Part 2

On the 12th day of July Companies A and F under marching orders, left Fort No. 1 and Baltimore for Washington City, where we arrived early the next morning. We lay at the depot until ten o’clock, when we were ordered to “fall in” and with the balance of the Regiment marched up Pennsylvania Ave., greeted by the cheers of the crowds who lined the sidewalks and filled the windows of the buildings. We marched past the White House and the Treasury buildings. At the latter we saw President Lincoln on the steps waving his high hat as we marched by. We went over into Georgetown, where, after a short rest, we joined the 19th Corps in the chase of Early, who, after being repulsed at Fort Stephens retreated to the Shenandoah Valley. We marched to Edwards Ferry, on the Potomac, which we forded about five o’clock in the evening. Disrobing, we tied our clothes around our guns, and at “right shoulder shift arms” entered the water. It was an amusing sight to look up and across the river, at the boys struggling through the water. It was about waist deep and some current. The rocks on the river bottom were slippery, and every little while a boy would go down, gun, clothes and all under water, to struggle on again amid the cheers and laughter of his comrades. But we finally all crossed over and we were told not to dress until we had forded Goose Creek which entered the Potomac a short distance ahead. Early in his haste to get away had burned some of his wagons on the road, and we, in our bare feet had to pick our way carefully through the ashes, which were still glowing. It was amusing. We camped that night on the banks of Goose Creek. The next morning early the march was resumed and we went into camp at Leesburg, Va., where we rested the balance of the day and night. We were ordered to guard the wagon train, and by easy marches reached Snickers Gap on July 17. Our train was halted about a mile back of the Gap and our Regiment camped on a mountain side.

CATTLE IN THE CORN.

While resting in the camp on this mountain slope, from which the corn fields stretched away for miles, the army cattle were driven up, the fence bars were let down and the cattle turned in to a large field, beautiful in its waving green product. In one hour’s time that field looked like new ploughed ground, not a green blade was left. The army advanced to the Gap, and in crossing the ford the enemy opened fire upon them, and a brisk engagement followed. From our position we could hear the cannon and see the smoke of the battle. This continued until sunset. We were ordered out on picket, and took our posts in the woods, being cautioned to keep a sharp outlook. Our troops began to fall back, and our second sergeant brought in the pickets exclaiming in breathless haste “The army is cut to pieces and in full retreat.”

Of course we hurried back into ranks, drew forty rounds of cartridges, and, guarding the wagon train started on the “double quick” for Washington. This was at nine o’clock at night. We marched without a stop until eight o’clock the next morning, when we halted at Leesburg. That night in passing through burning pine woods the train was fired upon from ambush and some were wounded. During this hard night march the men walked along nearly asleep on their feet, and if there was a temporary halt they dropped in the dusty road, asleep instantly. After a short rest at Leesburg we pushed on and went into camp near “Chain Bridge” at Washington. We arrived at night, completely worn out from our long forced march. The Regiment stacked arms, spread blankets on the ground and lay down to sleep. We lay upon our gum blankets and covered with the woolen ones. During the night it turned quite cool and rained hard. We were soaked through when we awoke in the morning. We started fires, made coffee, ate some hard tack, then wrapping our blankets around us, sat down in the mud to silent meditation. It rained hard until about noon, then began to break away. By night it was clear and we had a good sleep.

The next morning, July 21st, we drew new shoes, formed ranks, crossed the bridge and followed the Sixth Corps who were just breaking camp as we came up. We marched through Maryland via Rockville to the battle field of Monocacy, which we passed over. We saw there the signs of the fierce fighting, the high fences full of bullet holes, and the grain stacks that obstructed Gordon’s advance. We forded the river and marched on through Frederick city. Some of the boys of Company A at this point “straggled” and slept in the fields just beyond the town. They came up with the regiment the next day in time to draw rations, and resumed the march until we reached Harper’s Ferry. Somewhere on this march an incident occurred that made an impression upon my mind that I will never forget. I call it

THE NEGRO CABIN IN THE VALE

The army had halted at noon for a little rest and dinner. Four of us, comrades, went into the woods in search of berries. Pushing along through the pines we came to a deep valley in which was a little clearing and a small log cabin. A tiny brook flowed down the vale, and the dark pine woods shut in a scene of beauty. It was the home of a negro family, who were all out in front, listening to the banjo played by one of our colored teamsters. He was a fat, oily, good natured fellow, black as ink. Seated on a stump with his eyes rolling in ecstacy and a broad grin showing his ivory teeth, he was an example of the happy, carefree contraband of those days. After listening awhile we passed on and after getting some blackberries we returned the same way. The family were seated at dinner and when we looked in, saw the white table cloth and the dishes, with the family and the banjo player seated around the table, eating, our mouths watered and we wished we could sit with them. Thoughts of home and of our friends, at their tables in the distant north, filled our minds as we made our way back to the dusty turnpike and again took up the weary march. This scene was an oasis in our desert of dust, and its memory is pleasant.

THE NEGROES

While marching one hot, dusty day, a little negro boy, about ten years of age, came out from a farm house and walked along with us, on his road to freedom. After marching awhile he became very thirsty and appealed from one soldier to another for a drink of water. He was refused by several but his thirst increased and he became desperate. Rolling his eyes in agony, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, he exclaimed, “Please sir! for the love of God, Massa, give dis heah poor nigga a drink of water.” We could not withstand such an appeal so we gave him a drink from our canteen. I suppose he became tired and went back home where there was plenty of water, at least we heard no more of him.

We did not see many negroes during our service. They hid away when the army passed. Occasionally we would catch a glimpse of a colored woman peeping from a door or window grinning at us. Two boys came back with us from Virginia. By passing as body servants we brought them through to Chillicothe. One was a black, ignorant fellow, by the name of Henry. He was about town for several years, employed as a hosler. The other was a bright mulatto, intelligent in conversation, but unable to read or write. He was anxious to get an education. We afterward heard of him as a school teacher near Chillicothe.

The negro could always be depended upon to assist Union soldiers in their efforts to escape from prison, and they approached their cabins with confidence, knowing that they would give them shelter and share their last morsel of food with him, and guide him along his way. Many a weary, hungry soldier has blessed the memory of his kind benefactors, with black faces and white hearts. This was the experience of our two boys, Cook and Martin, who escaped from Mosby, and has been the experience of hundreds of others, who, escaping from the prison pens of the south with the north star as a guide made their way through rugged mountains and trackless forests, back to “God’s country.”

From Frederick, the army marched on to Harper’s Ferry. Crossing the “Pontoon bridge” we passed through the town and went into camp at Halltown. We reached this camp on July 23d and remained there two days. The Sixth and Nineteenth Corps having passed up the Shenandoah Valley in pursuit of Early. Gen. Crook’s forces engaged Early at Kernstown, but losing heavily, had been forced back to the Potomac. This reverse caused our forces to fall back to Maryland Heights. On July 25th our Regiment “fell in” on the left and began what is known as the terrific “hot march” The sun was blistering, the heat seemed concentrated in the valley, while the dust rising in clouds was suffocating. As we plodded along on this short march of four miles, men could be seen dropping from sunstroke. I saw an officer throw up his hands and fall backward off his horse. Comrades pulled them to the roadside and did what they could for them. It was reported that thirty-five men had suffered sunstroke on that hot afternoon.

We crossed the Potomac and began the ascent of Maryland Heights, arriving at the summit about sunset. The view from the top of the mountain was grand. Tier after tier of blue mountains fading away in the distance, while a rebel wagon train moved slowly up the valley, shrouded in a cloud of dust that looked like it was a mile high. That night there came a welcome shower. The next morning we were ordered down and again took up the march back to Monocacy junction. Our Commanding General Kenley made the remark, “the boys were taken to the top of the mountain to see the sun set.” We arrived at the junction in the evening and rested. In the mean time our officers heard of the second invasion of Pennsylvania. General McClausland with a body of Confederate Horse crossed the river and pushed on to Chambersburg where he made a demand upon the citizens for the sum of $500,000, threatening that if it was not paid to burn the place. It was impossible for them to raise this amount of money so he fired the city, reducing it to ashes. This was one of the most cruel, wanton acts of the war, perpetrated upon defenceless citizens. While we were rushing frantically up and down the valley of the Shenandoah trying to find Early, his forces were marching through Pennsylvania marauding at their leisure. At this time Gen. Grant came over from Washington to consult with his Generals in regard to the situation. While standing on the station platform I heard the following conversation between Generals Grant and Hunter. Grant said, “General Hunter, where is the enemy?” Hunter replied, with a tremor in his voice, “I don’t know, General.” At this Grant in anger, exclaimed, “Move your troops back to Harper’s Ferry, cut off his line of retreat and you will find out.”

Orders were immediately given to return to the Ferry and the infantry boarded a freight train and were rushed back to Harper’s Ferry. McClausland in the meantime retired from his raid and escaped to the south. We marched to our old camp ground at Halltown, arriving there July 28th. We remained quietly here for two weeks. During this time our boys, taking advantage of a well earned rest, engaged in all kinds of pranks and amusements. We were paid off while here so we had some money. The most striking event occurring here was

THE WRECK OF THE SUTLER

Sutlers, driving out from Baltimore, followed in the wake of the paymasters, striking the camps when the boys had money, would sell their wares at very high prices. A sutler drove up to the camp and had a lively trade all day. He was finally ordered to move on by our officers and toward dusk drove off. He was followed in the dark by a squad from the Sixth Corps and three boys of Company A. His outfit was new, with a fine team of horses. He drove along unconscious of danger. As he began to pull up a hill with a high bank of a creek on one side, the soldiers quietly unscrewed the nuts of the axletrees on that side, and horses, wagon and driver rolled over into the creek. That night the camp was full of delicacies, hams, cheeses, cakes, cans of condensed milk, etc., all hidden in convenient bushes. The sutler made a great ado about it but the soldiers were all so innocent when brought before the officers that the sutler could not fix the blame upon any particular ones, so he was advised to return to Baltimore as quickly as possible. He went.

At this time dissatisfaction with Hunter’s policies became acute, and he tendered his resignation. Gen. Grant had for some time been contemplating organizing a new department to be known as the Army of the Shenandoah with Gen. Phil. Sheridan at its head. Fears had been felt that Sheridan was too young for such an important position. Grant, however, had confidence that the right man had been found for the place. Accordingly Sheridan was placed in command on August 7th and at once began organizing his army. General Sheridan’s force consisted of the Sixth Corps, one division of the Nineteenth Corps and two divisions from W. Virginia under Crook, with Averell’s and Torbett’s divisions of Cavalry. The Sixth Corps was commanded by Major Gen. Horatio G. Wright, an engineer of high reputation but one of the few engineers who had shown marked competency for a high command in the field. The divisions of this Corps were commanded by those splendid officers, Gens. Geo. W. Getty, David A. Russell and James B. Ricketts. Gen. William H. Emory was in command of the Nineteenth Corps. Brigadier Gen. George Crook commanded the two small divisions which represented the army of West Virginia. Brigadier John C. Kenley’s independent brigade consisted of the 144th and 149th Ohio, the 3d Maryland Infantry, and Alexander’s battery of Light Artillery. It was an imposing army of young men, numbering 30,000 Infantry and 10,000 Cavalry. On the 12th of August Sheridan moved up the valley, passing along the road near our camp. The General and his staff rode at the head of the column. The cavalry came next riding in columns of four, followed by the Sixth and Nineteenth Corps, the army of West Virginia and the Artillery. Our brigade was detailed to guard the wagon train.

The mere statement gives no idea of the magnitude of this force, but when I say that it took an entire day to pass our camp, the Cavalry and Infantry in column of fours, some idea may be had of the grandeur of this army. They were moving against Early, for the authorities at Washington had become tired of the harassing raids of the rebels into the north through the Shenandoah, which had almost become “the valley of humiliation” to them. Our brigade was distributed through the length of the train, each company in charge of thirty wagons. The day was pleasant when we started. We marched through Charlestown where they had hung John Brown. The place seemed deserted, the only sign of life being a negro woman peeping at us from a half closed door. We pushed on, we had orders to make Winchester by the next morning, for the army needed supplies.

Soon after dark, in spite of warning from the officers, the men began to straggle, dropping out of ranks; some were getting into wagons, others climbing the fences and sleeping in the fields, expecting to overtake their command by morning. My chum, James Ghormley, and myself, after marching until eleven o’clock at night, concluded that we were too tired to go any longer that night, and that a good sleep was just what we needed. We were within two miles of Berryville when this notion entered our heads. When we awoke daylight was just visible, and we hurried on to overtake our Regiment, expecting to boil coffee at the first fire we came to. We walked on and soon came to where the train had “parked,” that is, had encamped for the night, and were just pulling out. It has been said that this stop was made without orders from our officers, but that the rebels, riding along during the night dressed in our uniform, saying they were aids, had given these orders, their object being to cut off the train and attack it for plunder. Our little squad soon came to where a company of the 144th Ohio were cooking breakfast. We asked permission to boil coffee at their fire. This was readily given. We stacked arms, and our coffee had just come to a boil when “bang! bang!” came two artillery shots at us, scattering the limbs of the trees above our heads. These shots were followed by a volley from a clump of woods. Then they charged, yelling as they came. They were Mosby’s Guerrillas, 400 strong, made up of raiders, who disbanded when too hardly pressed and became the innocent farmers of the valley. We grasped our guns, leveled them over the stone wall, gave them one volley, when the Captain in command gave the order to scatter and save ourselves. Well, we ran. In the confusion Ghormley and I became separated and I saw him no more. I was with the most of the company going up a steep lane toward a farm house, about half a mile from the road, passed through a patch of corn and an orchard, and came to the house. A man was sitting on the porch, and he told me to run to the barn. I took his advice. The barn was a mow on stilts, open on every side, and stood on high ground. I stopped for a moment and looked over the field. The raiders were shooting our men down in every direction. I climbed into the hay mow. If I hadn’t this story would never have been written. Like the Irishman who was asked if he run at the battle of Bull Run. “Shure I did, them that didn’t run are there yet.” The fight was hot for a little while, but Mosby hurried for fear of the army ahead. He captured 200 prisoners, 600 head of cattle and burned 70 wagons. He expected to get the paymaster, who was with us, with money for the army. The paymaster was shrewd; he had packed the money in a cracker box and placed it in a wagon, keeping his strong box in his own vehicle. During the fight this cracker box was tumbled down the banks of a little creek that ran through the field. I saw it lying there and after the skirmish the paymaster came back and got it. This attack was a complete surprise and was a great loss to Sheridan’s army. I joined our boys who were gathering together on the field. As I passed through the house lot I saw lying on his face the body of a handsome young lieutenant, who was shot by one of our company. The ball entered his forehead and scattered his brains. He was Lieut. Eddy of Mosby’s men, a member of one of the good families in Richmond, Va. Gen. Mosby lamented his loss greatly, he being one of his most trusted men. Our Colonel and Adjutant came riding back in full gallop and hastily reformed the men, formed a skirmish line and scoured the field, picking up discarded arms and compelling an old man who had come to the field with a mule and cart, to pick up what he could and to haul them on to Winchester. We guarded the wagons that were left on to Winchester, where we found the Regiment. That night we slept on the stone pavements of the town and on the next day were sent out on picket, south of the town. We remained there two nights and a day. On the 15th of August we started on our return early in the morning. Before starting Col. Brown made a speech to the Regiment in which he berated them for straggling in the enemy’s country, said “he would punish severely any disobedience of his orders.” We reached Berryville at noon and camped at the farm where the fight had taken place. Two wounded men of the 144th were lying on the porch of the house. They informed us that almost every man of their company had been captured. The 144th lost 130 men in this engagement. Lieut. Eddy had been buried in a shallow grave in one corner of the house lot. We kept a sharp outlook for our missing comrades, hoping that they had made their way back to Harper’s Ferry.

On this return march occurred one of those events that made an impression never to be forgotten.

JOHN BROWN’S BODY

It was nine o’clock at night on a beautiful summer night. The moon shone brightly through the dark pines on the mountains, and glistened across the guns of the great army that marched down the turnpike into old Charlestown. The men were weary and foot sore from their long marches and were swinging along carelessly. Suddenly someone started singing “John Brown’s body lies a moldering in the tomb.” Companies, Regiments and Corps took up the refrain, tired bodies straightened up, and took step to the music. The grand chorus rang out “Glory, glory hallelujah” until the mountains gave back the echo “Glory, glory hallelujah” as though the hosts of Heaven were joining in the refrain “His soul is marching on.” It was the song of triumph, and if the spirits of the departed know of things on earth surely the shade of old John Brown was gratified. Here he was hung, and in the graveyard his body was lying “Moldering in the tomb,” but his soul was marching on in the ranks of the thirty thousand soldiers who on that night marched through Charlestown keeping step to the grand chorus, “Glory, glory hallelujah.”

We marched on and went into camp on Bolivar Heights, near Harper’s Perry. Here we were joined by John Cook and Jeff Martin of Co. A, who had been captured by Mosby but escaped the same day. They told us the story of the capture, how the others had been taken south and they had escaped. Mosby’s men after gaining the shelter of the mountains began to examine their plunder and stopped to array themselves in new Union officers’ uniforms. They were marching over a steep mountain road, guarding prisoners, when a portion of them stopped, while those in front passed on out of sight. This left the road clear without a guard in sight. The two boys took advantage of the opportunity and made a break for liberty. Down the mountain side they ran, stumbling and falling, but straining every nerve for freedom. They were not missed apparently, for the rebels did not pursue them. For three days they wandered through the mountains, only approaching the negro cabins by night, where they always found friends ready to feed them and help them on their way. Finally they reached Harper’s Ferry and waited until we came up.

The two Regiments lay in Camp on Bolivar Heights for five days. The time of our enlistment had expired ten days before and now we were a waiting orders for returning to Ohio. We had served nearly four months and were anxious to get back home. When Gen. Sheridan read the application for our discharge he paid us the greatest compliment we had in our experience. He said “I did not know that I had any hundred days men in my army, they are all veterans.”

It rained hard all the time we remained on Bolivar Heights, but we did not care, we were going home. At last orders came from headquarters for our discharge. We were to report at Camp Dennison for final muster out. Giving three cheers we started for Harper’s Ferry on a dark, rainy day. Here we found a train awaiting us, which we boarded and at night pulled out for Baltimore, getting there the next morning. We formed ranks and marched to the Northern Central depot, and took a train for home. We returned over the same route over which we came, with the same accommodations. We had another good supper at Pittsburg and reached Columbus, Ohio, at noon. We left our train, marched to Todd Barracks and remained over night. The next day we rode to Camp Dennison, were assigned to the same barracks that we had left four months previously. Cooks were detailed and we remained there a week, until Aug. 30th, the officers making out payrolls, discharges, etc. While there several citizens of Chillicothe came to see us and we received many boxes of good things to eat from home. Several of the boys left camp, walked to the next station and came up home, returning to camp the next day. To say that we were happy but faintly expresses it. We were finally discharged from the United States service and paid off.