Personal Recollections of a Cavalryman Part 10

From the night of the 8th to the morning of the 11th there was an interval of quietude. The cavalry was waiting and watching for Lee or Meade to do something and, to the credit of the union troopers, it must be said that they were eager for the conflict to begin believing, as they did, that the war ought to end in a day.

July 11, early in the morning, an attack was made on the lines around Hagerstown, which developed a hornets' nest of sharpshooters armed with telescopic rifles, who could pick a man's ear off half-a-mile away. The bullets from their guns had a peculiar sound, something like the buzz of a b.u.mble-bee, and the troopers' horses would stop, p.r.i.c.k up their ears and gaze in the direction whence the hum of those invisible messengers could be heard. Unable to reach them mounted, we finally deployed dismounted along a staked rail fence. The confederates were behind trees and shocks of grain, at least half-a-mile away. They would get the range so accurately that it was dangerous to stand still a moment. It was possible, however, to dodge the bullets by observing the puffs of smoke from their guns. The distance was so great that the puff was seen some seconds before the report was heard, and before the arrival of the leaden missile. By moving to the right or left the shot could be avoided, which in many cases was so accurately aimed as to have been fatal, had it been awaited. Once I was slow about moving. The scamp in my immediate front had evidently singled me out and was sending them in so close as to make it sure that he was taking deadly aim. I took my eye off his natural fortress for an instant, when he fired, and before I could jump, the ball struck a rail in front of me, and pa.s.sing through the rail, fell to the ground at my feet.

Most of the men were content to keep behind the fence and try and give the confederates as good as they sent, aiming at the points whence the puffs of smoke came. But there was one daring fellow, Halleck by name, who climbed over the fence and amused himself sh.e.l.ling and eating the wheat while he dodged the bullets. So keen an eye did he keep out for the danger, that he escaped without a scratch. While he was there a man named Mattoon, a good soldier, came up, and seeing Halleck, jumped over with the exclamation, "What are you doing here?" "Just wait a minute and you will see," said Halleck. Mattoon was a fat, chubby fellow, and in just about "a minute" a bullet struck him in the face, going through the fleshy part of the cheek and making the blood spout. "I told you so,"

said Halleck, who kept on eating wheat and defying the sharpshooters, who were unable to hit him, though he was a conspicuous target. The secret of it was he did not stand still, but kept moving, and they had to hit him, if at all, like a bird on the wing which at the distance was a hard shot to make.

The entire day was pa.s.sed in this kind of skirmishing, and it was both dangerous and exciting. The men had lots of fun out of it, and only a few of them were shot, though there were many narrow escapes.

On the morning of July 14, the Third cavalry division marched over the Hagerstown pike, into Williamsport. There was no enemy there. Lee had given Meade the slip. His army was across the Potomac, in Virginia once more, safe from pursuit. As he reined up his faithful steed upon the northern bank of the broad river, the union trooper looked wistfully at the country beyond. Well he knew that Lee had escaped, like a bird from the snare, and could march leisurely back to his strongholds. Visions of the swamps of the Chickahominy, of Bull Run, of Fredericksburg, of Chancellorsville, pa.s.sed before his mind as with pensive thought he gazed upon the shining valley of the Shenandoah, stretching away to the southward in mellow perspective. He wondered how long the two armies were to continue the work of alternately chasing each other back and forth across this battle-ground of the republic. The wide, majestic river, no longer vexed by the splashing tread of pa.s.sing squadrons, with smooth and tranquil flow swept serenely along, the liquid notes of its rippling eddies seeming to mock at the disappointment of the baffled pursuer. The calm serenity of the scene was in sharp contrast with the stormy pa.s.sions of the men who sought to disturb it with the stern fatalities of war. The valley, rich with golden harvests, presented a charming dissolving view, melting away in the dim distance. On the left, the smoky summits of the Blue mountains marked the eastern limits of this "storehouse of the confederacy," the whole forming a picture in which beauty and grandeur were strikingly blended.

But this reverie of the soldier was soon rudely disturbed. Word came that they were not all across after all. Five miles below, at Falling Waters, in a bend of the river, was a ford where a portion of Longstreet's corps was yet to cross on a pontoon bridge. Kilpatrick started off in hot haste for Falling Waters, determined to strike the last blow on northern soil. The Sixth Michigan was in advance, two troops--B and F--under Major Weber, acting as advance guard. Kilpatrick and Custer followed Weber; then came Colonel Gray with the remainder of the regiment.

The march from Williamsport to Falling Waters was a wild ride. For the whole distance the horses were spurred to a gallop. Kilpatrick was afraid he would not get there in time to overtake the enemy, so he spared neither man nor beast. The road was soft and miry, and the horses sank almost to their knees in the sticky mud. For this reason the column straggled, and it was not possible to keep a single troop closed up in sets of fours. At such a rapid rate the column plunged through the muddy roads, Weber and his little force leading.

On nearing Falling Waters, the column turned to the right through a wood, which skirted a large cultivated field. To the right and front, beyond the field, was a high hill or knoll on which an earthwork had been thrown up. Behind the earthwork a considerable force of confederate infantry was seen in bivouac, evidently taking a rest, with arms stacked. As a matter of fact, for it will be as well to know what was there, though the general in command made very little note of it at the time, there were two brigades--an entire division--commanded by General Pettigrew, one of the men who partic.i.p.ated in Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.

On sighting this force, Custer ordered Weber to dismount his men, advance a line of skirmishers toward the hill and ascertain what he had to encounter. Kilpatrick however ordered Weber to remount and charge the hill. At that time no other portion of the regiment had arrived so as to support the charge.

Weber, knowing no law for a soldier except implicit obedience to orders, first saw his men well closed up, then placed himself at their head and giving the order "Forward," emerged from the woods into the open field, took the trot until near the top of the slope, close to the earthworks, and then with a shout the little band of less than a hundred men charged right into the midst of ten times their number of veteran troops. The first onset surprised and astonished the enemy, who had mistaken Weber's force for a squadron of their own cavalry. The audacity of the thing dazed them for a minute, and for a minute only.

Weber, cutting right and left with his saber, and cheering on his men, pierced the first line, but there could be but one result. Recovering from their surprise, the confederate infantry rallied, and seizing their arms, made short work of their daring a.s.sailants. In a few minutes, of the three officers in the charge, two--Weber and Bolza--lay dead on the field, and the other--Crawford--had his leg shattered so it had to be amputated.

The two brave troops were more than decimated, though a considerable number succeeded in escaping with their lives.

This charge which Kilpatrick in his official report characterized as "the most gallant ever made," was described by a confederate eye-witness who was on the hill with Pettigrew and who wrote an account of the affair for a southern paper several years ago, as "a charge of dare-devils."

[Ill.u.s.tration: PETER A. WEBER]

In the meantime, just as Weber's command was repulsed, the other squadrons of the regiment began to arrive, and were hurried across the field to the foot of the hill, and there dismounted to fight, dressing to the left as they successively reached the alignment and opening fire with their Spencers at once. But having disposed of the two mounted troops, the confederates filled the earthworks, and began to send a shower of bullets at those already formed or forming below.

My troop was the fourth from the rear of the regiment, and consequently several preceded it on the line. When I reached the fence, along the side of the field next the woods, I found Lieutenant A.E. Tower, who since the death of Jewett had been acting adjutant, at the gap giving orders. He directed me to take my command across the field, and form on the right of that next preceding. I had ridden so rapidly that only a few men had kept up the pace, and the remainder were strung out for some distance back. But taking those that were up, and asking the adjutant to tell the others to follow, I dashed into the field, and soon found that we were the targets for the enemy on the hill, who made the air vibrant with the whiz of bullets. It was hot, but we made our way across without being hit, and reached the place where the regiment was trying to form, under fire of musketry from the hill, and getting badly cut up. Reining up my horse, I gave the order, "Dismount, to fight on foot" and, glancing back, saw my men coming in single file, reaching to the fence--probably an eighth of a mile--and the rear had not yet left the woods. The two leading sets of fours which alone were closed up obeyed the order and, dismounting to direct the alignment, I stepped in front of my horse, still holding the bridle rein in my right hand, when a minie bullet from the hill in front with a vicious thud went through my right foot, making what the surgeon in Washington afterwards said was the "prettiest wound I ever saw."

I tried to stand but could not. The foot was useless. Private Halleck--the same who was eating wheat at Hagerstown a few days before--jumped to my rescue and helped me off the field.

Back of our position some distance, say 500 yards, was a log house in an orchard. To this we directed our steps, I leaning on Halleck's shoulder, and hopping along on the unhurt foot. The most uncomfortable experience I had during the war I believe was during the pa.s.sage across the open field to the orchard. Our backs were to the foe and the whistling bullets which came thick and fast all about served to accelerate our speed. I expected every moment to be shot in the back. One poor fellow, already wounded, who was trying to run to the rear, was making diagonally across the field from the right. As he was about to pa.s.s us a bullet struck him and he fell dead in his tracks. Halleck succeeded in getting to the house, where he left me with the remark: "You are all right now, captain, the boys need me and I will go back on the line."

And back he went into the thickest of it, and fought gallantly to the end of the engagement, as I learned by inquiry afterwards.

After a little, the confederates drove our line back beyond the house, and it was, for perhaps an hour, on the neutral ground between friends and foes. Sh.e.l.ls from the opposing batteries hurtled around, and I did not know what moment one of them would come crashing through the building. A hospital flag had been displayed above it, which saved it.

Finally, sufficient force arrived to give our people the best of it, and the enemy was driven in confusion to the river, losing about 1,500 prisoners, one or two pieces of artillery and many small arms. General Pettigrew was killed by Weber or one of his men. Until the battle was over I did not know what fearful losses had befallen the regiment. The total casualties were 33 killed and 56 wounded. The loss in officers was heavy: Major Weber, killed; Lieutenant Bolza, commanding troop B, killed; Lieutenant Potter, troop C, wounded and prisoner; Captain Royce, troop D, killed; Captain Kidd, troop E, wounded; Lieutenant Crawford, troop F, lost a leg; Lieutenant Kellogg, troop H, wounded and a prisoner.

The story of "The Michigan Cavalry Brigade in the Gettysburg Campaign,"

properly ends with the death of General Pettigrew and Major Weber at Falling Waters. No more brilliant pa.s.sage at arms took place during the war for the union, and it is a pity that some more able historian could not have written the story and immortalized the men, both dead and living who had a part in it.[15]

CHAPTER XIII

FROM FALLING WATERS TO BUCKLAND MILLS

The night following the battle of Falling Waters, July 14, 1863, was a memorable one to the Michigan cavalry brigade, especially to those who like myself pa.s.sed it in the field hospital. The log house into which the wounded were taken was filled with maimed and dying soldiers, dressed in union blue. The entire medical staff of the division had its hands full caring for the sufferers. Many were brought in and subjected to surgical treatment only to die in the operation, or soon thereafter.

Probes were thrust into gaping wounds in search of the deadly missiles, or to trace the course of the injury. Bandages and lint were applied to stop the flow of blood. Splintered bones were removed and shattered limbs amputated. All night long my ears were filled with the groans wrung from stout hearts by the agonies of pain, and the moans of the mortally hurt as their lives ebbed slowly away. One poor fellow, belonging to the First Michigan cavalry, was in the same room with me.

He had a gun-shot wound in the bowels. It was fatal, and he knew it, for the surgeon had done his duty and told him the truth. He was a manly and robust young soldier who but a few hours before had been the picture of health, going into battle without a tremor and receiving his death wound like a hero. For hours, I watched and wondered at the fort.i.tude with which he faced his fate. Not a murmur of complaint pa.s.sed his lips.

Racked with pain and conscious that but a few hours of life remained to him, he talked as placidly about his wound, his condition and his coming dissolution, as though conversing about something of common, everyday concern. He was more solicitous about others than about himself, and pa.s.sed away literally like one "who wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams." He died about three o'clock in the morning and I could almost feel the reality of the flight of his tranquil spirit.

In striking contrast to the picture thus presented, was one in the room adjoining. Another trooper also fatally wounded, suffered so keenly from shock and pain that his fort.i.tude gave way. He could not bear the thought of death. His nerve appeared to have deserted him and his anguish of mind and body, as he saw the relentless approach of the grim monster and felt his icy breath, will haunt my memory till I myself shall have joined the great army of union veterans who are beyond the reach of pain and the need of pensions.

My own wound gave little annoyance except when the surgeon ran an iron called a probe into it, which attempt met with so vigorous a protest from his patient that he desisted and that form of treatment stopped right there, so far as one cavalryman was concerned. The wound was well bandaged and plentiful applications of cold water kept out the inflammation.

Many of the officers and men came in to express their sympathy. Some of them entertained me with the usual mock congratulations on having won a "leave" and affected to regard me as a lucky fellow while they were the real objects of sympathy.

But the circ.u.mstances were such as to repress mirth or anything of that semblance. The regiment was in mourning for its bravest and best. The Sixth, having been the first regiment to get into the fight, had suffered more severely than any other. The losses had been grievous, and it seemed hard that so many bright lights of our little family should be so suddenly extinguished.

At daylight I was still wide awake but, even amidst such scenes as I have described, fatigue finally overcame me and I sank into dreamland only to be startled, at first, by the fancied notes of the bugle sounding "to horse" or the shouts of hors.e.m.e.n engaged in the fray. At last, however, "tired nature's sweet restorer" came to my relief and I fell into a dreamless sleep that lasted for several hours.

When I awoke it was with a delightful sense of mind and body rested and restored. The wounded foot had ceased its pain. A gentle hand was bathing my face with cold water from the well, while another was straightening out the tangled locks which, to tell the truth, were somewhat unkempt and overgrown from enforced neglect. Two ladies full of sympathy for the youthful soldier were thus kindly ministering to his comfort. As soon as fully awake to his surroundings, he opened his eyes and turned them with what was meant for a look of grat.i.tude upon the fair friends who seemed like visiting angels in that place of misery and death.

It was an incongruous picture that presented itself--a strange blending of the grewsome sights of war with the beautiful environments of peace.

The wonted tranquility of this rural household had been rudely disturbed by the sudden clangor of arms. A terrible storm of battle--the more terrible because unforeseen--had broken in upon the quietude of their home. In the early hours of the morning it had raged all around them. At the first sound of its approach the terrified inmates fled to the cellar where they remained till it pa.s.sed. They had come forth to find their house turned into a hospital.

The kindness of those ladies is something that the union trooper has never forgotten, for they flitted across his pathway, a transient vision of gentleness and mercy in that scene of carnage and suffering.

It was with a melancholy interest that I gazed upon the pallid face of my dead comrade of the First, who lay, a peaceful smile upon his features which were bathed in a flood of golden light, as the hot rays of the July sun penetrated the apartment. The man in the hall was also dead. Others of the wounded were lying on their improvised couches, as comfortable as they could be made.

In the afternoon the ambulance train arrived. The wounded were loaded therein, and started for Hagerstown, bidding farewell to those who remained on duty, and who had already received marching orders which would take them back into "Old Virginia."

The journey to Hagerstown was by way of Williamsport and the same pike we had marched over on the 6th of the month when Jewett was killed, and on the morning of the 14th when Weber was riding to "one more saber charge" at Falling Waters.

Nothing is more depressing than to pa.s.s over ground where a battle has recently been fought. Any veteran will say that he prefers the advance to the retreat--the front to the rear of an army. The true soldier would rather be on the skirmish-line than in the hospital or among the trains.

Men who can face the cannon's mouth without flinching, shrink from the surgeon's knife and the amputating-table. The excitement, the noise, the bugle's note and beat of drum, the roar of artillery, the shriek of sh.e.l.l, the volley of musketry, the "zip" of bullet or "ping" of spent ball, the orderly movement of ma.s.ses of men, the shouting of orders, the waving of battle-flags--all these things inflame the imagination, stir the blood, and stimulate men to heroic actions. Above all, the consciousness that the eyes of comrades are upon him, puts a man upon his mettle and upon his pride, and compels him oftentimes to simulate a contempt for danger which he does not feel. The senses are too, in some sort, deadened to the hazards of the scene and, in battle, one finds himself doing with resolute will things which under normal conditions would fill him with abhorrence.

Men fight from mingled motives. Pride, the fear of disgrace, ambition, the sense of duty--all contribute to keep the courage up to the sticking point. Few fight because they like it. The bravest are those who, fully alive to the danger, are possessed of that sublime moral heroism which sustains them in emergencies that daunt weaker men.

But, when the excitement is over, when the pomp and circ.u.mstance are eliminated, when the unnatural ardor has subsided, when the tumult and rush have pa.s.sed, leaving behind only the dismal effects--the ruin and desolation, the mangled corpses of the killed, the saddening spectacle of the dying, the sufferings of the wounded--the bravest would, if he could, blot these things from his sight and from his memory.

The night in the field hospital at Falling Waters did more to put out the fires of my military spirit and to quench my martial ambition than did all the experiences of Hunterstown and Gettysburg, of Boonsborough and Williamsport. And, as the ambulance train laden with wounded wound its tortuous way through the theater of many a b.l.o.o.d.y recent rencounter, it set in motion a train of reflections which were by no means pleasing. The abandoned arms and accouterments; the debris of broken-down army wagons; the wrecks of caissons and gun-carriages; the bloated carca.s.ses of once proud and sleek cavalry chargers; the mounds showing where the earth had been hastily shoveled over the forms of late companions-in-arms; everything was suggestive of the desolation, nothing of the glory, of war.

It was nearly dark when the long train of ambulances halted in the streets of Hagerstown. Some large buildings had been taken for hospitals and the wounded were being placed therein as the ambulances successively arrived. This consumed much time and, while waiting for the forward wagons to be unloaded, it occurred to me that it would be a nice thing to obtain quarters in a private house. Barnhart, first sergeant of the troop, who accompanied me, proposed to make inquiry at once, and ran up the stone steps of a comfortable-looking brick house opposite the ambulance and rang the bell. In a moment the door opened and a pleasant voice inquired what was wanted.

"A wounded officer in the ambulance yonder wants to know if you will take him in for a day or two until he can get ordered to Washington. He has funds to recompense you and does not like to go to the hospital."

"Certainly," replied the voice, "bring him in."

And Barnhart, taking me in his arms, carried me into the house and, guided to the second floor by the same lady who had met him at the door, deposited his burden on a couch in a well furnished apartment and we were bidden to make ourselves at home.

In a little while, a nice hot supper of tea, toast, eggs and beefsteak, enough for both, was brought to the room by our hospitable hostess, who seemed to take the greatest pleasure in serving her guests with her own hands. Later in the evening, she called with her husband and they formally introduced themselves. They were young married people with one child, a beautiful little girl of six or eight summers. He was a merchant and kept a store in an adjoining building. They spent the evening in the room, chatting of the stirring events of the month and, indeed, their experiences had been scarcely less exciting than our own.