Civil War Experiences Part 4

From Spottsylvania, until the army reached Petersburg, some portion of the regiment was under fire every day. During this period occurred the engagements at the North Anna River, Pamunkey, and Cold Harbor. The most fatiguing march that I ever experienced was that made by our brigade on its withdrawal from the south bank of the North Anna River, in which we had a similar experience to that during the withdrawal from the lines at the Wilderness, the men realizing that if we were attacked then it would be on the brink of a rapid running river we were about to recross. We crossed the North Anna River sometime between darkness and midnight, and then moved by a circuitous route, as the more direct lines were occupied by other troops. We marched, without any halts other than those occasioned by blockades ahead of us, all the next day and following night. In order to prevent my tired men from falling out, and not having the heart to urge them to keep up while I was riding my horse, I dismounted and walked at the rear of the company, feeling that so long as I was able to walk I could with propriety urge the men to do likewise. It was reported at the time that some of our men died of exhaustion in the middle of the night; at any rate, when the command finally halted and stacked arms fully one half of it were not able to answer the roll-call. During the following twenty-four hours, however, our stragglers kept coming in.

In a day or two the battle of Cold Harbor occurred. Our regiment went into line in an unfavorable position, it being in an abandoned cornfield, the woods beyond being held by the enemy. As was the custom whenever we went into line at night to throw up temporary breastworks, we were directed to do so here. The soil was sandy, there were no timber and no rail fences, and we had few intrenching tools, consequently it seemed impossible with the facilities at hand to construct any sort of temporary breastworks. Within a few rods of my company's position in the lines stood a large house, from which the family had hastily departed.

As there was no timber, the only alternative that suggested itself to me was to take the roof from the house and break it up for our purpose. I therefore sent a detail of men who in a short time removed the roof from this building, while others soon knocked down the rest of the structure.

This material was broken up, the sand piled on it, and thus were provided the breastworks that protected us the next day. This seemed a hardship to the occupants of this dwelling, but it was justified by the circ.u.mstances.

During the battle of Cold Harbor I had a second opportunity to see General Grant, having been sent to General Meade's headquarters where General Grant happened to be. When I reached headquarters, I found General Meade sprawled out on the ground with his face buried in a map, he being very near-sighted. Staff-officers were constantly riding up and reporting, and about fifty feet from where he lay I saw General Grant sitting alone on a stretcher. He had nothing to say to any one and seemed unconcerned. While waiting for my instructions, I intently watched him. Presently an officer brought up a Confederate officer, who was a prisoner. Looking up, General Grant quietly asked, "I a.s.sume you have questioned him?" The officer replied, "Yes, but he does not tell anything." Grant then remarked, "Ask him if he has a recent Richmond paper." The Confederate officer said that he had and took one from his haversack, giving it to the officer, who handed it to General Grant.

Grant nodded his head in acknowledgment, and remarking, "You may take him back," opened the paper and began to read. Just then General Sheridan rode up. Grant arose, greeted him warmly, and seemed deeply interested as Sheridan began earnestly telling him, I a.s.sume, the results of his recent movements. Receiving my instructions I then returned to the regiment.

The crossing of the James River by the army on pontoon bridges, as is known, was a memorable movement, the river being about two thousand feet wide there. Our march from the James River to Petersburg was a very hard one, since the roads were sandy and it seemed that at every two steps forward we would slip one backward. However, towards evening, we reached a position near Petersburg, when, tired as we were, it seemed to me a favorable moment for us to advance and try to capture the town. We could see trains of cars coming in, their infantry being hastily unloaded, and everywhere were evidences that they were hurrying up forces to resist us. The failure to attack that afternoon was a great disappointment to General Grant, as one reading his _Memoirs_ can ascertain. The next day, the 17th of June, was my last day of active service in the field.

About the 8th or 9th of June orders had been read out behind the breastworks in which my appointment as captain was announced. Though I had always been doing duty as a captain, I had never held the rank of a first-lieutenant. Subsequently, Adjutant Hill having been wounded, I did temporary duty as adjutant; and on the 17th of June was with the regiment in the a.s.sault of the enemy's works near the Norfolk road, in which it suffered so severely. My wound was not received in the a.s.sault but immediately after, and under the following circ.u.mstances. The a.s.sault had been unsuccessful because of the failure of some troops on our right to support us properly, and the command had secured the protection of a line of breastworks. Acting as adjutant that day I had been carrying an order, when I noticed lying on the field Lieutenant Randall, who was lying on his face, and about him were our killed and wounded, among others, General Morton, General Burnside's chief engineer. I turned back to see if Randall was alive, and found him lying with his face buried in the dirt of a corn-hill, the field being a succession of ridges, and the corn being about eighteen inches high. He had a hole in his neck and was apparently dying. I brushed the dirt out of his face so that he could breathe, propped him up on the dirt ridges, but was unable to carry him into our lines, because I had been suffering for some days from intermittent fever and was almost too weak to walk when I went into the engagement. While thus stooping over and in the act of starting for our lines, a ball struck me alongside of the spine, just above my sabre belt, and, as afterwards turned out, ploughed up in the neighborhood of my shoulders. Realizing that I was struck in a bad place and not wishing to lie there in the sun during the afternoon, I started for our breastworks, the bullets striking the ground around me as I crawled. I asked a man who I believed belonged to the Eighteenth Corps if he could pull me over, as I was unable to get over. He remarked, "I will, if my partner will help me," and in a moment these two men jumped upon the breastwork, took me by the collar of my cavalry jacket, jerked me over, and dropped me inside. It had not occurred to me that I was in plain sight of the enemy, and it was not until after I was lifting Randall that I noticed the bullets were striking in the ground around me and subsequently in the breastworks, as I lay outside of them, when I asked the man to help me over.

Just after I was pulled over, General Walter C. Newberry, then the lieutenant-colonel of the Twenty-fourth cavalry, who that day commanded the regiment, came up to me. I showed him my wound and remarked that I thought I had a "thirty-day wound." He sent two men who lifted me on my feet, and, with my arm about their necks and their arms supporting my body, I walked a considerable distance before I could reach an ambulance, which took me to the field hospital. On my way to the field hospital I noticed a corporal, Frederick Gundlach, a brave and honest soldier, who was walking holding his hand, which seemed to be shattered.

I hailed him and he immediately ran along by the ambulance in which I was, stayed by me, and waited on me during the afternoon and night.

During the night I was placed in a tent with five other seriously wounded officers, including Colonel Raulston of the Twenty-fourth and Captain Burch, the latter dying in the arms of his men as he lay directly opposite me in the tent, During the night it was reported to us that an officer outside had been obliged to have his clothing cut off to get at his wounds, as he had five bullets in his body, in various places, and a blanket was wanted to put around him. As Corporal Gundlach had given me his blanket to lie on and my overcoat was wrapped around my sabre hilt and pistol, so as to make a pillow for me, I gave them the coat to wrap around this badly wounded man, who proved to be none other than the Lieutenant Randall that I had a.s.sisted when I received my wound. It was a.s.sumed that by brushing the dirt out of his face and turning him over so he could breathe, he regained consciousness, and when the enemy's position was taken in a later a.s.sault that afternoon, he, with the other wounded, was brought in. At any rate, he lived several years after the war, though I never met him again.[4]

[Footnote 4: After the war, a medal of honor was awarded to me on the recommendation of General Newberry; see correspondence in Appendix A.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: BREVET BRIGADIER GENERAL WALTER C. NEWBERRY]

The day after I was wounded I am unable to account for. I may have been insensible; at any rate, it was the second day after, that the ambulances and army wagons were filled with wounded and started for City Point, whence steamboats conveyed them to Washington. I was fortunate in being placed in an ambulance with another badly wounded officer, as these vehicles had springs, while many of the wounded had to ride in the army wagons that had none, hence when going down hill or over rough roads the jolting caused great suffering. A whole day was consumed in making the trip to City Point, delays constantly occurring because we had to pull out beside the road to permit supply and ammunition wagons to pa.s.s, it being the custom in war always to give the right of way to supplies for the front. The heat and the dust settling down on us made it a very trying day, and when the teams reached City Point a number of the wounded were found dead.

We were placed on a large steamboat, where the cots were arranged on the decks as near together as they could be placed and permit nurses to pa.s.s between them. These were clean and there was an abundance of food and drink for those able to partake of it. We were on this steamboat that night and the following day, reaching the wharf at the foot of Sixth Street in Washington about sundown. By this time I was suffering considerably. Because of the nature of my wound I was the last man removed from the boat, it then being nine o'clock. It was decided that the best way to handle me was to carry me on the mattress, so a number of men held it over the stair-well, as I was on the upper deck, while others took it from below. The journey in an ambulance through the streets of Washington, then not paved, was a painful one. I finally reached the Seminary Hospital at Georgetown, where I was bathed and my soiled clothing replaced by clean linen, and placed in a comfortable cot which I occupied for nearly four months.

There were, during that period, usually six wounded officers in the room at a time. Dr. Ducachet was the surgeon-in-chief and Dr. Finn the a.s.sistant surgeon; the latter had charge of me. He took good care of me, and I am doubtless greatly indebted to him for my recovery. For three weeks repeated attempts were made to find the ball by probing, but without success. One day a large swelling appeared on my back, and in turning me over in bed to dress the wound a sudden discharge occurred with great force, whereupon the surgeons were summoned and concluded that this violent discharge must have forced the ball from its lodgment, which had been beyond the reach of their longest probe, and it was decided to attempt to get the ball out. After sundown, when the day was cooler, the weather at that time being excessively hot, the operation was successfully accomplished. The ball was flattened against my ribs; two of them were splintered, and pieces of them occasionally worked out through the wound during the ensuing eight months. Because of the fracture of my ribs and the wound in my back, I was obliged to lie on one hip, with the result that I suffered from severe bedsores, and for weeks was able to get sleep only by taking morphine.

In October of that year the surgeons decided that it would do to remove me to my home at Dobbs Ferry on the Hudson.

During the following winter I was confined to my bed at intervals by abscesses forming preliminary to their discharging pieces of bone or cloth, the last particles coming out the following March or April. The wound healed in June, though my body was bent and one leg contracted.

Hence I was obliged to walk with a cane for nearly another year, although I was able to perform clerical work that summer.

CHAPTER XVI

General D. McM. Gregg was a West Point graduate and had seen service in the army before the war. He was dignified in manner and that winter I was more or less in awe of him, when in his presence. One day he sent for me and asked me if I knew of a certain special order from the War Department bearing on a certain subject. Replying, "I think it is number so and so," he said: "You should not think, sir, you should know. Go and find out." To a layman this might seem needlessly severe, but it was just the kind of training the young volunteer soldiers needed. Indeed, my after experience demonstrated that one could not have been under a more considerate and finer commander. His coolness whenever we were in action and his thoughtfulness in looking out for his men, sparing them needless risks and taking precautions to protect them from surprises, secured for him the absolute confidence of every one in his command. He was averse to newspaper notoriety and I do not recall an instance when he seemed willing to give information to reporters. His idea was to confine what he had to tell to his official reports, and let the records testify to the character of his service. Indeed, on one occasion he remarked to me, "Meyer, I do not propose to have a picture reputation."

As I am writing these lines he is still living, beloved by the survivors of those who served under him and respected by the people of Pennsylvania, the State in which he lives.

General Judson Kilpatrick, also a West Point graduate, was of slight build, wiry, apparently incapable of fatigue, and physically just the man for a cavalry leader. He was of a highly excitable and nervous temperament. Whenever we reached camp and every one else seemed to think that men and horses should have a rest, Kilpatrick was writing letters and asking for authority from his superiors to start out on a reconnoissance or a raid, or to give him a chance to get into a fight. I was told that when at West Point he was noted for making speeches. With us he would frequently harangue the men, but his good-natured dash and personal magnetism made him popular. He had capacity for rallying his soldiers and getting them into a charge. His usual method when meeting the enemy was to order a charge. Sometimes this was very successful, and at other times it was not so much so and very costly of men. It was because of this that he secured the nickname of "Kil-Cavalry." He was good-natured, approachable, and not inclined to be much of a disciplinarian.

He was not disposed to punish his men if they took a horse from citizens, which they occasionally did in 1862, unless they were caught at it.

One day when we were in camp near Falmouth a citizen called on him to complain that a horse of his had been stolen and to ask permission to go through our companies' streets in search of it. The man rode into camp and tied his horse to one of the stakes to which the General's tent was attached. Kilpatrick courteously invited him in, listened to his story, and gave him permission to go through camp looking for his horse. On emerging from the tent the man found that while he was inside some one had taken his saddle from the horse he rode in on. My recollection is that he recovered neither the saddle nor the horse he was in search of.

Kilpatrick was energetic, brave, and patriotic, and as a cavalry leader had a splendid record, and I understood that his services after he went to Sherman's army were much appreciated by that commander.

Among the fine officers with whom it was my privilege to serve and whose friendship has grown and still exists, were Colonel Henry C. Weir, adjutant-general of General D. McM. Gregg's cavalry division and his chief-of-staff, and General Walter C. Newberry, the lieutenant-colonel commanding the Twenty-fourth cavalry in June. It was the former who took me from the ranks and secured for me the position at General Gregg's headquarters, which brought me under the eye of the General and gave me opportunities that probably secured the promotion I ultimately obtained.

Weir was about twenty-one years of age in 1863, and with a most attractive personality. He had a wide acquaintance among officers of the army who had graduated from West Point, since his father was Professor Weir, the famous artist on duty there, some of whose paintings are in the rotunda of the Capitol at Washington. Weir was adjutant-general of General Bayard's brigade when the latter was killed at Fredericksburg, and then continued as such with General Gregg's division to the end of the war. He was intensely patriotic, high-toned in character, and one of the bravest men I ever knew. Indeed, General Gregg once remarked to me after the war that Weir was so uniformly brave that he found it difficult to recall a particular instance in order that he might recommend him for a Medal of Honor. The Medal of Honor was, however, awarded to Weir later and no man better deserved it.

General Newberry, to whose kindness and consideration I am so greatly indebted, had been an officer in one of the New York State infantry regiments that went out for two years' service. On returning in 1863, he, with Colonel W. C. Raulston, raised the Twenty-fourth New York cavalry. These officers were both fine soldiers.

General Newberry was a man of sound judgment, exceedingly cool in battle and in emergencies, and a fine executive. He was most considerate of his men and quick to appreciate any man or officer who tried to do his duty.

I doubt if any colonel of a regiment knew more of his men personally than did he. He kept a record in which he described the character of every officer's service, noting his impression of them both as men and officers. Since the war he has been a man of affairs, holding prominent positions, serving his city, State, and nation, yet with all his large interests he has kept himself informed of the whereabouts of many of the survivors of the Twenty-fourth cavalry, and I cannot imagine any regimental commander more beloved by his men than he. During my short term of service with the Twenty-fourth cavalry, which was from about the latter part of February till the 17th of June, the last forty-five days of which covered the campaign from the Wilderness to Petersburg, my intercourse with General Newberry was mainly official, and it was not until I received a sympathetic letter[5] while in the hospital that I realized how good a friend I had in him. In later years this letter was followed by a report to the Secretary of War recommending that a Medal of Honor be awarded me, which was accordingly done.[6]

[Footnote 5: See Appendix B.]

[Footnote 6: See Appendix A.]

In October, the 24th New York cavalry was mounted and a.s.signed to General Gregg's division, which in the spring of 1865 was commanded by General Crook. Except when commanding a brigade, General Newberry commanded the regiment from June 18th, when Colonel Raulston was wounded, until a few days before the end of the war. He was wounded twice in the summer of 1864, but retained his command until March 31, 1865, at Dinwiddie Court House, where he was severely wounded, this preventing further active service. Lee's surrender occurred ten days later. He was brevetted brigadier-general for gallant and distinguished service at Dinwiddie Court House, March 31, 1865.

I count the friendship of Newberry and Weir, begun during the war and continuing up to the present time, one of the greatest privileges I have ever been able to enjoy.

Colonel William C. Raulston, who commanded the Twenty-fourth cavalry until he was given the command of a brigade, also treated me with great courtesy and consideration. It was he who suggested that I be selected to go to Washington for ammunition, and I a.s.sume he also recommended me for other special duties which I was given an opportunity to perform. He was an exceedingly gallant officer, was wounded on the day after I was, recovered and returned to duty, and was subsequently captured. In an unsuccessful attempt to break out of prison at Danville, in which he was a leader, he was shot by a guard and died a few days after.

Among the many gallant men with whom I at different times served, I remember especially Captain L. G. Estes, adjutant-general to General Kilpatrick, and afterwards Brevet Brigadier-General, and his aides, Captain, afterwards Brevet Brigadier-General, E. W. Whitaker and Captain Theodore F. Northrop. No cavalry officer had braver staff-officers than were these three men. Whitaker and Northrop repeatedly carried out successfully missions involving unusual hazards and requiring great daring.

APPENDIX A

LETTER RECOMMENDING AWARD OF MEDAL OF HONOR--WAR DEPARTMENT'S ACTION THEREON--EXTRACT FROM GENERAL NEWBERRY'S RECORDS

CHICAGO, ILL., April 11, 1898.

HON. RUSSELL A. ALGER, Secy. of War, Washington, D. C.

DEAR SIR:

I believe there are still some Medals of Honor awaiting officers and men of the late War who by some special act of bravery or the saving of life or enhancing the safety of the Army have earned such a reward.

I desire to call your attention to the case of an officer of my own Regiment, the 24th N. Y. Cavalry, who has suffered greatly, and who has achieved most honorable position in the scientific world as a citizen since the War. I speak of Capt. and Brevet Major Henry C. Meyer, now Editor and Proprietor of a publication known as the _Engineering Record_ of New York City. He has two sons who were raised in the same honorable manner and promise the very best of American citizenship to their country that their father has, and I should very much like to see the father's heroism and suffering rewarded as they deserve and as I believe the Government intended by these Medals of Honor.

Meyer as a boy, against his father's desire, enlisted in '62 in what was known as the "Harris Light" (2nd New York Cavalry). Being of good education and writing a fine hand, he was subsequently detailed as a clerk at Headquarters of General D. McM. Gregg of the 2nd Division of Cavalry. On the 9th of June, '63, at Brandy Station, noticing some men hard pressed, he rushed into the thickest of the fight and was wounded by a sabre across the shoulder. He made light of the wound at the time and induced Adj.-General Weir not to report his name as wounded on account of needless alarm to his mother. Within the last few years, however, both General Gregg and Colonel Weir reported this circ.u.mstance to the War Department, which you will find on file under date of November 19th, '91, addressed to the Adj.-General of the Army and certified by those officers. Later, in an engagement at Buckland Mills, where General Kilpatrick's Division met with a reverse, General Davies's Brigade was imperilled by reason of the fact that General Custer's Brigade had been driven to the north side of Broad Run, and the enemy had gotten in between General Custer and his command, which was hard pressed some two miles near Warrenton. General Kilpatrick expressed his desire that somebody get to Davies that he might be made aware of the situation. Without waiting for further orders Meyer rode up the river and crossed the stream above the enemy and made his way around their flank and in their rear to Davies, who was thus enabled, without serious loss, to escape across the country to Haymarket. Meyer was recommended by Generals Gregg and Kilpatrick for a commission, and early in '64 was a.s.signed to the 24th New York Cavalry, then just ready for the field.

Coming to us with a 2nd Lieut.'s commission and being familiar with cavalry tactics he was a great addition to our effectiveness. From the Wilderness through that entire campaign the 24th N. Y. fought dismounted, and Lt. Meyer was most efficient from the fact of knowing the country so well, and was frequently detailed to guide troops to positions, especially about Spottsylvania. The Regiment being armed with special Star Carbines used a special cartridge un.o.btainable except by special requisition, and the Regiment being in constant service at the front, the ammunition was likely to be exhausted. Gen. Burnside was requested to send an officer to Washington for these cartridges, and he by special letter detailed Lt. Meyer, who showed great efficiency in bringing the ammunition to the front, seizing a wagon of Gen. Potter's (another Division) to save time and distributing the cartridges in blankets along the line of battle when the supply was nearly exhausted.

On the 8th of June Meyer was commissioned Captain, and on June 17th, in that terrible a.s.sault upon the line before Petersburg, where he lost one third of his Company, he was fearfully wounded very near the position where Gen. Morton, the Engineer Officer of the Corps, was killed. He had escaped wounds through the most serious part of the charge, when later he discovered an officer, Lt. Randall, very badly wounded, Randall having been shot in five places and lying with his face buried in the dirt between our lines; Meyer turned back, going fifty to seventy-five yards out of his way, and in plain sight of the enemy, turned Lt.

Randall over, brushed the sand and blood from his mouth so that he could breathe, thus saving his life, when he himself received a most dangerous wound. I was in sight of him, and he, after crawling in, was helped over the works just in advance of me by two men, and as soon as I reached him I detailed men to carry him back. For many months he lay in the Hospital and was not able to be removed to his home until the following October, and was a great sufferer for eleven months.

I should claim that this act alone of saving the life of a brother officer, being an act beyond his regular duty, ent.i.tled him to a Medal of Honor. His service and his honorable character as a civilian and the high position he to-day holds in the scientific world seem to point him out as a proper person to receive such high and distinguishing honor from the Government. I earnestly recommend that the Medal of Honor be conferred upon Captain and Brevet Major Henry C. Meyer of New York City.

With continued high regard, I remain, Respectfully, WALTER C. NEWBERRY, Late Col. 24th N. Y. Vet. Cavl.

Brevet Brig. Genl.