CHAPTER IX Commissioned Colonel of 110th Ohio Volunteers—Campaigns in West Virginia under General Milroy, 1862-3—Emancipation of Slaves in the Shenandoah Valley, and Incidents
On September 30, 1862, I arrived at Columbus, Ohio, from Louisville, and was at once commissioned Colonel of the 110th Ohio Volunteer Infantry. My regiment was at Camp Piqua, Ohio, not yet organized and without arms or clothing. I found the camp in command of a militia colonel, appointed for the purpose.
The men of the 110th Ohio were for the most part recruited from the country, and were being fed in camp, in large part, by home- food voluntarily furnished by their friends. They were a fine body of young men, but none of the officers had seen military service.
I declined to assume command of the camp or regiment until clothing and arms could be procured. Three or four days sufficed to obtain these supplies, but only percussion-cap smooth-bore .69 calibre muskets could be obtained. These guns were heavy, long, and unwieldy, and much inferior to the Springfield .58 calibre rifle, but I accepted them temporarily rather than be delayed in the drill and discipline of the regiment, which was impossible without them.
On assuming command, I called the officers of the regiment together and explained to them their duties as well as my own, and especially informed each company commander that he would be required to qualify himself to command his company, and that all times he would be held responsible for its soldierly conduct. A school of officers was established, and the whole camp soon wore a military aspect. The work thus commenced in time transformed these raw volunteers into officers and soldiers as good as ever fought in any war or country.( 1)
The environments of Camp Piqua were not favorable to discipline, but on October 19, 1862, the regiment took cars and proceeded via Columbus to Zanesville, thence by water to Marietta, and from the latter place on foot to Parkersburg, West Virginia, where it first occupied and camped in what was called the enemy's country. An early but severe snow-storm came during the first night of our encampment, and suggested the hardship and suffering which were not to cease until the final victory at Appomattox. Drill and discipline went on satisfactorily. New troops will bravely stand to their work in battle if they can be manoeuvred successfully, and also know how to use their arms. General J. D. Cox, in command of the District of West Virginia, with his uniform courtesy welcomed me by telegraph to my new field of operations. In a few days I was ordered to Clarksburg and to a section familiar to me when serving under McClellan.
At Parkersburg I first me the 122d Ohio Infantry, commanded by Col. Wm. H. Ball. He was my junior in date of muster eight days and, consequently, in more than two years our regiments served together, I generally commanded him. He was not an educated soldier, and did not aspire to become one, nor did he take pains to appear well on drill or on parade, yet he was a most valuable officer, loyal and intelligently brave, possessing enough mental capacity to successfully fill any position. He did not aspire to high command, but at all times faithfully performed his duty in camp and on the battle-field. His loyalty to me, while my senior in years, still claims my gratitude.
His regiment, like the volunteer regiments generally, had in it many men who became prominent in the war, and, still later, in peace. Lieutenant-Colonel Moses M. Granger was a most accomplished officer, and deserved a higher rank. In addition to the distinction won by him as a soldier he has attained a high reputation as a citizen, lawyer, and jurist.
The first surgeon (Thaddeus A. Reamy) of the 122d, though not long in the field, has taken a first place in his profession, as has also its next surgeon, Wm. M. Houston, and its assistant surgeon, Wilson G. Bryant. Its chaplain, Charles C. McCabe, was one of the best and most efficient in the war. His zeal in the performance, under all circumstances, of the high duties of his office, and his cheerful disposition, aided in trying times to keep up the spirits and courage of the soldiers. He ministered to the wounded and the dying on the battlefield, and to the sick and disabled in hospital. He was famed throughout the armies he served with for singing at appropriate times, with a strong, melodious voice, patriotic and religious songs, in which, often even on the march, a large part of the army would join.
He has since achieved success in the Methodist Episcopal Church, in which he is now a bishop. William T. Meloy, D. D., of the United Presbyterian Church—now in Chicago—was a lieutenant in this regiment. He has become eminent for his learning and high character. Those named of these companion regiments are examples only of others who voluntarily and heroically endured the trying ordeal of war.
A false report that Stonewall Jackson was threatening a raid on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad at New Creek (now Keyser), West Virginia, caused a precipitate transfer by rail of my command to that place. There I came first under the direct command of Major- General Robert H. Milroy, then distinguished for his zeal for the Union and for personal bravery. He was tall and of commanding presence. His head of white, shocky, stiff hair led his soldiers to dub him the "Gray Eagle." He had much military learning, and had fought in many of the bloodiest battles of the war, notably at the second Bull Run under Pope. He had seen service also in the Mexican War. Notwithstanding his excessive impetuosity, he was a just, generous, kind-hearted man, and possessed the confidence of his troops to a high degree. He incurred the ill-will of Secretary of War Stanton, and, regarding himself as unjustly treated, more than reciprocated the Secretary's dislike. He ardently admired President Lincoln, and only criticised him for delay in emancipating the slaves. He believed the slaves of those in rebellion should have been given their freedom from the beginning of the war. He was so bitterly hostile to slavery and to individual Secessionists, and so radical in his methods, that Jefferson Davis, by proclamation, excepted him and his officers from being treated, if captured, as prisoners of war. He was charged with making assessments on inhabitants and of requiring them to take an oath to support the Constitution and the Union. He also had the distinction of being mentioned by Davis in a Message to the Confederate Congress, January 12, 1863. There was much correspondence between the opposing authorities on the subject of his mode of conducting the war,( 2) and it seems General Halleck disavowed and condemned Milroy's alleged acts. Much charged against Milroy was false, though it was true he believed in prosecuting the war with an iron hand. He regarded the Confederate soldier in the field with more favor than the Confederate stay-at-home who acted as a spy, or who, as a guerilla, engaged in shooting from ambush passing soldiers or teamsters and cutting telegraph wires. He did require certain influential persons who resided within his lines to take an oath of allegiance to the United States and to West Virginia or to forfeit all right to the protection of his division. Further than this he did not go.
At New Creek I first met G. P. Cluseret, a French soldier of fortune, but recently appointed a Brigadier-General. He held a command under Milroy in the Cheat Mountain Division. He assumed much military and other learning, was imperious and overbearing by nature, spoke English imperfectly, and did not seem to desire to get in touch with volunteers. With him I had my only personal difficulty of a serious nature during the war.
At New Creek a constant drill was kept up. To avoid surprises by sudden dashes, the companies as well as the battalion were taught to form squares quickly and to guard against cavalry. Early in December Milroy marched to Little Petersburg, on the South Branch of the Potomac, and I was assigned to command a post at Moorefield to include Hardy County, West Virginia, Milroy's headquarters being ten miles distant. General Lee ordered General W. E. Jones, then temporarily in command in the Shenandoah Valley, to retake the county we occupied. A feeble effort to do this failed. We were kept constantly on the alert, however, by annoying attacks of Captain McNeil's irregular cavalry or guerillas. Late in December, 1862, it was decided to make a raid into the lower Shenandoah Valley, and, if found practicable, occupy it permanently. I was designated to lead the raid with about two thousand infantry, cavalry, and artillery. This made it necessary for me to be relieved of the command of the post. Cluseret was therefore ordered from Petersburg to relieve me. He arrived late in the evening with his staff and escort, showed his orders, and I suggested that he assume the command at once. This he declined to do until he ascertained the position of the troops, roads, etc. I provided him comfortable quarters, and everything would have gone along pleasantly but for an unexpected incident.
Before Cluseret's arrival, a lieutenant-colonel of a West Virginia regiment applied for leave to go to Petersburg to visit a lady friend. This I refused, and he undertook to go without leave. After he had proceeded along the river road by moonlight about three miles, he was halted by a man who, from behind a tree, pointed a musket at him and demanded his surrender and that he deliver up his sword, pistols, overcoat, horse, and trappings, all of which he did promptly, and accepted a parole. The man who made the capture claimed to be a regular Confederate soldier returning from a furlough to his command. With the colonel's property and on the horse he proceeded by a mountain path on his journey. The colonel walked back to Moorefield and related his adventure. I at once ordered Captain Rowan with a small number of his West Virginia cavalry to pursue the Confederate. As there was snow on the ground, his pursuit was easy, and before midnight the Captain had captured him and all the colonel's property was returned to Moorefield. When the man was brought before me, I made some examination of him and then ordered him taken to the guard-house. At this time Cluseret appeared on the scene, and in an excited way demanded that I should order the prisoner to be shot forthwith. This being declined, he again produced his order to supersede me, and declared he would at once take command and himself order the man shot that night. I could not deny his right to assume command notwithstanding what had taken place, but I strongly denied his authority to shoot the captive, and insisted that there was no cause for shooting him summarily; that only through a court-martial or military commission could he be condemned, and a sentence to death would, to carry it out, require the approval of the President. (It was not until later in the war that department, district, or army commanders could approve a capital sentence.) Cluseret vehemently denounced the authorities, including the President, for their mild way of carrying on the war, and talked himself into a frenzy. As he was preparing an order to require the Provost-Marshal to shoot the man without trial, I repaired to the telegraph office and made Milroy acquainted with the situation, whereupon he ordered me to retain command of the post until further orders. Milroy, on coming to Moorefield the next day, sustained me, and the soldier was treated as an ordinary prisoner of war. Cluseret pretended to be satisfied, and later succeeded in getting himself assigned to command the expedition to the Shenandoah Valley—not a very desirable one in mid-winter. He reached Strasburg, and moved through the Valley northward to Winchester, but was pursued by a small force under Jones. This made it necessary to reinforce him, and I started under orders for that place via Romney and Blue's Gap, and was joined on the way by Milroy with the body of his division. On leaving Moorefield, on the 30th of December, I with two orderlies rode ahead about a mile to the South Branch of the Potomac to examine the ford, as we had no pontoons, and, having crossed the river, awaited the approach of the wagon train and its guard, which was to take the advance, as no enemy was known to be in that direction. As the head of the train reached the ford Captain J. H. McNeil (whose home was near by), with about fifty of his guerilla band, attacked it by emerging from ambush on the Moorefield side of the river. A short fight ensued, during which I recrossed the river and joined in it. McNeil was driven off with little loss, but for a brief time I was in much danger of capture, at least.
On this day a colored boy, an escaped slave, whom we named Andrew Jackson, joined me. He became my servant to the end of the war. He was always faithful, honest, good-natured, and brave. He was a full-blood African, and during a battle would voluntarily take a soldier's arms and fight with the advance lines. He became widely known throughout the Army of the Potomac and other armies in which I served, and was kindly treated and welcomed wherever he went. He resided after the war in Springfield, Ohio, and died there (1895) of an injury resulting from the kick of a horse.
On the night of December 31, 1862, the command bivouacked on the western slope of the Alleghany Mountains in a fierce snow-storm, and early the next morning my troops led the way in the continuing storm over the summit. Shortly after the head of the column commenced the eastern descent, and when the chilling winter blasts had caused the lowest ebb of human enthusiasm to be reached, shouts were heard by me, at first indistinctly, then nearer and louder. This was so unusual and unexpected under the depressing circumstances that I ordered the column to halt until I could go back and ascertain the cause. My first impression was that a sudden attack had been made on the rear of the troops, but as the shouts came nearer I took them to be for a great victory, news of which had just arrived. When I reached the crest of the mountain I descried, through the flying snow, General Milroy riding along the line of troops and halting at intervals as though to briefly address the men. I awaited his approach, and on his arrival accosted him with the inquiry, "What is the matter, General?" He had his hat and sword in his right hand, and with the other guided his horse at a reckless gallop through the snow, his tall form, shocky white hair fluttering in the storm, and evident agitation making a figure most picturesque and striking. He pulled up his horse abruptly to answer my question. A natural impediment in his speech, affecting him most when excited, caused some delay in his first vehement utterance. He said:
"Colonel, don't you know that this is Emancipation Day, when all slaves will be made free?"
He then turned to the halted troops and again broke forth:
"This day President Lincoln will proclaim the freedom of four millions of human slaves, the most important event in the history of the world since Christ was born. Our boast that this is a land of liberty has been a flaunting lie. Henceforth it will be a veritable reality. The defeats of our armies in the past we have deserved, because we waged a war to protect and perpetuate and to rivet firmer the chains of slavery. Hereafter we shall prosecute the war to establish and perpetuate liberty for all mankind beneath the flag; and the Lord God Almighty will fight on our side, and he is a host, and the Union armies will triumph."
This is the character of speech that aroused the soldiers to voiceful demonstrations on the summit of the Appalachian chain on this cold and stormy mid-winter morning. The sequel shows how Milroy's prophecy was fulfilled; but not always did victory come to the Union arms. As in the days of the Crusades, when the Lord was supposed to battle on the side of the Crusaders, victory was not uniformly with them. Charles Martel, believing in prayer for divine aid on going into battle, yet testified that the "Lord always fights on the side of the heaviest battalions"; which was only another way of saying, "The Lord helps those who help themselves."
Milroy's command debouched into the Valley of the Shenandoah, already memorable for its many bloody conflicts, and destined to become yet more memorable by reason of still other and far bloodier battles.
This war-stricken valley, from Staunton to the Potomac, was beautiful and rich, and its inhabitants were, prior to the war, proud and boastful; they possessed many slaves to till the soil and for personal servants. It was also a breeding-ground for slaves which, in a more southern market, brought great profit to their owners. Winchester was the home of the Masons and others, distinguished as statesmen and soldiers through all the history of Virginia.
But not all the inhabitants of the Shenandoah valley were disloyal. A majority of its voting population was, before the war actually commenced, in favor of the Union, and its Representatives voted against an Ordinance of Secession. I have seen an address of Philip Williams, Esq., an old, respected, and distinguished lawyer of Winchester, made when the question of Secession was pending, in which he attempted to depict the horrors of the war that would follow an attempt to set up an independent government. He prophesied that the valley would be a battle-ground for the contending hosts; that the fields would be overrun, the crops destroyed, grain and stock confiscated; and the slaves carried off and set free. His address brought him for a time into ridicule. He lived to see his word-picture appear as only a vain, faint representation of the reality. When the war came, and his sons and friends joined the Confederate Army, his sympathies were with the South. He often recurred, however, to his more than fulfilled prophecy. He lived to see the valley for ninety or more miles of its length reek with blood; the houses, whether in city or village, turned into hospitals, and the war-lit fires of burning mills, barns, and grain stacks illuminate the valley and the mountain slopes to the summits of the Blue Ridge and the Alleghanies on its east and west. Pen cannot adequately describe the hell of agony, desolation, and despair witnessed in this fertile region in the four years of war; and long before the conflict ended not a human slave was held therein. It, however, has long since, under a new civilization, recovered its wonted prosperity, and no inhabitant thereof, though many are the sons and daughters of slaveholders, desires to again hold slaves. Not all the affluent ante-bellum inhabitants of this valley owned slaves or believed in slavery. Many were Quakers, others Dunkards (or Tunkers), all of whom were, by religious training and conviction, opposed to human slavery, hence opposed to Secession and a slave power. Some of the younger men of Quaker or Dunkard families through compulsion joined the Confederate Army, but the number was small. Though opposed to war, no more loyal Union people could be found anywhere. Their Secession neighbors called them "Tories," and the Quakers descendants of Tories of the Revolution. It was common to hear related the story of the imprisonment at Winchester, under General Washington's order, of certain Quakers of Philadelphia, claimed to have been Tories, who were given a twenty-mile prison- bound limit, and who, when peace came, coveting the rich lands of the valley, and being humiliated over their imprisonment, sent for their families and settled there permanently. Whether or not this story gives the true reason for the early settlement of the Quakers in Virginia, certain it is that they were loyal to the Union that Washington helped to found and opposed to human bondage.
Milroy's enthusiasm over Emancipation was put in practice when he entered Winchester. Without seeing the Proclamation of the President, and without knowing certainly it was issued and made applicable to the Shenandoah Valley district, Milroy issued a proclamation headed, "Freedom to Slaves." This had the effect of causing those within the lines of his command at once to leave their masters. Though the slaves could not read, not one failed during the succeeding night to hear that liberty had been proclaimed, and all, even to the most trusted and faithful personal or house servant, regardless of age, sex, or previous kind treatment, so far as known, asserted their freedom. In some way it had been inculcated into the minds of these people that if they, by word or act, however simple or unimportant it might be, after the Proclamation acquiesced in their previous condition they would again for life become slaves. They probably derived this notion from the Bible story of Hebrew slavery, wherein it is said that after six years' service the slave should become free, save when, preferring slavery, he voluntarily permitted his former master to bore his ears with an awl at the door-post and thus consecrate himself to slavery forever.( 3)
So it turned out that many aristocratic matrons and maidens, reared in luxury and accustomed to the personal service of servants, had to cook their own breakfasts or go hungry, as no amount of persuasion, kind treatment, or promises would induce the former slave to do the least act that by possibility could be construed to be an acquiescence in a previous condition of servitude. Even the assurance of a Union officer could not shake their position. The "Year of Jubilee," of which they had sung in their hearts, had been long coming for them, and there was no use for awls and door-posts for their ears, nor were they going to take chances. Many of them, though offered food for their own use by their masters, would not cook it, lest it might be construed as a recognition of a master's continuing authority over them. Most of them gathered up their little property with marvellous dispatch and presented themselves ready to emigrate. General Milroy used the otherwise empty trains going north for supplies to carry these freed people from the land of their birth to where a slave condition could not overtake them. Most of the knew the story of John Brown, and many of them had, in some way, been supplied with cheap wood-cut pictures of this early champion of their liberty. In some way they had learned also to sing songs of John Brown, and other songs of liberty. When the trains proceeded towards the Potomac freighted with these people they commingled songs of freedom and the religious hymns peculiar to their race with the universal but more cheerful music of the fiddle and banjo.
They were light-hearted and free from care, though abandoning all of home they had ever known, and going whither, for home and protection, they knew not,—all was compensated for with them, if only they were forever free. The prompt emancipation of slaves was exceptional in the Shenandoah Valley, especially at Winchester. Most of these freed people soon found homes and employment, some of the younger men with the army, later as soldiers, and others on farms, or as house servants North, where the war had called away the able-bodied men. It was not until after the war that the great trials of the freedmen came.
It must not be assumed that the slave owners in the Valley were, in war times at least, cruel to their slaves; on the contrary, kindness and indulgence were the rule. This was probably true in ante-war days, save when members of families were sold and separated to be transported to distant parts. I recall no word of censure to the blacks for accepting freedom. Pity was in some cases expressed. Tokens of remembrance were offered and accepted with emotion. Those who had been house or personal servants often evinced feelings of compassion for the pitiable and helpless condition of those whom they had so long served. It must be remembered that, regardless of estates once owned, the war had impoverished the people of this Valley, and but few of them could, even with money, secure enough food, clothing, and help to enable them to live in anything approaching comfort. And the future then had no promise of relief.
The plight of some of the affluent people might well excite sympathy. I remember an excellent Winchester family of four ladies, a mother and three grown daughters, who were educated and accomplished, unused to work, and thus far wholly dependent on their slaves. White or black servants could not, after the Proclamation, be procured for money. These ladies therefore held a consultation to determine what could be done. The mother would not attempt to do what she deemed menial service. The daughters at length decided to work "week about," and in this way each could be a lady two weeks out of three. This plan seemed to operate well, and they soon became quite cheerful over it, and boastful of domestic accomplishments.
Cluseret while on his raid into the Valley brooded over the incident which resulted in his being prevented from taking command of the post at Moorefield, and pretended to believe that I had wronged him. He went so far as to talk freely to officers about the incident, and to declare that if he should meet me again he would shoot me unless I made amends. These threats came to me on my arrival at Winchester, and my friends seemed to apprehend serious consequences. As I always deprecated personal conflicts, and was careful to avoid them, I was somewhat annoyed. I knew little of Cluseret or his character, except that he was an adventurer or soldier of fortune. I announced nothing as to what I should do if he attempted to assault me, but I took pains to carry a revolver with which I purposed, if attacked, to kill him if possible before I received any serious injury. I soon met, saluted, and passed him without receiving and recognition in return except a fierce, vicious stare. After this, on several occasions, I passed him about the camps or on the roads without noticing him, and although his threats were repeated I was not molested by him. Soon the incident and his subsequent conduct led to some trouble between him and Milroy. Milroy placed him in arrest, and he was later ordered from the command. On March 2, 1863, he was permitted to resign, having served as a Brigadier-General of Volunteers from October 11, 1862, and having previously, from March 10, 1862, been a Colonel and acting aide-de-camp. He repaired to New York, and there did some newspaper work in which he assailed President Lincoln and the conduct of the war, and subsequently disappeared. Afterwards he became the Secretary of War of the Commune in Paris, near the close of the Franco-Prussian War. He escaped from Paris at its close, and years later, being pardoned, he returned to France, and is now, I am informed, a Socialist member of the Chamber of Deputies.
There were many such adventurers as Cluseret from foreign countries who received commissions in our volunteer army on account of their supposed military knowledge or experience, who almost without exception proved failures or worse. They were generally domineering, and of a temperament not suited to command the American volunteer soldier. They had, in fact, no affinity with him, and did not gain his confidence. This was not true, however, of General John B. Turchin, the Russian, and perhaps a very few others.
Milroy's command during the winter was chiefly engaged in holding the Valley and in protecting the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad from the raids of small bodies of Confederates. In this it was successful. We were now in the Middle Department, commanded by General Robert C. Schenck, whose headquarters were at Baltimore. Schenck was appointed a Brigadier-General of Volunteers May 17, 1861, and a Major-General August 30, 1862. Prior to his assignment to this department he served with distinction in the Eastern army, and was elected to Congress in 1862, but retained his commission until Congress met, December 5, 1863. Schenck, though without military education or experience, was a man of military instincts and possessed many of the high qualities of a soldier. He was a trained statesman, lawyer, and thinker, and an earnest, energetic, forceful, successful man.
For the most part, while at Winchester I commanded a brigade composed of infantry and artillery, located on the heights, but I was for a time under Brigadier-General Washington L. Elliott, a regular officer, who was amiable and capable in all that pertained to military discipline, but timid and unenterprising. He performed all duty faithfully to orders, but little further. Milroy, on the other hand, was restless and constantly on the alert, eager to achieve all it was possible for his command to accomplish, hence we were frequently sent on raids up the Valley to Staunton, Front Royal, and through the mountains. Colonel Mosby's guerillas infested the country east of the Valley, and frequently dashed into it through the gaps of the Blue Ridge and attacked our supply trains and small scouting parties and pickets, accomplishing little save to keep us on the alert.
Imboden and Jenkins' cavalry held the upper valley in the neighborhood of Mount Jackson and New Market, but generally retired without fighting when an expedition moved against them. As we were in the enemy's country, our movements were generally made known promptly to the Confederates, and our expeditions usually proved fruitless of substantial results. I led a force of about one thousand men in January, 1863, to Front Royal, then held by a small cavalry force which I hoped to surprise and capture, but I succeeded in doing nothing more than take a few prisoners and drive the enemy from the place, with little fighting. We took Front Royal late in the evening of a very cold night, and decided to hold it until the next day. Not being sure of our strength, and to avoid a surprise, I was obliged to keep my men on duty throughout the night. A feeble attack only was made on us at daybreak.
Illustrating the way Union officers were regarded and treated by the Secession inhabitants, I recall an incident which occurred at Front Royal. A member of my staff arranged for supper at the house of Colonel Bacon, an old man and Secessionist. The Colonel treated us politely, but while we were eating a number of ladies of the town assembled in an adjoining parlor in which there was a piano, threw the communicating door open, and proceeded to sing such Confederate war-songs as Stonewall Jackson's Away and My Maryland. We of course accepted good humoredly this concert for our benefit, but when we had finished supper, uninvited, Chaplain McCabe—now Bishop McCabe—and I stepped into the parlor. We were not even offered a seat, and in a short time the music ceased and the lady at the piano left it. Chaplain McCabe at once seated himself at the piano, and, to the amazement of the ladies, commenced singing, with his extraordinarily strong, sonorous voice, "We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more." The ladies stood their ground courageously for a time, but while the Chaplain, playing his own accompaniment, was singing My Maryland, with words descriptive of Lee's invasion and retreat from Maryland, including the words, "And they left Antietam in their track, in their track," the ladies threw open the front door and rushed precipitately to the street and thence to their homes. It was afterwards said that we were ungallant to these ladies.
While at Winchester, besides the usual camp duty and participation in an occasional raid, I was President of a Military Commission composed of three officers, with an officer for recorder. It was modelled on the military commission first established, I believe, by General Scott in Mexico for the trial of citizens for offences not punishable under the Articles of War. There was a necessity for some authority to take jurisdiction of common law crimes, as all courts in the valley were suspended. Besides citizens charged with such crimes, there were referred to the commission for trial citizens charged with offences against the Union Army, such as shooting soldiers from ambush, etc. The constitutionality of the commission was questioned, yet it tried on only formal charges citizens charged with murder, larceny, burglary, arson, and breaches of the peace. Generally its findings and sentences were approved by the War Department or the President, even when the accused was sentenced to imprisonment in a Northern penitentiary. There were one or two cases where the accused were sentenced to be shot, but in no case did the President allow such a sentence to be carried out. During the trial for murder of an old man by the name of Buffenbarger, I learned that he had, at Sharpsburg, Maryland, been a friend of my father when both were young men.( 4) It turned out that Buffenbarger had killed a young and powerful man who had assaulted him violently without good cause. A majority of the commission found him guilty of manslaughter, and the commission gave him the lightest sentence—one year in a penitentiary. His early friendship for my father perhaps caused me to find grounds on which to favor his acquittal. Counsel were allowed in all cases; generally Philip Williams, Esq., an old and distinguished lawyer of Winchester, represented the accused, and Captain Zebulon Baird, Judge-Advocate on Milroy's staff (an able Indiana lawyer), appeared for the prosecution.
( 1) For special mention of the officers of this regiment, see Appendix B.
( 2) War Records, vol. xxi., p. 1054.
( 3) Ex. xxi., 6; Deut. xv., 17.
( 4) My father, Joseph Keifer, was born at Sharpsburg, February 28, 1784.