Drum Taps in Dixie Part 8

The weather was fine when we started but after we had gone about two miles one of those drenching Virginia showers overtook us and we were wet to the skin.

It does not need to rain over fifteen minutes in Virginia to make the mud from six to twelve inches deep, so we had to wade in the red clay mud the other seven miles to Alexandria.

Much has been said and written about Virginia mud, but to appreciate its sticking qualities one needs to march and lie down and sleep in it.

The boys used to wish that the editors who were writing the "On to Richmond" editorials could be compelled to take a twenty-five mile march in the mud loaded with a thirty or forty pound knapsack, a musket, forty rounds of ammunition, canteen and haversack with five days' rations.

At Alexandria we boarded an old transport and made ourselves as comfortable as possible, lying out on the open decks in our rain-soaked clothing. I do not know that I ever slept sounder than that night, and when I opened my eyes in the morning found that we were at Belle Plain landing on the Potomac, the base of supplies for Gen. Grant's army. The river was filled with boats of every conceivable kind waiting to discharge their loads.

During the forenoon we went ash.o.r.e and were marched up on some high ground overlooking the river. We eyed with as much curiosity as a small boy would his first circus two or three thousand rebel prisoners captured at Spottsylvania.

The next morning, May 17th, 1864, we fell in bright and early, and at the command "fours right" marched in the direction of Fredericksburg.

The day was a fearfully hot one and the dust rising in clouds filled our mouths and nostrils, thoroughly impregnated our clothing, hair and skin, producing intolerable thirst. At the sight of a house or brook the men would make a break from the ranks and run for dear life to get a chance at the water.

GOOD-BYE KNAPSACK.

My first forenoon's struggle with a knapsack convinced me that I had got enough of it. Selecting a shirt, towel, a pair of socks, soap and writing portfolio I rolled them up in a blanket which I slung over my shoulder and went it more comfortably.

Many others imitated my example and the roadside from Belle Plain to Spottsylvania was strewn with blankets, knapsacks, overcoats, etc. We pa.s.sed through Fredericksburg about sunset and a.s.sumed that a halt would be made near the city, but they did not halt us to even boil coffee, so we plodded on in the darkness, nibbled our hard tack and wondered how much that they thought we could stand.

At midnight we had caught up with Grant's army after a march of thirty-five miles.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN A BIG FIGHT WITH HANc.o.c.k'S VETERANS.

The next morning we were awakened by the booming of cannon and clash of musketry. As we got up off the ground we could see smoke curling up from the tops of the trees on a hillside a mile or more to the south of us. We were foot-sore and covered with dust from our big march of the previous day, and few of us had any water in our canteens. Before we had time to find any or make coffee we got the command "fall in" and were soon advancing toward the firing line.

On every hand there were evidences of the terrific fighting that had been going on for several days. The fields were strewn with clothing, knapsacks, canteens, muskets, dead horses and broken artillery caissons, and the trees were riddled with bullets, shot and sh.e.l.l. The dead had been buried but with such haste that in many places the bodies were scarcely covered. One time as we came to a halt I was horrified to see a human hand protruding from the earth near my foot.

We had not gone far before we began to meet the wounded, some able to walk, while others were borne on stretchers and blankets. It surely began to look like real warfare. Our men grew silent and their faces took on a serious expression. We knew that our time had come and that the regiment with its full ranks was to strengthen the thin line in front.

On our march the day before there had been much discussion among the musicians as to what we would do in case of a battle. No instructions had been given us and we had rather come to the conclusion among ourselves that when we got to close quarters we would drop out and keep as much out of range as possible.

Our anxiety about the part we were to take in the conflict increased as we approached the front. Occasionally some of the boys would suggest to Harry Marshall, our drum major, that it was about time for us to fall out. There was "no use of us going up to get shot at when we had nothing to shoot back with."

Finally when we paused for a few moments Harry approached the colonel and, saluting, asked if there was any use of us needlessly exposing ourselves.

"Needless exposure," yelled the colonel. "What in ---- did you enlist for?

Your place is with the regiment and I'll see that you are instructed as to your duties." And, turning to our surgeon, he said: "Major, I want you to take charge of the musicians and in case of a fight see that the young rascals do their duty."

I have always thought that but for this incident we should have seen less of the front line than we did that summer.

Dr. Payne, our surgeon, was a fine fellow and he had seen much service before being a.s.signed to our regiment. He immediately told us to fall out to one side and proceeded to tear up some red flannel in small strips which he tied around our right arms, explaining that this was a badge the enemy would respect when we were caring for the wounded.

While the doctor was fixing us up our regiment marched by and there is nothing in all my war memories that made a deeper impression on me than that scene.

I see them now as I saw them on that bright May morning--father, friends, comrades, marching with steady step, shoulder to shoulder, on to meet the foe in mortal encounter.

We followed in the rear of the regiment and were halted just under the brow of a hill, where we stood in line nearly two hours. Bullets clipped small branches from the trees and sh.e.l.ls went swishing through the air over our heads. A couple burst in front of us and an occasional solid shot would go rolling down the hill.

Probably there is no more trying situation for troops to be placed in than to be held as a reserve during a battle. The tension on one's nerves is something awful. If one is going to be shot it is something of a satisfaction to be able to return the compliment.

While the regiment was in line a few of us hunted up a spring and carried water to our friends who could not leave the ranks. One of the few times that I remember seeing tears in my father's eyes was when I handed him a canteen full of water that morning.

The fighting in our front ceased about ten o'clock and we were moved about two miles to the left. In the afternoon we settled down in some woods and were permitted to take the rest we so much needed, and the next morning we were a jolly lot as we sipped our coffee and nibbled hardtack.

Some of the men grumbled, however, because we did not get a chance to take a hand in the affair of the day before.

The forces of Grant and Lee, numbering some 200,000, had been hammering away at each other for about ten days and the carnage had been great, but the forenoon of the day in mind was as quiet and peaceful as if there was not an armed man within ten miles.

It was but the calm before a storm, and scores of our regiment who were so full of life and hope that bright May morning were weltering in their blood before sundown.

About two o'clock in the afternoon an orderly with foam-covered horse rode up to our colonel and handed him a message. The men noticed that the color came to the officer's face and they held their breath for the command that they knew was coming.

Gracey, our little Swiss bugler, who was selected by Gen. Hanc.o.c.k a few weeks later to sound the charge for the Second Corps at Cold Harbor because his bugle could be heard farther than any other, blew a blast on his silver trumpet that brought every man to his feet and in less than five minutes the Second Heavy were standing in line at "attention."

The colonel rode out in front of the regiment and said "men of the Second New York, the time has come when you will have an opportunity to show your mettle. Keep together; don't let your lines be broken; keep cool; obey orders and you will be all right."

The men started a cheer for the colonel, but he motioned silence. Then came the command "Fours right, march!"

We soon came to a nice smooth road which ran through the woods and then we got orders to "double quick."

Then we heard heavy musketry firing which increased in volume continually and we thought the whole rebel army were taking a hand in.

The boys in the ranks made sundry comments as we rushed along, such as "Guess we'll get initiated this afternoon."

"Wouldn't you like to be back in the forts now?" "Keep step there, Jimmy."

Jimmy West was a little Irishman who could never keep step.

When we emerged from the woods into a large open field we could see a long line of battle on a hillside probably half a mile away.

Our regiment was quickly formed in column by battalions, our colors unfurled, and as we double quicked across that field 1,500 strong, with perfect alignment as if it were a review, it was thrilling, inspiring and to have been there was to have the scene fixed in one's memory forever.

Other regiments besides our own were hurrying to the front. Batteries of artillery went by with the horses on the gallop and the drivers lashing them just as you have seen them in pictures.

Generals' aides and orderlies rode like mad to and fro directing the troops to positions, for Gen. Ewell had broken through the Union lines in a desperate effort to turn the right flank of Grant's army.

THE PAGEANTRY OF WAR.

War certainly has its fascinations as well as its horrors, and there is an enchantment that thrills in the movements of large bodies of soldiery with their bayonets glistening in the sun, the flags and guidons flying, the trumpets of the cavalry ringing piercingly and thrillingly, the field batteries rattling and rumbling along the road, with a score or more of bands playing. Nothing can make so striking or enchanting a picture.

Artists can portray such a scene on canvas, but they cannot make you feel the thrill you experience when you are an active partic.i.p.ant, touching elbows and keeping step with a thousand comrades whose hearts are young and gay.