short distances and special expeditions, where circumstances require, both cavalry and infantry move very rapidly, ignoring the wagon trains and artillery; but on a general campaign this is impossible, and so where the ground is bad these must be helped along. In a wooded country the usual method is by corduroy road. Extra details are made to assist the pioneer corps, who cut down young saplings three to six inches in diameter and about six feet in length and lay them side by side on the ground, which is roughly levelled to receive them. They do not make a handsome road to speed over, but they bear up the artillery and army schooners, and that is all that is wanted of them.

The second day we crossed the Rappahannock at United States ford on a pontoon bridge. There had been a sharp skirmish here when the first troops crossed a couple of days before, and a battery of artillery was still in position guarding the crossing. We now began to experience once more the unmistakable symptoms of approaching battle,—sharp spurts of cannonading at irregular intervals some distance to the south and west of us, with the hurry of marching troops, ambulances and stretcher corps towards the front; more or less of army debris scattered about, and the nervous bustle everywhere apparent. We reached the famous Chancellorsville House shortly after midnight. This was an old-time hostelry, situated on what was called the Culpeper plank-road. It stood with two or three smaller houses in a cleared square space containing some twenty or thirty acres, in the midst of the densest forest of trees and undergrowth I ever saw. We had marched all day on plank and corduroy roads, through this wild tanglewood forest, most of the time in a drizzling rain, and we had been much delayed by the artillery trains, and it was after midnight when we reached our destination. The distance marched must have been twelve or more miles, and our men became greatly fatigued towards the last.

It was my first experience with the regiment on the march in the field in my new position as major. As adjutant my place had been with the colonel at the head of the column. Now my duties required me to march in the rear and keep up the stragglers. After nightfall it became intensely dark, and at each rest the men would drop down just where they were and would be instantly sound asleep. Whether they dropped down into mud or not made little difference to many of them, for they were soaking wet and were so exhausted that they did not care. My troubles began when the "forward" was sounded, to arouse these seeming logs and get them on their feet once more and started. All who were practically exhausted had drifted to the rear and were on my hands. We had a provost guard in the rear, whose duty it was to bring up every man and permit no straggling, but they were in almost as bad a plight as the rest of the regiment. To arouse these sleeping men I had occasionally to resort to a smart blow with the flat of my sword and follow it up with the most energetic orders and entreaties. An appeal to their pluck and nerve was generally sufficient, and they would summon new courage and push manfully on. My own condition was scarcely better than that of the men. I rode that night considerable distances between our halts for rest, sitting bolt upright in my saddle fast asleep. I had all day alternated with some of the men in marching whilst they rode, and was not only thoroughly tired, but wet through. The march was much more trying to us because of our unseasoned condition owing to the long winter's exemption from this exercise. Furthermore, we had been marching towards the firing, and were under the nervous strain always incident to operations in the presence of the enemy. Nothing will quicker exhaust men than the nervous tension occasioned by the continued firing which indicates the imminence of a battle.

At daylight we were aroused and under arms again. We found we were at the head-quarters of the army. The Chancellorsville House, which had been vacated by its occupants, was used for office purposes, and much of the open space around it was occupied by the tents of General Hooker and staff and hospital tents. Of the latter there were three or four pitched so as to connect with each other, and over them was flying the yellow flag of the corps hospital. The First and Third Divisions of our Second Corps were massed in this Chancellorsville square, beside Pettit's battery. Our brigade now consisted of the Fourth New York, First Delaware, and our regiment. The first named was sent off on some guard duty, which left Colonel Albright, of our regiment, the senior officer in command of the brigade. The ominous rattle of musketry not far away became momentarily more pronounced, and ambulances and stretcher-carriers were passing back and forth to the hospitals, carrying wounded men. The dead body of a regular army captain was soon brought back from the front, where Sykes's division of regulars was sharply engaged. I do not know the name of this captain, but he was a fine-looking young officer. He had been killed by a minie-ball squarely through his forehead.

We were marching out the plank-road as they brought this body in. Passing out of the clearing, the woods and undergrowth each side the road was so dense that we could not see into it a half-dozen steps. We had gone possibly a quarter of a mile when we were overtaken by a staff-officer, who in whispers ordered us to turn back, regardless of orders from the front, and get back to the Chancellorsville House as rapidly as possible, and to do so absolutely noiselessly; that a heavy force of rebels were in the woods on both sides of us, and we were in great danger of being cut to pieces and captured. We obeyed, and he rapidly worked his way to the front of the brigade and succeeded very quickly in getting us all safely out. We formed line near the Chancellorsville House and were resting on our arms when I noticed another brigade going down that same road from which we had just been so hurriedly gotten out. The circumstance was so strange that I inquired what brigade it was, and learned that it was Colonel (afterwards Governor) James A. Beaver's brigade of Hancock's division of our corps. They had been gone but a short time when the rebels opened upon them from both sides of the road, and they were very roughly handled. Colonel Beaver was soon brought back, supposed mortally wounded. I saw him as he was brought to the rear. It was said he was shot through the body. Afterwards, whilst he was governor, I mentioned the circumstance to him, and asked how he succeeded in fighting off the last enemy at that time. He said he then fully believed his wound was mortal. The bullet had struck him nearly midway of his body and appeared to have passed through and out of his back, and he was bleeding freely. He was brought to the hospital, where the corps surgeon—his own family physician at home—found him, and with an expression of countenance indicating the gravest fear proceeded to examine his wound. Suddenly, with a sigh of relief, he exclaimed: "Colonel, you are all right; the ball has struck a rib and followed it around and out." It was one of the hundreds of remarkable freaks performed by those ugly minie-balls during the war. Why that brigade should have been allowed to march into that ambuscade, from which we had so narrowly escaped, I could not understand. It was one of the early faux pas of that unfortunate comedy, rather tragedy of errors,—battle.

In view of the events of the next two days, it will be interesting to recall the somewhat windy order published to the army by General Hooker on the morning of the 1st of May, the date of the first day's battle, on which the events narrated in the last chapter occurred. This is the order:

HEAD-QUARTERS ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, CAMP NEAR FALMOUTH, VA., April 30, 1863.

It is with heartfelt satisfaction the commanding general announces to the army that the operations of the last three days have determined that our enemy must either ingloriously fly or come out from behind his defences and give us battle on our own ground, when certain destruction awaits him.

* * * * *

By command of Major-General Hooker.

S. WILLIAMS, Asst. Adjt.-Gen'l.

My recollection recalls a phrase in this order reading something like this: "We have got the enemy where God Almighty can't save him, and he must either ingloriously," etc. I have been surprised not to find it in the records, and my memory is not alone in this respect, for a lieutenant-colonel of Portland, Me., in his account of this battle alludes to Hooker's blasphemous order.

The purpose of this order was to encourage the men and inspire them with the enthusiasm of forthcoming victory. But when we consider that the portion of the army operating around Chancellorsville was at that very moment apparently as thoroughly caged up in a wilderness of almost impenetrable undergrowth, which made it impossible to move troops, and into which one could not see a dozen feet, as though they were actually behind iron bars, it will be seen how little ground there was for encouragement. I can think of no better comparison of the situation than to liken it to a fleet of ships enveloped in a dense fog endeavoring to operate against another having the advantage of the open.

It will be remembered that when this movement commenced the Army of the Potomac numbered from one hundred and twenty thousand to one hundred and thirty thousand men, about double the opposing rebel force. Hooker divided this army, taking with him four corps, numbering probably seventy thousand men, to operate from Chancellorsville towards Fredericksburg, and leaving three corps, about fifty thousand men, under Sedgwick, to move upon the latter place from below. The purpose was to get Lee's army between these two forces and crush him. All historians of this battle agree that up to a certain point Hooker's strategy was most admirable. General Pleasanton, who commanded our cavalry forces in that action, says that up to a certain point the movement on Chancellorsville was one of the most brilliant in the annals of war. He put that point at the close of Thursday, April 30. He had made a full reconnoissance of all that country and had informed General Hooker of the nature of the ground, that for a depth of from four to five miles it was all unbroken tanglewood of the densest undergrowth, in which it was impossible to manoeuvre an army or to know anything of the movements of the enemy; that beyond this wilderness the country was open and well adapted to military movements, and he had taken occasion to urge upon him the importance of moving forward at once, so as to meet the enemy in open ground, but his information and advice, he tells us, fell upon leaden ears.

Lee had, up to this time, no information of the movement upon Chancellorsville, having been wholly occupied with Sedgwick at Fredericksburg. The former was therefore a complete surprise to him. The "golden moment," according to Pleasanton, to move forward and carry the battle out into the open, where the army could have been handled and would have had a chance, was on that day, as instantly the movement was disclosed, the enemy, being familiar with every foot of the country, would detach a sufficient force to operate in the open, and along the edge of the wilderness could keep us practically bottled up there and beat us in detail; and that is precisely what seems to have been done. The inexplicable question is, Why did fighting "Joe Hooker," with seventy thousand as good troops as ever fired a gun, sit down in the middle of that tanglewood forest and allow Lee to make a monkey of him while Sedgwick was doing such magnificent work below?

Two distinguished participants in all these events holding high commands, namely, General Alfred Pleasanton, quoted above, and General Doubleday, commanding First Division, First Army Corps, have written articles upon this battle, agreeing on the feasibility and brilliancy of the movement, but by inference and things unsaid have practically left the same question suspended in the air. It is possible the correct answer should not now be given.

To return to our own doings, on that Friday, 1st of May, our division was drawn up in line of battle in front of the Chancellorsville House, and we were permitted to rest on our arms. This meant that any moment we might be expected to move forward. The battle was now on in earnest. Heavy firing was heard some miles below us, which was Sedgwick's work at Fredericksburg. Nearer by there was cannonading and more or less severe musketry firing. Ambulances and stretcher-carriers were constantly coming back from the front with wounded soldiers, taking them to the field hospital, which was just in our rear, and we could see the growing piles of amputated legs and arms which were thrown outside with as little care as if they were so many pieces of wood. We were evidently waiting for something, nobody seemed to know what. Everything appeared to be "at heads." Our corps and division commanders, Couch, Hancock, and French, with their staffs, were in close proximity to the troops, and all seemed to be in a condition of nervous uncertainty. What might be progressing in those black woods in front, was the question. A nearer volley of musketry would start everybody up, and we would stand arms in hand, as if expecting the unseen enemy to burst through the woods upon us. Then the firing would slacken and we would drop down again for a time.

In the mean time shells were screeching over us continually, and an occasional bullet would whiz uncomfortably near. The nervous strain under such conditions may be imagined. This state of affairs continued all through Friday night and most of Saturday. Of course, sleep was out of the question for any of our officers. On Thursday and Friday nights the men got snatches of sleep, lying on their arms, between the times all were aroused against some fresh alarm.

On Saturday some beef cattle were driven up and slaughtered in the open square in front of our lines, and the details were progressing with the work of preparing the meat for issue when the storm of disaster of Saturday afternoon burst upon us and their work was rudely interrupted. We had anxious premonitions of this impending storm for some hours. Captain Pettit, who commanded the famous battery of that name, which was posted immediately in our rear, had spent much of his time in the forenoon of Saturday high up in a tall tree which stood just in front of the Chancellorsville House and close to our line, with his field glass reconnoitring. Several times he had come down with information that heavy bodies of the enemy were massing for a blow upon our front and where he believed they would strike. This information, we were told, he imparted to Hooker's chief of staff, and begged permission to open at long range with his rifled guns, but no attention was paid to him. I saw him up the tree and heard some of his ejaculating, which indicated that he was almost wild with apprehension of what was coming. Once on coming down he remarked to General Hancock that we would "catch h——l in less than an hour." The latter seemed to be thoroughly alive to the situation and exceedingly anxious, as were Couch and French, to do something to prepare for what was coming, yet nothing more was done until suddenly the firing, which had been growing in volume and intensity and gradually drawing nearer, developed in a storm of musketry of terrific fury immediately in our right front, apparently not more than three hundred yards away.

We could not see a thing. What there might be between us and it, or whether it was the onslaught of the enemy or the firing of our troops, we knew not. But we had not long to wait. Soon stragglers, few in numbers, began to appear, emerging from the woods into our clearing, and then more of them, these running, and then almost at once an avalanche of panic-stricken, flying men without arms, without knapsacks, many bareheaded, swearing, cursing, a wild, frenzied mob tearing to the rear. Instantly they began to appear, General Couch, commanding our corps, took in the situation and deployed two divisions to catch and hold the fugitives. Part of the Third Corps was also deployed on our left. We were ordered to charge bayonets and permit no man to pass through our ranks. We soon had a seething, howling mob of Dutchmen twenty to thirty feet in depth in front of our line, holding them back on the points of our bayonets, and still they came. Every officer of our division, with drawn sword and pistol, was required to use all possible endeavor to hold them, and threatening to shoot the first man who refused to stand as ordered. General French and staff were galloping up and down our division line assisting in this work.

In the mean time another line of battle was rapidly thrown in between these fugitives and the woods to stay the expected advance of the enemy. This was the famous break of the Eleventh Corps, starting with Blenker's division and finally extending through the whole corps, some fifteen thousand men. It seemed as though the whole army was being stampeded. We soon had a vast throng of these fugitives dammed up in our front, a terrible menace to the integrity of our own line as well as of all in our rear. We were powerless to do anything should the enemy break through, and were in great danger of being ourselves swept away and disintegrated by this frantic mob. All this time the air was filled with shrieking shells from our own batteries as well as those of the enemy, doing, however, little damage beyond adding to the terror of the situation. The noise was deafening. Pandemonium seemed to reign supreme in our front. Our line, as well as that of the Third Corps on our left, was holding firm as a rock. I noticed a general officer, I thought it was General Sickles, was very conspicuous in the vigor of his efforts to hold the line. A couple of fugitives had broken through his line and were rapidly going to the rear. I heard him order them to halt and turn back. One of them turned and cast a look at him, but paid no further attention to his order. He repeated the order in stentorian tones, this time with his pistol levelled, but it was not obeyed, and he fired, dropping the first man dead in his tracks. He again ordered the other man to halt, and it was sullenly obeyed. These men seemed to be almost stupid, deaf to orders or entreaty in their frenzy.

An incident in our own front will illustrate. I noticed some extra commotion near our colors and rushed to see the cause. I found an officer with drawn sword threatening to run the color-sergeant through if he was not allowed to pass. He was a colonel and evidently a German. My orders to him to desist were answered with a curse, and I had to thrust my pistol into his face, with an energetic threat to blow his head off if he made one more move, before he seemed to come to his senses. I then appealed to him to see what an example he as an officer was setting, and demanded that he should get to work and help to stem the flight of his men rather than assist in their demoralization. To his credit be it said, he at once regained his better self, and thenceforth did splendid work up and down amongst these German fugitives, and later on, when they were moved to the rear, he rendered very material assistance. I did not learn who he was, but he was a splendid-looking officer and spoke both English and German fluently.

One may ask why those men should have lost their heads so completely. To answer the question intelligently, one needs to put oneself into their place. The facts as we were told at the time were: That the Eleventh Corps, which contained two divisions of German troops, under Schurz and Blenker (I think Steinwehr commanded the latter division in this action), was posted on the right of Hooker's line in the woods, some distance in front and to the right of the Chancellorsville House. That at the time Stonewall Jackson made his famous attack, above referred to, he caught one of those divisions "napping"—off their guard. They had stacked their guns and knapsacks, and were back some twenty yards, making their evening coffee, when suddenly the rebel skirmishers burst through the brush upon them, followed immediately by the main line, and before they realized it were between these troops and their guns. Consternation reigned supreme in an instant and a helter-skelter flight followed. Jackson followed up this advantage with his usual impetuosity, and although the other divisions of the Eleventh made an effort to hold their ground, this big hole in the line was fatal to them and all were quickly swept away. Of course, the division and brigade commanders were responsible for that unpardonable carelessness. No valid excuse can be made for such criminal want of watchfulness, especially for troops occupying a front line, and which had heard, or should have heard, as we a half mile farther in the rear had, all the premonitions of the coming storm. But it was an incident showing the utter folly of the attempt to maintain a line of battle in the midst of a dense undergrowth, through which nothing could be seen. It is exceedingly doubtful whether they could have held their line against Jackson's onset under those conditions had they been on the alert, for he would have been on and over them almost before they could have seen him. To resist such an onset needs time to deliver a steady volley and then be ready with the bayonet.

It was towards six o'clock in the evening when this flying mob struck our lines, and darkness had fallen before we were rid of them and something like order had been restored. In the mean time it certainly seemed as if everything was going to pieces. I got a little idea of what a panic-stricken army means. The fearful thing about it was, we knew it was terribly contagious, and that with all the uncertainties in that black wilderness from which this mob came and the pandemonium in progress all about us, it might seize our own troops and we be swept away to certain destruction in spite of all our efforts. It is said death rides on horseback with a fleeing army. Nothing can be more horrible. Hence a panic must be stopped, cost what it may. Night undoubtedly came to our rescue with this one.

One of the most heroic deeds I saw done to help stem the fleeing tide of men and restore courage was not the work of a battery, nor a charge of cavalry, but the charge of a band of music! The band of the Fourteenth Connecticut went right out into that open space between our new line and the rebels, with shot and shell crashing all about them, and played "The Star-Spangled Banner," the "Red, White, and Blue," and "Yankee Doodle," and repeated them for fully twenty minutes. They never played better. Did that require nerve? It was undoubtedly the first and only band concert ever given under such conditions. Never was American grit more finely illustrated. Its effect upon the men was magical. Imagine the strains of our grand national hymn, "The Star-Spangled Banner," suddenly bursting upon your ears out of that horrible pandemonium of panic-born yells, mingled with the roaring of musketry and the crashing of artillery. To what may it be likened? The carol of birds in the midst of the blackest thunder-storm? No simile can be adequate. Its strains were clear and thrilling for a moment, then smothered by that fearful din, an instant later sounding bold and clear again, as if it would fearlessly emphasize the refrain, "Our flag is still there."



CHAPTER XVI

THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE—CONTINUED

Recurring again to the incident of the band playing out there between the two hostile lines in the midst of that panic of the Eleventh Corps, it was a remarkable circumstance that none of them were killed. I think one or two were slightly wounded by pieces of exploding shells, and one or two of their instruments carried away scars from that scene. The rebels did not follow up their advantage, as we expected, probably owing to the effective work of our batteries, otherwise they would all have been either killed or captured. None of the enemy came into our clearing that I saw. We must have corralled upward of eight thousand of our demoralized men. Some had their arms, most of them had none, which confirmed the story of their surprise narrated in the last chapter. They were marched to the rear under guard, and thus the further spread of the panic was avoided.

It was now dark and the firing ceased, but only for a few moments, for the two picket-lines were posted so close together, neither knowing exactly where the other was, that both were exceedingly nervous; and the slightest movement, the stepping of a picket, the scurry of a rabbit, would set the firing going again. First it would be the firing of a single musket, then the quick rattle of a half-dozen, then the whole line with the reserves, for all were on the line together there; and then the batteries, of which there were now at least a half-dozen massed right around us, would open with terrific vigor, all firing into the darkness, whence the enemy was supposed to be coming. This continued at short intervals all night long.

After the mob of fugitives had been disposed of, our division had formed in line of battle directly in front of the Chancellorsville House, supporting the provisional line which had been hurriedly thrown in to cover the break of the Eleventh Corps, and we were "resting (?) on our arms." At each of these alarms every man was instantly on his feet, with guns at a "ready." General French and staff were close to us, and General Couch and his staff only a few feet away. All were exceedingly nervous and keenly on the alert. It was a night of terrific experience long to be remembered.

The nervous strain upon all was simply awful. We knew that the Eleventh Corps had been stampeded by the impetuous charge of Stonewall Jackson, and we felt sure he would seek to reap the fruits of the break he had made by an effort to pierce our centre, and this we would have to meet and repel when it came. We did not then know that in the general mix-up of that fateful afternoon that able and intrepid leader had himself fallen and was then dying. This fact, fortunate for us, undoubtedly accounts for the failure of the expected onset to materialize. We could probably have held him, for we had two divisions of the Second Corps and part of the Third Corps in double lines, all comparatively fresh, and before midnight the First Corps was in position on our right. But the slaughter would have been horrible.

After midnight these outbursts became less frequent, and we officers lay down with the men and tried to sleep. I do not think any of our general officers or their staffs even sat down that whole night, so apprehensive were they of the descent of the rebels upon our position. I said in the last chapter that on Saturday morning some beef cattle were slaughtered near our line for issue to our division; that the work of distribution had not been completed before the panic came, and then these carcasses of beef were between ours and the rebel line on "debatable ground." This was too much for some of our men, and two or three crawled out to them during the night and helped themselves to such cuts as they could make from our side. One party next day told of being surprised by hearing cutting on the other side of the beef, and found, on investigating, that a "Johnny" was there, when the following colloquy took place:

"Hello, Johnny, are ye there?"

"Yes, Yank; too bad to let this 'fresh' spoil. I say, Yank, lend me your knife, mine's a poor one. We 'uns and you 'uns is all right here. Yank, I'll help you if you'll help me, and we'll get all we want."

The knife was passed over, and these two foes helped each other in that friendly darkness. How much actual truth there was in this story I do not know, but I do know that there was considerable fresh beef among the men in the morning, and it was not at all unlikely that the Johnnies also profited by the presence of that "fresh" between the lines. Soldiers of either army would run almost any risk to get a bit of fresh beef.

The next morning we were ordered to pile up our knapsacks and make a breastwork of them for such protection as they might afford, in anticipation of the still expected attack. We managed to make a cup of coffee and eat a hardtack without getting off our guard for an instant, and about ten o'clock the First Brigade, now Carroll's, and ours, consisting of two regiments only, the First Delaware and ours, under command of our Colonel Albright, were ordered forward into the woods to the right of the Chancellorsville House. This was the opening of the third day's battle. We moved forward in excellent line until we struck the edge of the woods. The moment the crackling of the brush under our feet apprised the enemy of our advance we received a heavy volley, which must have been very hurriedly delivered, for it passed over our heads, not a man being hit, I think. The morning was lowering and misty and the air very light, so that the smoke made by the rebel volley, not more than fifty yards away, hung like a chalk line and indicated their exact position. The sudden retirement of our lieutenant-colonel at this point placed the command of the regiment on me, and I shouted to the men to aim below that line of smoke and then gave the order, fire by battalion, and we emptied our guns as one man, reloaded, and receiving no reply to our volley, moved forward through the thick brush and undergrowth. We soon came upon the rebel line, and a dreadful sight it was. The first officer I saw was a rebel captain, an Irishman. He ejaculated, "We're all killed! We're all killed!" and offered to surrender. The commanding officer must have suffered the fate of his men. Most of them were either killed or wounded. The hundred or so living promptly threw down their arms, and Colonel Albright sent them to the rear under guard. This Irish captain vouchsafed the remark sotto voce that he was glad to be captured, that he'd been trying to get out of the d——n Confederacy for a year. Our battalion volley had exactly reached its mark and had done fearful execution. There must have been more than two hundred lying there either dead or wounded, marking their line of battle. This was the only instance in my war experience where we delivered a volley as a battalion. The usual order of firing in line of battle is by "file," each man firing as rapidly as he can effectively, without regard to any other man. The volley they had delivered at us was a battalion volley, and it would have effectively disposed of our advance had it been well delivered. Fortunately for us, it was not, and their smoke-line gave us the opportunity to deliver a very effective counter-stroke. It had to be quickly done, we were so close together. There was no time to meditate. It was us or them. Instantly I resolved to give them all we could, aiming well under their line of smoke, and take our chances with the bayonet if necessary. The order was calmly given and the volley was coolly delivered. I have never heard a better one. The value of coolness in delivering and the effectiveness of such a volley were clearly demonstrated in this instance.

We again moved forward, working our way through the tangled undergrowth, and had gained probably five or six hundred yards when we encountered another line, and sharp firing began on both sides. We could see the enemy dodging behind trees and stumps not more than one hundred yards away. We also utilized the same shelter, and therefore suffered comparatively little. Suddenly I found bullets beginning to come from our left and rear as well as from our front. Two of these bullets had been aimed at me as I stood behind a small tree on our line. The first knowledge I had of them was from the splinters of bark in my face from the tree, first one and then the other in quick succession as the bullets struck, not more than three inches from my head. They were fairly good shots. I was thankful they were no better. But now I had to move a couple of companies to the left to meet this flank attack. It did not prove a serious matter, and the enemy was quickly driven back. The same thing was tried shortly after on our right flank, and was again disposed of the same way. They were probably groups of sharpshooters hunting for our officers. One of them, I happened to know, never went back, for I saw one of our sergeants kill him. I was at that moment standing by him, when he clapped his hand to his ear and exclaimed, "That was a 'hot one,'" as a bullet just ticked it. "There is the devil who did it. See him behind that bush?" and with that he aimed and fired. The fellow rolled over dead.

We soon had the better of this fighting and our opponents withdrew. We seemed now to be isolated. We must have been nearly a half mile from where we entered the woods. We could not see nor hear of any troops on our immediate right or left. Colonel Albright came back to consult as to what was best to be done now. The brush and undergrowth were exceedingly dense. What there might be on our right or left we could not know without sending skirmishers out. The colonel said his orders were to advance and engage the enemy. No orders had come to him since our advance commenced, two hours and more before. We had met and beaten two lines of the enemy. Should we continue the advance or retire and get further orders? My advice was to retire; that with our small force, not more than five hundred men, isolated in that dense wood, we were liable to be gobbled up. The colonel agreed with this view and ordered the line faced about and marched to the rear. I mention this consultation over the situation because here we were, two young men, who knew almost nothing about military matters beyond obeying orders, suddenly called upon to exercise judgment in a critical situation. Bravery suggested push ahead and fight. To retire savored of over-prudence. Nevertheless, it seemed to us we had no business remaining out there without connection with other troops on either right or left, and this decided the colonel to order the retreat.

We moved back in line of battle in excellent order and quite leisurely, having no opposition and, so far as we knew, no troops following us. We came out into the clearing just where we had entered the woods two hours before. But here we met a scene that almost froze our blood. During our absence some half-dozen batteries, forty or more guns, had been massed here. Hurried earthworks had been thrown up, covering the knapsacks our brigade had left there when we advanced. These guns were not forty yards away and were just waiting the order to open on those woods right where we were. As we emerged from the brush, our colors, fortunately, were a little in advance, and showed through before the line appeared. Their timely appearance, we were told, saved us from being literally blown to pieces by those batteries. A second later the fatal order would have been given and our brigade would have been wiped out of existence by our own guns!

As we came out of the woods an aide galloped down to us, his face perfectly livid, and in a voice portraying the greatest excitement shouted to Colonel Albright: "What in h——l and d-mnation are you doing here? Get out of here! Those woods are full of rebel troops, and we are just waiting to open on them." Albright replied very coolly, "Save your ammunition. There is not a rebel within a half mile, for we have just marched back that distance absolutely unmolested. Why haven't you sent us orders? We went in here two hours ago, and not an order have we received since." He replied, "We have sent a dozen officers in to you with orders, and they all reported that you had been captured." Albright answered, "They were a lot of cowards, for there hasn't been a minute since we advanced that an officer could not have come directly to us. There is something wrong about this. I will go and see General Hooker." And directing me to move the troops away from the front of those guns, he started for General Hooker's head-quarters, only a short distance away. As I was passing the right of that line of batteries a voice hailed me, and I turned, and there stood one of my old Scranton friends, Captain Frank P. Amsden, in command of his battery. Said he, as he gripped my hand, "Boy, you got out of those woods just in time. Our guns are double-shotted with grape and canister; the word 'fire' was just on my lips when your colors appeared." I saw his gunners standing with their hands on the lanyards. After forty years my blood almost creeps as I recall that narrow escape.

We now moved to the rear across the plank-road from the Chancellorsville House in the woods, where we supported Hancock's line. Colonel Albright soon returned from his visit to Hooker's head-quarters. His account of that visit was most remarkable, and was substantially as follows: "I scratched on the flap of the Hooker head-quarters' tent and instantly an officer appeared and asked what was wanted. I said I must see General Hooker, that I had important information for him. He said, 'You cannot see General Hooker; I am chief of staff; any information you have for the commanding general should be given to me.' I said, 'I must see General Hooker,' and with that pushed myself by him into the tent, and there lay General Hooker, apparently dead drunk. His face and position gave every indication of that condition, and I turned away sick and disgusted." It was subsequently stated that General Hooker was unconscious at that time from the concussion of a shell. That he was standing on the porch of the Chancellorsville House, leaning against one of its supports, when a shell struck it, rendering him unconscious. The incident narrated above occurred about one P.M. on Sunday, May 3. The army was practically without a commander from this time until after sundown of that day, when General Hooker reappeared and in a most conspicuous manner rode around between the lines of the two armies. If he was physically disabled, why was not the fact made known at once to the next officer in rank, whose duty it would have been to have assumed command of the army, and if possible stem the tide of defeat now rapidly overwhelming us? A half-day of most precious time would have been saved. That this was not done I happen to know from the following circumstances.

In our new position we were only about fifty yards behind General Hancock's line. The head-quarters at this time of General Couch, commanding our corps; of General French, commanding our division, and of General Hancock were all at the right of our regiment, behind our line. These generals and their staffs were resting, as were our troops, and they were sitting about, only a few feet away from us. We therefore heard much of their conversation. Directly General Howard joined them. I well remember his remarks concerning the behavior of his corps on the previous afternoon. His chagrin was punctured with the advice of old French to shoot a few dozen of them for example's sake. Naturally, the chief subject of their conversation related to the present situation. It was perfectly clear they regarded it as very critical. We could hear heavy cannonading in the distance towards Fredericksburg. Several times Hancock broke out with a savage oath as he impatiently paced up and down, swinging his sword. "They are knocking Sedgwick to pieces. Why don't we go forward?" or a similar ejaculation, and then, "General Couch, why do you not assume command and order us forward? It is your duty." (The latter was next in rank to Hooker.)

To which General Couch replied, "I cannot assume command." French and Howard agreed with Hancock, but Couch remained imperturbable, saying, "When I am properly informed that General Hooker is disabled and not in command, I shall assume the duty which will devolve upon me." And so hour after hour passed of inactivity at this most critical juncture. They said it was plain Lee was making simply a show of force in our front whilst he had detached a large part of his army and was driving Sedgwick before him down at Fredericksburg. Now, why this period of inactivity whilst Sedgwick was being punished? Why this interregnum in the command? When Colonel Albright returned from his call at Hooker's tent, narrated above, he freely expressed his opinion that Hooker's condition was as stated above. His views were then generally believed by those about head-quarters, and this was understood as the reason why the next officer in rank was not officially notified of his chief's disability and the responsibility of the command placed upon him. Nothing was then said about the concussion of a shell. It is profoundly to be hoped that Colonel Albright's impression was wrong, and that the disability was produced, as alleged, by concussion of a shell. If so, there was a very grave dereliction of duty on the part of his chief of staff in not imparting the fact immediately to General Couch, the officer next in rank, and devolving the command upon him.

In our new position on the afternoon of Sunday, the third day's battle, we were subjected to a continuous fire of skirmishers and sharpshooters, without the ability of replying. We laid up logs for a barricade and protected ourselves as well as we could. Several were wounded during the afternoon, among them Captain Hall, of Company I. His was a most singular wound. We were all lying prone upon the ground, when suddenly he spoke rather sharply and said he had got a clip on his knee. He said it was an insignificant flesh wound, but his leg was benumbed. He tried to step on it, but could not bear his weight on it, and very soon it became exceedingly painful, and his ankle swelled to double its natural size. He was taken back to one of the hospitals, where it was found a minie-ball had entered his leg above the knee and passed down between the bones to the ankle, where it was removed. This practically ended the service of one of the youngest of our captains, a brave and brilliant young officer.

Towards night a cold, drizzling rain set in, which chilled us to our bones. We could not have any fires, not even to make our coffee, for fear of disclosing our position to the enemy. For four days now we had been continuously under the terrible nervous strain incident to a battle and practically without any rest or sleep. During this time we had no cooked food, nothing but hardtack and raw pork and coffee but once. This condition began to tell upon us all. I had been under the weather when the movement began, and was ordered by our surgeon to remain behind, but I said no, not as long as I could get around. Now I found my strength had reached its limit, and I took that officer's advice, with the colonel's orders, and went back to the division field hospital to get under cover from the rain and get a night's sleep if possible.

I found a half-dozen hospital tents standing together as one hospital, and all full to overflowing with sick and wounded men. Our brigade surgeon, a personal friend, was in charge. He finally found a place for me just under the edge of one of the tents, where I could keep part of the rain off. He brought me a stiff dose of whiskey and quinine, the universal war remedy, and I drank it and lay down, and was asleep in less time than it takes me to write it.

About midnight the surgeon came and aroused me with the information that the army was moving back across the river, and that all in the hospital who could march were ordered to make their way back as best they could; that of the others the ambulances would carry all they could and the others would be left. This was astounding information. My first impulse was, of course, to return to my regiment, but the doctor negatived that emphatically by saying, "You are under my orders here, and my instructions are to send you all directly back to the ford and across the river; and then the army is already on the march, and you might as well attempt to find a needle in a haystack as undertake to find your regiment in these woods in this darkness." If his first reason had not been sufficient, the latter one was quite convincing. I realized at once the utter madness of any attempt to reach the regiment, at the same time that in this night tramp back over the river, some eight miles, I had a job that would tax my strength to the utmost. The doctor had found one of the men of our regiment who was sick, and bidding us help each other started us back over the old plank-road.

How shall I describe the experiences of that night's tramp? The night was intensely dark and it was raining hard. The plank-road was such only in name. What few remnants remained of the old planks were rotten and were a constant menace to our footing. I must have had more than a dozen falls during that march from those broken planks, until face, arms, and legs were a mass of bruises. We were told to push forward as rapidly as we could to keep ahead of the great rabble of sick and wounded which was to follow immediately. This we tried to do, though the road was now crowded with the occupants of the other hospitals already on their way. These men were all either sick or wounded, and were making their way with the greatest difficulty, most of them in silence, but there was an occasional one whose tongue gave expression to every possible mishap in outbursts of the most shocking profanity. There were enough of these to make the night hideous.

Our road was a track just wide enough to admit a single wagon through the densest jungle of timber and undergrowth I ever saw. I cannot imagine the famed jungles of Africa more dense or impenetrable, and it seemed to be without end as we wearily plodded on hour after hour, now stepping into a hole and sprawling in the mud, again stumbling against a stolid neighbor and being in turn jostled by him, with an oath for being in his way. Many a poor fellow fell, too exhausted to rise, and we were too nearly dead to do more than mechanically note the fact.

Towards morning a quartette of men overtook us carrying a man on their shoulders. As they drew near us one of the forward pair stumbled and fell, and down came the body into the mud with a swash. If the body was not dead, the fall killed it, for it neither moved nor uttered a sound. With a fearful objurgation they went on and left it, and we did not have life enough left in us to make any investigation. It was like the case of a man on the verge of drowning seeing others perishing without the ability to help. It was a serious question whether we could pull ourselves through or should be obliged to drop in our tracks, to be run over and crushed or trampled to death, as many a poor fellow was that night. We had not an ounce of strength, nor had any of the hundreds of others in our condition, to bestow on those who could not longer care for themselves. Here it was every man for himself. This night's experience was a horrible nightmare.

It was long after daylight when we crawled out of those woods and reached United States ford. Here a pontoon bridge had been thrown over, and a double column of troops and a battery of artillery were crossing at the same time. We pushed ourselves into the throng, as to which there was no semblance of order, and were soon on the other side. On the top of the bluff, some one hundred feet above the river, on our side, we noticed a hospital tent, and we thought if we could reach that we might find shelter and rest, for it was still raining and we were drenched to the skin, and so cold that our faces were blue and our teeth chattered. A last effort landed us at this hospital. Alas for our hopes! it was crowded like sardines in a box with others who in like condition had reached it before us. I stuck my head in the tent. One glance was enough. The surgeon in charge, in answer to our mute appeal, said, "God help you, boys; I cannot. But here is a bottle of whiskey, take a good drink; it will do you good." We took a corking dose, nearly half the bottle, and lay down, spoon fashion, my comrade and I, by the side of that tent in the rain and slept for about an hour, until the stimulus of the liquor passed off and the cold began again to assert itself, when we had to start on again. I have never had any use for liquors in my life, and the use of them in any form as a beverage I consider as nothing else than harmful in the highest degree, yet I have always felt that this big dose of whiskey saved my life. Could we have had a good cup of hot coffee at that time it would possibly have been better, but we might as well have looked for lodgings in the Waldorf-Astoria as for coffee at that time and place. Imagine my feelings during all this night as I reflected that I had a good horse, overcoat, and gum blanket somewhere,—yes, somewhere, back, or wherever my regiment might be,—and here I was soaking wet, chilled to the bones and almost dead from tramping.

We got word at the Ford that the troops were to go back to their old camps, and there was nothing for us to do but to make our way back there as best we might. Soon after we started Colonel (afterwards Judge Dana, of Wilkes-Barre) Dana's regiment passed. The colonel hailed me and kindly inquired why I happened to be there by myself on foot, said I looked most wretched, and insisted on my taking another bracer from a little emergency stock he had preserved. I had been but a few months out of his law office, from which I had been admitted to the bar. His kindly attentions under these limited circumstances were very cheering and helpful. We were all day covering the eight or more miles back to camp. But early in the day the rain ceased, the sun came out, we got warmed up marching, and after some hours our clothes became sufficiently dry to be more comfortable, so that when we reached camp in the evening our condition was much improved. This was due in part probably as much to the relief from the awful nervous strain of the battle and the conditions through which we had passed in that wilderness as to rest and the changed weather. When we reached this side of the river that nervous strain ceased. We were sure that fighting was over, at least for the present. We found the regiment had been in camp some hours ahead of us. Our corps was probably on the march when we left the hospital, and had preceded us all the way back. I found my horse had brought back one of our wounded men, and this was some compensation for my own loss.

We had been gone on this campaign from the 29th of April until the 5th of May, and such a week! How much that was horrible had been crowded into it. For variety of experiences of the many dreadful sides of war, that week far exceeded any other like period of our service. The fighting was boy's play compared with either Antietam or Fredericksburg, yet for ninety-six hours continuously we were under the terrible nervous strain of battle. Our losses in this action were comparatively light, 2 men killed, 2 officers wounded (one of whom died a few days later), and 39 men wounded, and one man missing; total loss, 44, or about fifteen per cent. of the number we took into action. This missing man I met at the recent reunion of our regiment. He was picked up from our skirmish line by that flanking party of rebels on the third day's fight described in my last. The circumstance will show how close the rebels were upon us before we discovered them. Our skirmishers could not have been more than a dozen yards in advance of our main line, yet the thicket was so dense that the enemy was on him before he fairly realized it. He said he was placed with a lot of other prisoners and marched to the rear some distance, under guard, when a fine-looking Confederate officer rode up to them. He was told it was General Lee. He said he wore long, bushy whiskers and addressed them with a cheery,—

"Good-morning, boys. What did you come down here for? a picnic? You didn't think you could whip us men of the South, did you?"

One of the prisoners spoke up in reply,—

"Yes, d——n you, we did, and we will. You haven't won this fight yet, and Joe Hooker will lick h——l out of you and recapture us before you get us out of these woods."

The general laughed good-naturedly at the banter his questions had elicited, and solemnly assured them that there were not men enough in the whole North to take Richmond. Our man was probably misinformed as to who their interlocutor was. General Lee did not wear long, bushy whiskers, and was at that time probably down directing operations against Fredericksburg. This was probably Jeb Stuart, who had succeeded Jackson in command of that wing of the rebel army.

Our prisoner fared much better than most prisoners, for it was his good fortune to be exchanged after twenty-three days' durance, probably owing to the expiration of his term of service. Although the actual dates of enlistment of our men were all in July and their terms therefore expired, the government insisted upon holding us for the full period of nine months from the date of actual muster into the United States service, which would not be completed until the 14th of May. We had, therefore, eight days' service remaining after our return from the battle of Chancellorsville, and we were continued in all duties just as though we had months yet to serve. Our principal work was the old routine of picket duty again. Our friends, the enemy, were now quick to tantalize our pickets with the defeat at Chancellorsville. Such remarks as these were volleyed at us: