Civil War Experiences Part 1

Civil War Experiences.

by Henry Coddington Meyer.

INTRODUCTION

During December, 1895, I received a letter from General Walter C.

Newberry, of Chicago, who during the Civil War commanded the 24th New York Cavalry. In this the General wrote:

"MY DEAR MAJOR MEYER:

"You will remember how urgent the boys were last summer for a history of the Regiment to be prepared. I resolved then to gratify them and am engaged on it now. I want you to aid me to the extent of giving me a detailed account of yourself--nativity, date of birth, former service, engagements that you were in that led up to your promotion, your service with us, your wounding and incidents accompanying it, your period of treatment in the Hospital, your civil record since, and be kind enough not to be at all modest in setting it all forth. I shall not use your language, neither shall I give you credit for the biography, and you may drop all modesty with me and give it to me in full. You may have kept something of a diary or there may be some old letters that you have written which will give me some record by dates of the Regiment's service. I want it all."

In 1896 I complied with this request to the extent of giving a brief account of my service in the Army. Since then, members of my family and a few personal friends have asked me to incorporate in this account incidents that I recalled, some of which they had heard me relate, a.s.serting that they would be of interest to my grandchildren.

The following story is my attempt to accede to these requests. I am naturally proud of having had the privilege of serving under the Generals I have mentioned, and the story recited in the following pages is in accordance with my recollection of events that occurred over forty-five years ago.

HENRY C. MEYER.

NEW YORK, May, 1911.

CHAPTER I

On the day Fort Sumter surrendered I was seventeen years old, having been born April 14, 1844. Like other boys, I proposed enlisting, but my father refused consent; and at that time youths under eighteen years would not be accepted without the consent of parents. In July of the following year, when the news of McClellan's retreat on the Peninsula was published, I was satisfied that the Government would need more men, and having carefully considered the matter, and being then eighteen years of age, I decided to go without my father's consent. Seeing a newspaper item to the effect that Captain Mallory, of the Harris Light Cavalry, had arrived in New York, and proposed to enlist some men for that regiment, I called upon him at the Metropolitan Hotel and made known my desire. He informed me that his recruiting office was not then arranged, though he had engaged a room a little farther up Broadway, and his sergeant was preparing to open it. He seemed reluctant to take me, and talked to me as though I were too young to go, and as if I did not realize what I was about to undertake. I a.s.sured him that I had considered the matter well, and that I was physically strong; and that if he would not accept me I would try to enlist in Duryea's Zouaves, who were, at that time, enlisting men. He then told me to go up and see his sergeant and that he would come up later. I found the room, but the sergeant, however, had not yet unpacked the papers. On getting them opened he said he was unable to make them out, whereupon I asked him to let me examine them, and proceeded to make out my own enlistment papers, the sergeant watching me. While I was thus engaged, a man with his arm off came in. He had just that day been discharged from the hospital, and inquired what steps he should take to get a pension, having been attracted by the flag hanging out of the office window. I noticed the sergeant was particularly anxious to get him out of the room, evidently not considering him a desirable acquisition to facilitate recruiting. I explained to the man what he should do. The sergeant, when he saw me make out my enlistment papers, remarked, "They won't keep you long in the ranks, because they can get better work for you to do," or words to that effect. I did not then comprehend what he meant, but my subsequent experience explained it. I was then sent to the examining physician, examined, pa.s.sed, and sworn in for three years' service.

That night I went to my home, at Dobb's Ferry, on the Hudson River, and reported what I had done, intending to leave for Washington the next morning, when I was promised transportation. This interview with my parents was quite unpleasant, as my father was very angry and my mother in great distress. At that time both my father and his friends regarded my action as worse than foolish and almost as bad as though I had done something disreputable. Indeed, as I was afterwards informed, one gentleman remarked, "Well, that is too bad; that boy has gone to the devil, too."

The following morning I bade my parents good-bye, feeling that if I were wounded or crippled I should not care to return home for them to take care of me. Subsequent letters from home, however, removed that feeling.

The following night, having received transportation, I sailed as the only pa.s.senger on a freight transport from a pier near the Battery to South Amboy. I well remember my feelings as I watched New York receding in the distance, there being no excitement or hand-shaking or waving of flags such as accompanied the departure of the first troops that left New York for thirty days' service the year before. From Amboy I went on a coal train to Philadelphia.

On landing at Walnut Street wharf I went into the soldiers' refreshment room, maintained by the citizens of Philadelphia, which was open night and day, and at which all soldiers pa.s.sing through the city were fed free of charge. It was about two o'clock in the morning, very hot, and I was tired and depressed. Hence, when invited to partake of some refreshments, I was unable to do so but contented myself with eating a few pickles.

I then walked across the city to the Baltimore depot, which was then at the corner of Broad and Pine Streets, and took a pa.s.senger train for Baltimore, which I reached about seven o'clock in the morning, sitting up, as there were no sleeping-cars in those days. On arriving in Baltimore I walked to another part of the city to take the train for Washington. Meanwhile I wanted some breakfast. Going into a place which I supposed was a restaurant, I found that the only thing they could offer me was ice-cream. I thereupon ate some, and soon after took the train for Washington. In a few moments the Philadelphia pickles, the hot night, and the Baltimore ice-cream produced most severe cramps, and I was in a very distressed state of mind, fearing that I would never be able to reach the front, but would have to submit to the mortification of being returned home.

Arriving in Washington, I went to Willard's Hotel, and, after a good sleep, was able to take my dinner that evening. I had on citizen's clothes and was not recognized as a private soldier in the United States Army, so the head-waiter a.s.signed me to a seat at a table where General Halleck, the Commander-in-Chief of the Army, sat opposite.

That evening, my uncle, E. V. Price, who was in Washington, met me at the hotel and took me to General Pope's room. The latter had just arrived in Washington to take command of the Army of the Potomac. My uncle procured a pa.s.s from him to enable me to go through the lines and join my regiment, the Second New York Cavalry (Harris Light). It was stationed at Falmouth, Virginia. J. Mansfield Davies was the colonel at that time, and Judson Kilpatrick the lieutenant-colonel. My uncle, who knew Colonel Davies, introduced me to him that evening at the hotel. The following morning I accompanied him on the boat to Aquia Creek and reached the regiment on the evening of that day.

In two or three days I received my uniform and a horse was given to me.

The fact that I had been seen coming into camp with the Colonel led some of the non-commissioned officers and men of my company to a.s.sume that I did not intend to serve in the ranks, but would likely be commissioned shortly and probably be jumped over them, who had already been out some time, though they had not been in any battle, their previous service being confined to drilling and a skirmish or two. This made it very unpleasant for me, and for a short time I was subjected to some little annoyance.

As I wore to the front the best suit of citizen's clothes I had, a man in our company by the name of Rufus West proposed to buy them and agreed to pay me eleven dollars for them. That night he deserted and joined Mosby's command, having made the remark before leaving that he did not "propose to fight to free n.i.g.g.e.rs." He owes me the eleven dollars yet.

In a day or two I was a.s.signed to picket duty with a man of my company, on the Rappahannock River, with instructions to keep a sharp lookout, as they said a female spy was expected to cross at that point. My comrade was Henry E. Johns, who enlisted from Hartford, Connecticut. He appeared to take pity on me, and that evening we discussed our families and our affairs; and at that time a warm attachment was formed, which lasted throughout the war, and since. As we were to remain on guard all night, he suggested that we should take turns, each being on watch, two hours on, and two hours off. Before morning I found it extremely difficult to keep my eyes open, and several times walked to the river and washed my face in order to do so. Just before daylight it was my turn to go to sleep; when I awoke and looked around, I found no one on watch. Looking beside me I found my comrade, also asleep. The place at which we were posted was inaccessible in the night from our lines, because it was at the foot of a deep ravine. I don't imagine any female spy crossed at that point. If we had been caught asleep, however, it would have been an embarra.s.sing position for both of us to have been placed in.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CORPORAL HENRY E. JOHNS]

A few days later the Harris Light Cavalry made a raid in the neighborhood of Fredericks Hall, Virginia, in which movement the command marched some ninety miles in thirty hours. This was hard on the men, and many of them were confined to their tents on their return to camp, from saddle boils and lameness, for a day or two. I found it difficult to keep awake on the march and picket, yet I was able to do duty without interruption.

On this raid the regiment destroyed considerable property, and many of the men carried away all sorts of things for which they had no use.

Indeed, I heard Colonel Kilpatrick laughingly remark that one fellow, in his zeal to have something, actually had a grindstone on his saddle in front of him. After carrying it about a mile he concluded, however, that he had no further use for it, and dropped it in the road.

CHAPTER II

A few days afterwards the regiment marched through Culpeper and reached the battlefield of Cedar Mountain late on the day on which that engagement was fought. We approached the battlefield through what would be called the rear, where we first saw the horrible sights accompanying a battle, which are always dead horses, broken caissons, bodies lying on the ground, and the wounded. On the front line these sights are not so prominent.

The regiment was pushed to the front and placed on picket duty, I being posted on the edge of a piece of woods overlooking a valley, on the opposite side of which was Slaughter Mountain, where Stonewall Jackson's army was supposed to be.

While at my post on picket that night, an incident occurred which made a deep impression upon me, doubtless due to the time and place and the incidents of the preceding two weeks. Before leaving home, I had promised my mother that I would read at least one verse in my Testament each day. Not having done so that day was due to the fact that we had been marching and to the excitement attending the reaching of the battlefield and being put in position. I then took out my pocket Testament and went to a picket fire near where I was, leaning over to read a verse or two by its light, when I heard a rustle in the bushes.

Immediately I grasped my weapons and was on the alert, when a colored man crawled through the bushes and said to me, "What's that you got there, a Testament?" On admitting it, he said, "Do you know the chapter General Washington always used to read before he went into a fight?" I told him I did not, whereupon he said, "You turn to the Ninety-first Psalm." "Now," he said, "you read it." I then read aloud:

"Surely He shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler and from the noisome pestilence.

"He shall cover thee with His feathers and under His wings shalt thou trust; His truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

"Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night nor for the arrow that flieth by day.

"Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor for the destruction that wasteth at noon day.

"A thousand shall fall at thy side and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee."

At the reading of each of these verses he exclaimed, "You see, he didn't get hit." The contraband evidently was perfectly sincere in the belief that if I read this verse before a battle I would never get hurt. He then went away. This incident, coupled with the facts that I had only been about ten days away from home, that I had seen the horrible sights of the battlefield the previous afternoon, that I could see the enemy's camp-fires across the valley, and that I was wondering what fate was in store for me the following day,--all tended to impress this incident upon my mind.

The next morning the regiment advanced to the Rapidan River, presumably with the object of searching for the flank of Jackson's army. Just above the ford, which I think was Robertson's, was the residence of the Confederate General Taliaferro. Our picket line was between the house and the river. Captain Walters of my regiment had arranged with Mrs.

Taliaferro to have breakfast at her house. She and her niece were engaged in a good-natured altercation with some of the men of my company, she repeatedly remarking, "I want you men to understand that I am the granddaughter of Chief-Justice Marshall of the United States."

When she had said this several times an Irishman of my company remarked, "And who the divil is he anyhow?" The disgust on her face may well be imagined. I had been polite in my remarks to her when she turned upon me and asked, "Aren't you from New Orleans?" I told her, "No," that I was from New York, when she shook her head sadly and said, "Well, I'm surprised that apparently such a nice young man as you should be engaged in such a wicked cause as this." The laughter of my comrades which greeted this remark was followed by their teasing me the rest of the campaign, calling me, "The nice young man and the wicked cause."

About this time the pickets began firing, when Captain Walters remarked, "I will go down and see what the matter is." He mounted his horse, started down the hill toward the ford, and in a moment or two was brought back dead, their sharpshooters having shot him through the heart immediately after he left the house. This was the first time I had heard bullets whistle.

That night Stonewall Jackson's movement to the flank and rear of Pope's army resulted in the recall of the cavalry and a night march through Culpeper to Brandy Station. We bivouacked for the night, but did not unsaddle. About daybreak we were attacked. Although I heard bullets whistle at the Rapidan River, where Captain Walters was killed, this was the first real engagement I was in. In the early part of it we were supporting the skirmish line. Later in the day the battalion in which my company was made a charge, led by Major Henry E. Davies, in which a number were killed and wounded, and some confusion ensued by reason of a railroad cut, into which the command rode, its existence not being known when the charge was ordered. Prior to this, in the retreating movements of that morning, my horse, which had become blind from the hard marching of the night before, fell in a ditch with me. He struggled out, and I was able to remount him, though we were quite hard pressed by the advancing enemy.

The Harris Light Cavalry was one of the regiments of General George D.

Bayard's brigade, which for sixteen successive days was under fire and engaged in most arduous service in covering the retreat of Pope's army and watching the fords on the Rappahannock River to detect the crossing of General Lee's troops. This continuous service terminated with the second battle of Bull Run, where Lieutenant Compton, the only remaining officer with my company, was killed. This occurred the evening before the last day of the battle.

CHAPTER III

There had been some very severe fighting on the part of King's division.