AN EPISODE OF THE CIVIL WAR.
BY CHARLES A. PATCH, MASS. VOLS.
Most sketches of battle-scenes, in their voluminous details of movements and vivid descriptions of action, so completely hide the actual feelings of the men engaged that the inexperienced may be pardoned the thought, that, having donned the insignia of a soldier, a man instantly becomes filled with martial ardor, and eager to face the most withering fire of musketry or artillery. But the reality is far different; very few men are so constituted, or are so reckless of their lives, that they can listen to the unearthly screech of the shell or the crash of solid shot, mingled with the sickening thud of grape and bullets, without a shiver of weakness creeping through their systems, and a helpless knocking of their knees together. It is a military fact that lines of combatants as they go into position are not made up of heroes, and regiments which won renown in such scenes of carnage as Fredericksburg, or Gettysburg, or the Wilderness, were composed of plain, quiet men, who were faint-hearted and homesick when forming in front of flashing batteries or heavy bodies of opposing troops. It was only when completely involved in the struggle, after the madness of excitement had overcome the real man, that they proved themselves to be, what we now know them, heroes. But it very often happened that troops were placed in positions where neither glory nor honor could redound to them, however brave they might be, and where the results of such movements were not at all in keeping with the loss of life incurred. This little sketch covers somewhat such an occasion, where troops comparatively new in the service were ordered to perform work which seemed uncalled-for and extra hazardous, and of so little consequence that no record will ever be made of it, although lives were lost in its accomplishment. An inside view is simply given of the true feelings and actions of men at such times, and necessarily lacks the glow of enthusiasm which is thrown around the picture of the historic battle. But to the story.
If there was one feature in the South which annoyed the Federal commanders more than another it was the railroad system. Through its medium they were enabled to supply their armies from the great plantation centres where war was unknown. With a railroad at the back of each army, they were enabled to move with small wagon trains, and could utilize troops that would otherwise have been detached as guards. By its potent power, also, the troops were hurried from point to point of the Confederacy, thus keeping the Federal armies so long outside the charmed circle of the seceded States. With worn-out rails, scant supply of carriage-material, and wheezy engines, they performed herculean labor throughout the war. Consequently it became the favorite pastime and the almost sole business of Union cavalry to destroy or attempt destruction of railroad communication. Thousands upon thousands of valuable lives were sacrificed in such movements, and without any material damage to the fighting centre of the Confederacy.
Our department commander, becoming infatuated with this method of making war upon the South, was urging his corps towards a well-known railroad junction one clear, cool day in December, '62. We were some fifty miles from our base, and bodies of the enemy were continually harassing our line of march, sometimes meeting us in sharp conflict, and at all times impeding our progress by road-obstruction. Already the killed and wounded were counted by hundreds, and the coveted goal still far away. As we plodded wearily along, wondering what would happen next, one of the division staff dashed up to our brigadier and ordered him to detach one of his regiments and send it to support cavalry that had seized a bridge some miles to our right. It was the fortune of our regiment to be detached for the service, and we marched into a wood-road, rather depressed in feelings, and sadly missing that sense of security which the fellowship of a large body of men gives to the soldier. On we went for about three miles through dense woods that chilled one's very marrow with their gloom. Occasional glimpses of bits of blue sky through the overarching branches were the only reminders that the outside world remained as it used to be. Once or twice we passed small openings in which some poor white had located, and where half-naked children were the only signs of civilization, or, rather, uncivilization, till, at last, under the guidance of a scout, we filed into a clearing about a quarter of a mile from the bridge. Through the woods we could see two guns planted in the road at the bridgehead, and a squadron of dismounted cavalry supporting them. The smoke rising from the partially burnt timbers, and the frequent interchange of rifle and carbine shots, with now and then the roar of artillery, gave ample evidence that business would soon be lively in that locality. The outlook was not at all enlivening; our regiment was small in number, the woods dark and treacherous,—the main army adding mile upon mile to the interval between us,—and we were very forcibly impressed that even railroad-smashing, in plenty of company, was far better than bridge-burning with such lonesome surroundings.
While chewing the cud of reflection, and anxiously considering the situation, a major of cavalry appeared from the woods calling for assistance, and cold perspiration covered us as our captain was ordered to place his company under the major's direction. Command was given to "Fall in," which we did with very solemn faces, and whisperings went through the ranks that we guessed it was all up with us; but the order to "March" called us to duty and we proceeded down the road accompanied by a battery, which had at that moment arrived and proved a welcome addition to our meagre force. Halting in a clump of trees, a short distance from the river, we divested ourselves of all luggage and then made our way through the woods to the edge of a field that bordered on the river bank; quietness reigned as we deployed as skirmishers, and just before we advanced, the cavalryman pleasantly informed us that when the line struck a certain stump, we should get abundant notice of our Confederate friends' proximity. Not in the least overjoyed at this information, we crept slowly forward, all eyes and ears, and as the extreme left came into line with the stump, the heavens opened, or at least we thought they had, and six pieces of artillery sent their compliments in the shape of so many barrelsful of grape. One grand whir-r-r-r went over us, around us, and, in imagination, through us; it took but the sixtieth part of a minute for fifty men to flatten themselves upon the earth and wish they had never gone to the war. No time was wasted in examining the topography of the position, or in looking for safer quarters, our military discipline showing itself in the unanimity with which we then and there dropped as one man. In the short interval between the first and second discharges of grape, one of those incidents occurred which often turns the seriousness of battle into a seeming frolic. While considering the expediency of advancing, our attention was drawn to the antics of several cattle, which had been quietly grazing near by, now so thoroughly astonished at the strange proceedings that they were literally attempting to carry out the old Mother Goose rhyme of "jumping over the moon." With tails stiff as crowbars and hind legs higher than their heads, they were cavorting around the field, bellowing with fright, and making such an extremely ludicrous spectacle, that, in our excited condition, it was more than we could bear, and almost hysterical laughter weakened us so that we were hardly able to move. But the range of the enemy's guns was too accurate to admit of a long stay in this locality, so we pushed on, rolling or crawling, to the thin line of trees by the river, continual discharges of grape adding increased momentum to our movements, and solid shot from our own battery crossing us so closely that it made the neighborhood more dangerous than social. Drawing long breaths of relief at last, behind the partial shelter of a rail fence, we began to make as close investigation of our opponents across the stream as the difficulties of the position would allow. We found the country thickly inhabited, every stump and tree sheltering its quota of men in gray, and six ugly-looking cannon at work upon our position with a rapidity and precision that was certainly commendable to them, if not fully appreciated by us. However, we soon lost our fears and misgivings in our eagerness to make the climate as warm for them as they had so far made it for us, and we settled down to our work with a vim that would have made old veterans envious. The river was so narrow that every movement on either side was visible, and, lying flat upon the ground, we fired for hours at any signs of life, and were continually answered by the zip-zip of bullets as they flew past our heads, or buried themselves in the rails above us. Thus the conflict continued; grape and solid shot tore frantically over us, plowing up the dirt and crashing through the woods in the rear, filling our ears with the most frightful din. Our greatest difficulty was in loading, for if so much as a hand was exposed to view, such a rain of lead would be sent our way that it took some minutes to assure one's self that he was not killed. Once in a while, the word would be passed along, "George is wounded," "Ned is killed," or, "Serg't Smith" has a hole through his arm, and we would instinctively get closer to the ground and flatten ourselves out as thin as possible. Hunger and thirst also began to tell on us, and we longed for the darkness to come, but our opponents with their larger force held us to our work, seeming loth to have us depart.
About dusk the order was given to fall back quickly and quietly, but how to do it safely in the face of a regiment of Confederates was a puzzle to be solved; edging backward till at fair distance from the fence, we suddenly rose and scampered, in knots of two or three, at break-neck speed for the other side of the field, with bullets and grape buzzing around us like angry wasps. When, at length, we gathered, shivering with the cold, around our pile of blankets, and felt hungrily in the emptiness of our haversacks for one remaining cracker, the prevailing feeling was that "we wanted to go home," but, to our intense disgust, we were ordered to eat our hardtack, if so fortunate as to have any, and, as soon as sufficiently dark to conceal our movements, to picket the river bank near the bridge and be ready to support the battery in any attempted night surprise. This we felt to be an outrage on good nature, and so expressed ourselves in language not at all polite. We were tired and hungry, and the night cold and sharp, but orders are orders and must be obeyed, and we moodily wended our way to our various stations.
It was a good time to illustrate those lines of Tennyson,—
"Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why."
Nevertheless we were not at all in harmony with the poem, but felt perfectly willing and wholly competent to instruct our commanders on the correct way to handle troops. As we pushed on through the underbrush and débris of the forest, the smallest stick trod upon would crack like a rifle-shot, and the unearthly howl of a dog, in the yard of a hut near by, made our hair stand on end as it echoed through the woods. The hours passed tediously as we peered through the darkness across the sluggish stream to the opposite side; but a little after midnight movements of the enemy, which they did not try to conceal, awakened our fears; the noise of bodies of men moving from different points, mingled with the sound of voices and frequent shouts, led us to feel that life would be safer and pleasanter behind our battery, when an officer came from the rear and ordered us to come out in a hurry. We didn't stand upon the order of going, but "got, right smart,"—not a word of fault was found, nor a complaint made, out of harmony with the officer's wishes. Company was formed at once, and the retreat up the road commenced, many an eye peering back into the darkness to see if the expected pursuit had begun; and had we waited an hour longer, our march would have been towards the prison-pens of Georgia, for our opponents then crossed the bridge with a force that would have swept us away in a moment; and the longer we live the happier we feel that our curiosity remained unsatisfied. Upon reaching the regiment we learned that our corps, having been unable to accomplish the object in view, as so many other expeditions failed to do, were in retreat, with heavy forces fresh from Lee's army in pursuit, and that it behooved us to cover the three-mile interval in double-quick time if we would join the procession in safety. We had been without rations all day, and for drinkables had only the water that lay in puddles by the roadside; but, wearied as we were, we kept pace with the other companies, muttering bitter imprecations against everybody in general, as we stumbled into holes or tripped over sticks in the intense darkness of the forest road. At early dawn we fell into the line of the retreating corps, but not till near midnight did the army halt with the feeling that it had placed safe distance between it and our adversaries. Then we 'broke ranks for rails,' and, with coffee and pipes, sat beside the cheering blaze recounting the incidents of the engagement. Our little encounter, so insignificant beside the story of great battles, was yet full of interest to us, and some were missing from our ranks who would never again respond to their country's call. To them and theirs it was the great battle of the Rebellion; to us, who live to tell of it, only an episode of army life.