CHAPTER X

THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG--CONCLUDED

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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