Chapter 7

HARPER'S FERRY AND THE LEESBURG AND HALLTOWN EXPEDITIONS

Neither side seemed anxious to resume the fighting on the 18th, though there was picket firing and some cannonading. We remained the next day where the darkness found us after the battle, ready and momentarily expecting to resume the work. All sorts of rumors were afloat as to the results of the battle, also as to future movements. Whether we had won a great victory and were to press immediately forward to reap the fullest benefit of it, or whether it was practically a drawn battle, with the possibilities of an early retreat, we did not then know. We had no idea of what the name of the battle would be. My diary calls it the battle of "Meyer's Spring," from that magnificent fountain, on our line of battle, described in the last chapter. The Confederates named it the battle of Sharpsburg, from the village of that name on the right of their line. Two days later, after the rebels had hauled off--which they did very leisurely the next day and night--we received "Little Mac's" congratulatory order on the great victory achieved at "Antietam."

So far as our part of the battle was concerned, we knew we had the best of it. We had cleaned up everything in our front, and the "chip was still serenely resting on our shoulder." But what had been the outcome elsewhere on the line we did not know. That our army had been terrifically battered was certain. Our own losses indicated this. We were therefore both relieved and rejoiced on receiving the congratulatory order. I confess to have had some doubts about the extent of the victory, and whether, had Lee remained and shown fight, we would not have repeated the old story and "retired in good order." As it was, the tide had evidently turned, and the magnificent old Army of the Potomac, after so many drubbings, had been able to score its first decisive victory.

On the twenty-second day of September we were again on the march, our regiment reduced in numbers, from casualties in the battle and from sickness, by nearly three hundred men. Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox was now in command. The body of our late colonel had been shipped to Scranton under guard of Privates S. P. Snyder and Charles A. Meylert, Company K, the "exigencies of the service" permitting of no larger detail nor any officer to accompany it.

We were told the army was bound for Harper's Ferry, distant some eight to ten miles. We passed through the village of Sharpsburg--what there was left of it. It had been occupied by the rebels as the extreme right of their line on the morning of the battle. It presented abundant evidence of having been well in the zone of the fight. Its buildings were riddled with shells, and confusion seemed to reign supreme. We learned that Burnside, with the left wing of the army, had a very hot argument with Lee's right during the afternoon for the possession of the stone bridge over Antietam creek at the foot of the hill entering the village; that after two repulses with heavy loss, Colonel Hartranft (afterwards Governor of Pennsylvania) led his regiment, the Fifty-first Pennsylvania Volunteers and the Fifty-first New York, in a magnificent charge and carried the bridge and the heights above, and Sharpsburg was ours. If any one would like to get an idea of what terrific work that charge was they should examine that bridge and the heights on the Sharpsburg side. The latter rise almost perpendicularly more than three hundred feet. One of the "boys" who went over that bridge and up those heights in that memorable charge was Private Edward L. Buck, Fifty-first Pennsylvania Volunteers, formerly Assistant Postmaster of Scranton, and ever since the war a prominent citizen of this city. That bridge is now known as "Burnside's Bridge." Forty-one years afterwards, I passed over it, and was shown a shell still sticking in the masonry of one of the arches. It was a conical shell probably ten inches long, about half of it left protruding.

Little of special interest occurred on this march until we reached the Potomac, a short distance above Harper's Ferry. Here we were shown the little round house where John Brown concealed his guns and "pikes" prior to his famous raid three years before. This was his rendezvous on the night before his ill-starred expedition descended upon the State of Virginia and the South, in an insane effort to free the slaves. Our division was headed by the Fourteenth Connecticut, and as we approached the river opposite Harper's Ferry its fine band struck up the then new and popular air, "John Brown's Body," and the whole division took up the song, and we forded the river singing it. Slavery had destroyed the Kansas home of old John Brown, had murdered his sons, and undoubtedly driven him insane, because of his anti-slavery zeal. The great State of Virginia--the "Mother of Presidents"--had vindicated her loyalty to the "peculiar institution," and, let it be added, her own spotless chivalry, by hanging this poor, crazy fanatic for high treason! Was there poetic justice in our marching into the territory where these events transpired singing:

"John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave, His soul goes marching on?"

This couplet,

"We'll hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple-tree,"

was sung with peculiar zest, though I never quite understood what the poet had against the sour apple-tree.

We marched through the quaint old town of Harper's Ferry, whose principal industry had been the government arsenal for the manufacture of muskets and other army ordnance. These buildings were now a mass of ruins, and the remainder of the town presented the appearance of a plucked goose, as both armies had successively captured and occupied it. We went into camp on a high plateau back of the village known as Bolivar Heights. The scenic situation at Harper's Ferry is remarkably grand. The town is situated on the tongue or fork of land at the junction of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers. From the point where the rivers join, the land rises rapidly until the summit of Bolivar Heights is reached, several hundred feet above the town, from which a view is had of one of the most lovely valleys to be found anywhere in the world--the Shenandoah Valley. Across the Potomac to the east and facing Harper's Ferry rises Maryland Heights, a bluff probably a thousand feet high, while across the Shenandoah to the right towers another precipitous bluff of about equal height called Loudon Heights. Both of these bluffs commanded Bolivar Heights and Harper's Ferry.

It was the sudden and unexpected appearance of Stonewall Jackson's batteries upon both of these supposed inaccessible bluffs that ten days before had forced the surrender of the garrison of ten thousand Union troops which had been posted here to hold Harper's Ferry. It was said that the rain of shot and shell from those bluffs down upon our forces was simply merciless, and Jackson had cut off all avenues of escape before opening his batteries. The cavalry, I believe, cut their way out, but the infantry, after twenty-four hours of that storm of shot and shell, were forced to hoist the white flag. How they could have lived half that time in such a hell of fire is a marvel. Everything above ground bore evidence of this fire. There were unexploded shells lying about in great numbers.

An incident that might have been anything but funny occurred the day after we encamped here. A new regiment joined the army and marched past our division to a point farther up the heights and went into camp. They were a fine-looking regiment, full in numbers, and with new, clean uniforms. Their reception at the hands of the "vets" was very like our own three weeks before. Our boys, however, were "vets" now, and joined in the "reception" with a zest quite usual under such circumstances. However, the "tenderfeet" incident had passed, and we were preparing our evening meal, when bang! bang! bang! bang! rang out a half-dozen shots in quick succession. Every man jumped as though the whole rebel army was upon us. It was soon discovered that the explosions came from the camp of the "tenderfeet." Some of those greenhorns had gathered a number of those unexploded shells, set them up on end for a fireplace, and were quietly boiling their coffee over them when they, of course, exploded. Why none of them were seriously injured was a miracle. At the moment of explosion no one happened to be very near the fire. A moment before a dozen men had been standing over it. Does Providence graciously look out for the tenderfoot? Some of them, I fear, were made to feel that they would rather be dead than take the guying they got for this evidence of their verdancy.

Camp life at Bolivar Heights soon resolved itself into the usual routine of drill and picket duty. How many corps of the army were encamped here I did not know, but we were a vast city of soldiers, and there was no end of matters to occupy attention when off duty. These included bathing expeditions to the Shenandoah, a mile and a half away; the "doing" of the quaint old town of Harper's Ferry, and rambles up Maryland and Loudon Heights, both of which were now occupied by our troops. This was our first experience in a large encampment in the field. One feature of it was exceedingly beautiful, and that was its system of "calls." The cavalry and artillery were encamped on one side of us. Each battery of artillery and battalion of cavalry had its corps of "trumpeters" or "buglers," while the infantry regiments had their drum corps, whose duty it was to sound the various "camp calls." The principal calls were "reveille," the getting up or morning roll-call, at sunrise usually; the guard mount, the drill, the meal calls, the "retreat" (evening roll-call), and the "taps," the "turning in" or "lights out" call. The reveille, the retreat, and taps were required to be sounded by each battery, troop, and regiment in consecutive order, commencing at the extreme right. The firing of the morning gun was the signal for the first corps of cavalry buglers to begin the reveille, then in succession it was repeated first through the bugler corps and then by the drum corps back and forth through the lines until it had gone through the whole army. As a martial and musical feature it was exceedingly beautiful and inspiring. But as its purpose was to hustle out sleepy men to roll-call, it is doubtful if these features were fully appreciated; that its advent was an occasion for imprecation rather than appreciation the following story may illustrate.

A group of "vets" were discussing what they would do when they got home from the war. Several plans had been suggested--the taking into permanent camp of the soldier's sweetheart being the chief goal, of course. When Pat's turn came to tell what he was going to do, he said:

"I'll be takin' me girl and settling down wid her housekeepin' and thin i'll be hirin' of a dhrum corps to come an' play the ravalye iviry mornin' under me chamber windi."

"What will you do that for? Haven't you had enough of the reveille here?"

"I'll just h'ist me windi, an' I'll yell, 'To h----l wid yer ravalye; I'll slape as long as I plase.'"

Many of these "calls" were parodied by the men. Here is the reveille:

I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up at all, sir; I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up at all. I'll go and tell the captain, I'll go and tell the captain, I'll go and tell the captain, I can't get 'em up at all.

This is the sick call:

Get your quinine, get your quinine, And a blue pill too, and a blue pill too. Get your quinine.

And so on down the list. The retreat call at sundown was really enjoyed and was made more of. The day's work was then over, and each corps elaborated its music, the bands frequently extending it into an evening concert.

The almost universal time-killer was cards. Of course various games were played, but "poker" was king. A game of the latter could be found in almost every company street, officers as well as men took a "twist at the tiger." At the battle of Chancellorsville I saw a game in full blast right under fire of the rebel shells. Every screeching shell was greeted with an imprecation, while the game went on just the same.

After our return home I was told of one man who made enough money at cards to successfully start himself in business. It was said he performed picket duty by hired proxies during the following winter in camp at Falmouth, and gave his time wholly to the game. A New York City regiment lay adjoining our camp that winter, and a truer lot of sports, from colonel down, never entered the service. These men, officers and all, were his patrons. They came to "do the Pennsylvania novice," but were themselves done in the end.

On the 3d of October our brigade made what was termed a reconnoissance in force out through Loudon County, Virginia, to Leesburg. It was reported that Jeb. Stuart was there with a force of cavalry and infantry. General Kimball was sent with our brigade to capture him if possible. Our orders on the evening of October 2 were to report at brigade head-quarters at seven o'clock A.M., with three days' rations and sixty rounds of ammunition. This meant "business," and was a welcome change from the monotony of camp life. A regiment of cavalry and two batteries of artillery had been added to our brigade for this expedition. The morning dawned bright and beautiful, but the day proved a very hot one, and the first three or four miles of our march was around the base of Loudon Heights, close under the mountain over a very rocky road, and where there was not a breath of air stirring. We were delayed by the artillery in getting over this portion of the route, and then we were marched almost on the run to make up for the lost time. General Kimball had gone forward with the cavalry, leaving his adjutant-general to bring up the balance of the column as rapidly as possible. In his efforts to hurry the men forward the latter overdid the matter. The result was the men dropped in scores utterly exhausted, so that within three hours our number had been reduced more than half, and at the end of the march in the evening there were just twenty-five officers and men of our regiment present for duty, and of the whole infantry force, three thousand strong at the start, there were less than two hundred present at the finish. This was due to an utter lack of judgment in marching.

The distance covered had been twenty-three miles. The day had been hot, the road rough, and the men, in heavy marching order with three days' rations and sixty rounds of ammunition, had carried upwards of ninety pounds each. With such a load and under such conditions, to expect men to march any distance at the hurried pace required was criminal folly. It bore its natural fruit. Our men were scattered on the route from Harper's Ferry to Leesburg, a demoralized lot of stragglers. My diary mentions this experience with much indignation and attributes the folly to the effects of whiskey. Of course, this was only a surmise.

General Kimball was not directly responsible for it. In his anxiety to capture Jeb. Stuart he had pushed ahead with the cavalry, and knew nothing of our condition until the forlorn party came straggling into his bivouac in the evening. He was very indignant, and said some words that cannot be recorded here. He was chagrined to find Stuart gone, but now was greatly relieved that such was the fact. Otherwise, said he, we would have stood an excellent chance for a journey south under rebel escort.

On our way out we passed through several small villages, in none of which did we find evidence of decided Union sentiment, except in Waterford. This was a prosperous-looking town, and the people seemed hospitable, and manifested their Union sentiments by furnishing us fruit and water freely. Our cavalry caught four of Stuart's men in a picture-gallery and marched them to the rear. I had the good fortune to secure a loaf of nice bread and a canteen of sweet milk. If any one wishes to know how good bread and milk is, let him step into my shoes on that weary night.

Conditions compelled us to remain at Leesburg that night. We rested on our arms, fearing Stuart might get an inkling of our plight and pounce upon us. My diary says I was unable to sleep because of suffering from a sprained knee and ankle, caused by my horse stumbling and falling on me just at dusk.

The next morning we were off bright and early on the back track for camp, but by another route, so as to avoid being cut off by Stuart. We had started out bravely to capture this wily rebel. Now we were in mortal danger of being captured by him. A detail was made to go back over the route we came and gather up the stragglers. On our way back I was refused a canteen of water by the "Missus" of one of the plantation dwellings; but on riding around to the rear, where the slaves lived, old "Aunt Lucy" supplied us freely with both milk and water. This was a sample of the difference between the aristocrat in the mansion and the slave in the hovel. The latter were always very friendly and ready to help us in every possible way, while as a rule we met with rebuff at the hands of the former.

Here we came in contact for the first time with plantation life under the institution of slavery. The main or plantation house was usually situated a quarter-mile or more back from the "pike." They were generally low, flat, one-story mansions, built of stone, while further to the rear, in the form of a square, were the wooden cabins of the slaves, each plantation a village by itself. We marched only about eight miles this day, and bivouacked near the village of Hillsboro. This evening we officers of the field and staff caught on to a great treat in the way of stewed chicken and corn cake for supper at a Union farmhouse, and thought ourselves very fortunate to be able to engage a breakfast at the same place for next morning. Alas for the uncertainties of war! We had barely rolled ourselves in our blankets for the night when a staff officer from General Kimball's head-quarters came and in a low tone of voice ordered us to arouse our men without the least noise and be off as quietly as possible; that scouts had reported that Stuart was after us in hot haste. We were off almost in a jiffy. The night was cool and foggy. The former favored our rapid march, and the latter hid us from the enemy, who succeeded in capturing only a couple of men who fell out.

We reached camp at Harper's Ferry shortly after sunrise, a thoroughly tired and battered crowd. The expedition proved absolutely fruitless, and had barely escaped being captured, owing to mismanagement. It was the most trying bit of service of our whole experience. Some of our men never recovered from the exhaustion of that first day's march, and had to be discharged as permanently disabled.

Shortly after this another expedition relieved the monotony of camp life. General Hancock, commanding the Second Division of our corps, had been sent to make a reconnoissance in force towards Halltown, six to eight miles up the Shenandoah Valley. He had gone in the morning, and shortly after noon we had heard cannonading in that direction, showing that he had found "business." It was Hancock's reputation to make "business," if the "Johnnies" could be induced to tarry long enough for him to reach them. However, the firing shortly ceased, and the night set in with a terrific rain-storm. I remember, as I rolled myself in my blanket prepared for a good sleep in defiance of the rain, sympathizing with those poor fellows out on that reconnoissance in all this storm. My sympathy was premature. Just then I heard an ominous scratch on my tent, and the hand of an orderly was thrust through the flaps with an order. In much trepidation I struck a light. Sure I was of trouble, or an order would not have been sent out at such a time. My fears were realized. It directed our regiment to report at brigade head-quarters in heavy marching order with all possible despatch. Here was a "state of things." Was it ever so dark, and did it ever rain harder? Not in my recollection. But that order left no time for cogitations. Into boots, clothing, and gum blanket, out to the colonel's tent with the order, then with his orders to all the companies, the sounding of the long roll, the forming line, and away to brigade head-quarters in that inky blackness and drenching rain was the work of less than fifteen minutes. General Kimball complimented us as being the first regiment to report, and we were honored with the head of the column which was to support Hancock at Halltown. French's division had been ordered out as supports, and Kimball's brigade had the advance.

We marched rapidly up the valley of the Shenandoah, now as black as Erebus. But soon the rain ceased, the clouds broke away, and the stars appeared, completely transforming the scene, and except for the mud and our wet and uncomfortable condition it would have been an enjoyable march. After going about six miles we were directed into a woods to rest until morning. Inside the woods it was inky dark again, and we made headway with much difficulty. Men and horses stumbled and floundered over fallen logs and through brush at imminent peril of limbs, until a halt was made, and after details for picket had been sent out we were allowed to rest until daylight.

It was now about three o'clock. But to rest, soaking wet, almost covered with mud, in a woods that had been so drenched with rain that everything was like a soaked sponge, that was the problem. No fires were allowed, for no one knew how near the enemy might be. However, the men were tired enough to sleep, most of them, even under those conditions. I well remember the weary walking and stamping to keep warm until the sunshine came to our relief. But daylight revealed a condition of things relative to our position that, had the enemy known, we might again have been made an easy prey. Our details for water, after going out some distance, as they supposed in our rear, suddenly found themselves uncomfortably near the enemy's outposts, and hurried back to camp with the information. It was found that in the darkness our picket line had actually gotten turned around, so that our rear had been carefully guarded, whilst our front was left wholly exposed. The denseness of the woods and the darkness of the night had been our salvation. We shortly learned that Hancock had accomplished his purpose and was moving back to Harper's Ferry. We followed leisurely, reaching the camp about noon, thoroughly tired and bedraggled from the rain and mud.