CHAPTER IV.
On the 10th of May, 1864, whilst encamped at Wickham’s Park, the battery was ordered by General J. E. B. Stuart, to move up along the Rivanna, and join the forces there awaiting to intercept Sheridan, who was advancing towards Richmond. Reluctantly Colonel Johnson suffered it to go, for during the winter and spring he had reorganized and equipped it with much care; but the exigency of the occasion compelled him to acquiesce, General Stuart assuring him he would “borrow” it for but a few days, and “return it in good condition.”
On the 11th the battery took position at Yellow Tavern, and noon after the enemy made his appearance in force. A heavy encounter ensued, when the battery was retired about half a mile. For a time there was a lull in the fighting; but upon the arrival of General Stuart it was again ordered forward supported by the cavalry, and took position to the left of the Brook turnpike, directly in Sheridan’s front. The battle was then renewed with great fury. Sheridan brought three batteries to bear on Griffin at a range of not over eight hundred yards, and the rain of shot and shrapnel became terrific, but the brave fellows never flinched, and served their guns with great effect. Hour after hour this savage fight was waged, but no man faltered at his post, though the groans of the wounded and dying, and the shrieks of maimed and disemboweled horses, were enough to appall the stoutest heart. But General Stuart was there, watching with an anxious eye that little command, upon which so much depended, and they fought on, undismayed, despite the frightful scenes around them. At length the enemy massed a heavy body of cavalry, determined, at any sacrifice, to capture the guns that were making such dreadful havoc in their ranks. A charge was made upon him, when Griffin resorted to grape and canister. At every discharge whole companies melted away, and the enemy fell back in confusion. But again they advanced, and the Confederate cavalry giving away at the instant, the battery was left at the mercy of the enemy, who dashed upon it; but there the brave men continued to stay, determined to remain at their post to the last, for all knew the vital importance of the position; and as the enemy pressed on they were met with that never ceasing hail of canister, until they reached the guns and rode over the men, and sabred and captured them at their pieces. Stuart had witnessed it all whilst rallying his broken cavalry, when seizing the colors of the First Virginia, he rode forward, exclaiming, “Charge, Virginians, and save those brave Marylanders!” Alas, it was his last command on the field of battle, for at the instant he received a pistol shot, and was conveyed mortally wounded from the field, when his men precipitately retreated.
Nevertheless, in the confusion and excitement of the moment, Lieutenant McNulty, with some of the gallant fellows, actually drove two pieces off in triumph, despite the efforts of the enemy to prevent them.
In this desperate battle at Yellow Tavern, the battery suffered the loss of many men and horses, and two guns, and its brave commander was a prisoner in the enemy’s hands.
Many were the acts of individual heroism displayed whilst the battle lasted, one of which I will narrate:
During the hottest of the fight private John Hayden was struck by a piece of shell, and dreadfully mangled, and would have bled to death in a few minutes had not the Surgeon of the battery, Dr. Wortham, carried him on his back into the woods and staunched the hemorrhage. In a short time the enemy had possession of the field, but carefully concealing himself and his charge until they had passed on, he that night carried Hayden to a place of safety, where he eventually recovered.
With the two guns saved from the wreck of the battery, Lieutenant McNulty crossed the Chickahominy, closely pursued, and took position on the right of the road, commanding the bridge, where, by a vigorous fire, he checked the enemy’s advance and covered the retreat. McNulty then pushed on to Old Church and joined the main body, which had been there reassembled.
On the 13th he was ordered to Hanover Junction, where he joined the army of General Lee, with which he remained until after the battle of Cold Harbor, when he was ordered to Early’s command in the Valley of Virginia.
After a march of six days, the battery reached Waynesboro’, where four days after it joined Early, en route for the Lower Valley. Here the battery (now under the command of Lieutenant W. B. Bean, who had been for some time absent) was attached to General Bradley T. Johnson’s brigade of cavalry, which had the advance.
On the morning of the 4th of July, Johnson approached Martinsburg, when he was charged by about six hundred of the enemy’s cavalry, which for a moment created some confusion in his ranks; but a few well directed discharges of spherical-case from Bean caused them to beat a precipitate retreat.
The command then pushed on and entered Martinsburg, when they came suddenly upon a battalion of women, dressed in their holiday attire, drawn up on the sidewalks, as though bent on preventing Johnson from taking possession of the town, or at least their wagon train, ladened with ice cream, confectionery, &c.; for the fair and unfair dames, damsels and sweethearts of the troopers were about to celebrate their great national holiday by a picnic, when surprised by the naughty rebel Johnson, upon whom they at once opened such a fusillade of invectives in bad and not very choice English as to compel him and his command to retire in disgust, leaving them masters of the field.
From Martinsburg Johnson moved to Shepherdstown, and crossed the Potomac into Maryland, and took position on Catoctin Mountain, where he encountered a force of the enemy with artillery, but Bean soon drove them off, when they retired to Frederick city, closely pursued by Johnson’s cavalry. Here, being reinforced, they made a stand within the confines of the city, and opened fire from their battery, protected by the houses. The fire was not returned for some time, as Johnson was loth to open his guns upon defenceless women and children, but finally forbearance ceasing to be a virtue, he opened his battery, and a sharp artillery fight continued until night, when Johnson retired to the mountain to await Early’s arrival.
Early having at length come up, Johnson with his cavalry, and a section of the artillery under command of Lieutenant J. McNulty, proceeded to destroy the railroad bridges at Cockeysville, and this accomplished, he made a rapid move around Baltimore, and struck the Washington branch of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad at Beltsville, where a large body of the enemy’s cavalry was met, which, after a few shots from the battery and a charge from the cavalry, broke and fled towards Washington in the utmost confusion.
The battery, with Johnson’s cavalry, covered Early’s retreat from Washington, though it was but seldom brought into requisition until the army reached Poolsville, where the enemy made a vigorous attack, but were kept in check by Johnson’s cavalry and artillery until the whole army had crossed in safety.
On the 29th of July General Johnson was ordered by General Early to accompany McCausland into Pennsylvania and exact a stipulated sum of money from the citizens of Chambersburg, or in case of their not complying with that demand to burn the town. The Baltimore Light Artillery was attached to the brigade, and the whole crossed at McCoy’s Ferry and proceeded on their way. Before day on the morning of the 30th the advance approached Chambersburg, and after feeling the place with a few shells, and finding no enemy, the town was entered and burned.
Retracing his steps to Virginia by way of Cumberland, McCausland arrived at that place late in the afternoon of the next day, and found his situation a critical one. Kelly with a large force was in his front, strongly posted behind breastworks, and Averill was rapidly coming up in rear, and to avoid the former he was compelled to move to the left and take a different road from the one he had intended; but as there was not a man in his command who knew the country, this was not to be easily accomplished. After some delay, Col. Harry Gilmor settled the question by seizing a Union man who was familiar with the different roads and fords, and with a cocked revolver at his head compelled him to pilot the way. In the night, four miles from Cumberland, McCausland’s advance encountered the enemy, who were, after a brisk skirmish, driven back, when McCausland determined to await the morning to ascertain his position.
At the dawn of day the enemy was discovered in line behind the crest of a range of hills between the canal and river, when McNulty was ordered to post his guns, and open the fight, whilst the cavalry dismounted and crossed the canal on a bridge hastily constructed by Captain Welsh of the First Maryland Cavalry, when the enemy retired. But a more formidable obstacle then presented itself in the shape of an iron-clad battery mounted on an engine upon the railroad, whilst the cars to which it was attached were loop-holed for musketry, and the banks of the railroad, which formed an excellent breastwork, was lined with infantry. A very strong block house that commanded every approach to the ford, was also found strongly garrisoned.
Colonel Harry Gilmor was at once ordered to carry the ford, which he attempted in most gallant style, but was unable to reach the opposite bank owing to the dreadful enfilading fire opened upon him.
Lieutenant McNulty was then directed to take position with his pieces, and open on the iron-clad. Quickly moving his guns to an open field, and but two hundred yards from the enemy, he unlimbered at this much exposed point, and called upon his best gunner, Geo. McElwee, to bring his piece to bear upon the formidable looking mass of iron before him. The brave fellow despite the shower of bullets to which he was exposed, coolly sighted his piece and fired, and when the smoke cleared away McNulty had the satisfaction of seeing the huge monster enveloped in steam, for the shot directed by the unerring aim of McElwee had pierced the boiler, and it lay a helpless wreck upon the track. His next shot was as effective, and entered one of the portholes, dismounting the guns and scattering death and destruction around, when the enemy along the bank broke and fled.
But there was yet the block house to dispose of before the command could resume its retreat, and minutes were becoming precious. An hour was consumed in discussing the matter before anything definite was determined upon, when General Johnson suggested that an attempt be made to get a piece of the artillery across the river. The suggestion was instantly adopted, and under cover of the bank, though subjected to a severe fire, the piece was started over in a full run, and unlimbered in the river, and taken to its bank by hand, when, at the instant, a demand for the surrender of the block house was complied with, and McCausland was safe.
At Moorefield, soon after, McCausland was surprised in camp by Averill, when thirteen men of the Baltimore Light Artillery were sabred and captured at their guns in endeavoring to load them, and two pieces were lost.
After this affair the remnant of the battery was ordered to the vicinity of New Market, in the Valley of Virginia, to be reorganized and equipped. Here the number of the battery was considerably increased by the transfer of Marylanders who had served three years in Fort Sumter, and also by men from Major Brethod’s old battery. Horses and guns were furnished from the reserve artillery, and in a short time Lieutenant McNulty (who had succeeded to the command) found himself in a condition to take the field.
Sheridan was about this time rapidly advancing towards Staunton, and Early, with a small force, had fallen back to Brown’s Gap, in the Blue Ridge. McNulty was at once ordered to join him at Port Republic, which he was enabled to do, by making a detour, on the 27th of September. From Port Republic Early moved towards Waynesboro’, where the head of his column met that of Sheridan, and after a desperate fight drove him back up the Valley, Early pursuing.
The scenes which these brave men were compelled to witness as they pressed on after the brutal Sheridan and his band of incendiaries were appalling, indeed. Hundreds of poor, helpless women and children were encountered on the road, fleeing to a place of refuge, but knew not where to find it, for other homes as well as their own had been plied with the incendiaries’ torch. Pitiously they plead for protection and a morsel of food from the rough soldiers, but, alas, it was not within their power to afford them either. Night after night the heavens were illumined by the light of burning farmhouses, barns, mills, &c., and day after day was made dark by the dense smoke that filled the heavens. Surely, Grant and his minion Sheridan will be long remembered by the people of the Valley of Virginia, and their names associated by them and their posterity with all that is bad, brutal and vindictive.
Slight skirmishing ensued between the pursued and pursuers until the former reached Fisher’s Hill, where they met their infantry, when Lomax, in command of the cavalry, retired to the vicinity of Woodstock. At daylight next morning, the 8th of October, Lomax and Rosser moved to attack the enemy who had advanced to Maurytown. Rosser was ordered to attack on the left, and Lomax took the right, forming his troops on both sides of the Valley pike. The Baltimore Light Artillery, under Lieutenant McNulty, was stationed on an eminence north of the town. The fight soon began with great fury, Lomax and Rosser attacking simultaneously, and the enemy were driven back some distance. Heavy reinforcements coming to the support of the enemy, he reformed his broken columns, and the fight was waged with redoubled fury. Towards noon Rosser, on the left, was overwhelmed, and soon after the heavy columns massed in front of Lomax, attacked furiously, and drove that General back in the utmost confusion.
During this time the gallant McNulty and his brave command were hurling death and destruction into the ranks of the enemy, but to no avail. With the retreat of the cavalry under Lomax, McNulty limbered up and sullenly fell back, unlimbering at every available point, and opening his fire upon the pursuing foe, thus enabling the cavalry to escape. In this manner the village of Woodstock was reached. Still through its streets he continued to pour into the faces of the advancing enemy destructive discharges of grape and canister. But the gallant little battery is doomed, for the enemy press upon them in overwhelming numbers, and still they disdain to abandon their pieces. Beyond the town they make one more effort to stay the dense masses now almost enveloping them, but even as the gunners are ramming home the last double charge of canister, they are captured and cut down in the act.
Twenty-three men and the four guns fell into the hands of the enemy. Lieutenant McNulty who had had his horse killed under him, with the balance of his men fought their way through, and escaped.
For his gallantry upon this occasion, McNulty was placed in command of a battalion of artillery, and the command of the Baltimore Light Artillery devolved upon Lieutenant John W. Goodman, Junior Second Lieutenant.
Soon after the disastrous fight at Maurytown, Goodman was ordered to Fishersville, where the little left of Early’s artillery were preparing their winter quarters. Whilst here every effort was made to procure guns, horses, &c, for the battery, to replace those lost in their last fight, but without success, for the Confederate Government had none to spare. But the brave fellows were ready for any duty that might be assigned them, and when Sheridan, in March, threatened Lynchburg, they gladly obeyed the summons to repair to that place and assist in its defence in any capacity. But their services were not required, and they were in a few days after ordered to Petersburg, to help man the fortifications there.
When the great crash came, and the little army under General Lee was forced to retreat before Grant’s overwhelming masses, along with the rest was to be found the remnant of the Baltimore Light Artillery—one day fighting as infantry, and the next as cavalry, or assisting some battery in trouble. Noble fellows, like their comrades of the Maryland Line, they were true to the cause they had espoused to the last, and, like the Infantry and Cavalry, were determined to fight on whilst a ray of hope remained. Alas! that last ray disappeared with Lee’s surrender at Appomattox Court House, and when told they were disarmed, and no more to be led against the enemy, these veterans, who had unhesitatingly faced death in all its dreadful shapes on so many bloody fields, wept like children. Surely Maryland should be proud of her “Young Line” in the Confederate States Army, as she was of her “Old” in the days of the Revolution.
END OF THE “MARYLAND LINE.”
ATKINS’ BRIGADE
AT
SECOND MANASSAS.
The campaign before Richmond had ended, and McClellan’s shattered and beaten army was reorganizing upon the banks of the James. Our loss had also been severe, for the enemy’s artillery had played with fearful effect upon our dense masses at Malvern Hill; and we, too, had much to do before again prepared for the field. But the untiring and indomitable Jackson was soon once more at the head of his legions, and marching rapidly in search of Pope, whose advance, under Banks, was reported in the vicinity of Cedar Mountain.
The First Maryland Regiment of Infantry, under the command of Colonel Bradley T. Johnson, (and to which I belonged,) having suffered severely in the many desperate battles of the summer, had been ordered to Gordonsville to recruit, directly after the battles around Richmond, and it was whilst there the thunder of Jackson’s cannon announced that he had once more encountered the “Commissary of the Valley,” and we did not for a moment doubt the result.
It was on the evening of the 17th of August, if I mistake not, that a long line of prisoners arrived from the battle-field, who were turned over to Colonel Johnson, to be forwarded at once to Richmond. My company was the fortunate one detailed for the service, and taking a train about 10 o’clock that night, we reached our destination shortly after daylight next morning.
After having marched my charge to Libby, and seen them properly cared for, I strolled up the street in hopes of meeting an acquaintance or two; but failing in this, and feeling an unpleasant gnawing at my stomach, I dropped in at Zetelle’s for breakfast. Whilst waiting for my beefsteak and coffee, and indulging in a glass of Marco Bruner, I was awakened from a reverie by a heavy footfall upon the stairway, and to my inexpressible delight the familiar form of Captain Atkins appeared as the door opened.
“And how the divil are you, Captain; glad to see yez. Arrah! its a mane thrick the’ve been afther playing us, begorrah!” he exclaimed, as he took a seat at the table. “Did yez see the morning’s papers? If yez havn’t, it will be worth your while to get them. Don’t you think the hathens have disbanded your regiment and my battalion; bad luck to them.”
I was astounded at the intelligence, and could not credit it for a moment; but when the papers were produced, there was the order, sure enough, over the signature of George W. Randolph, Secretary of War.
“Well, what’s to be done, Atkins? I am just from the front, and feel convinced the army is on its way into Maryland; and, under the circumstances, don’t like to leave the field. Come, as my senior, suggest something.”
“And bless your soul, I will. And now for a little private council of war betwane ourselves,” he continued, in his usual rollicking way. “Suppose we form a brigade of our own? I’m sure there’s Grinnell, of my battalion; Shellman, of your regiment, and whom I have just met; you and meself; and a better brigade I wouldn’t wish to command, be me soul I wouldn’t; and, if it plases yourself, we will call it Atkins’ Brigade.”
“Its a bargain; and now, Mr. Brigadier, issue your first order.”
“And here it is: The officers under my command, to be known as ‘Atkins’ Brigade,’ will muster their forces, preparatory to laving for the scane of action, one week from to-day. How will that do?”
“Very well—all but the forces.”
“Arrah! there you go again. Why in the divil can’t we be officers and privates too? I am sure there’s many brigades in the sarvice that can’t muster more an a liftenant.”
“Very well; here’s my hand on it;” and we emptied the bottle of Rheinish to the success of the new brigade.
But a word of my companions: Atkins was an Irish gentleman of fortune, but passionately fond of military adventure. He first saw service in Garibaldi’s Italian war, where he made the acquaintance of the lamented Major Bob Wheat, and a strong attachment was the result. At the breaking out of the rebellion, Atkins came to this country, and hunting up his old companion-in-arms, whom he found encamped at Manassas, in command of a Louisiana battalion, he entered the ranks as a private, and at the First Manassas won his captain’s stripes. He continued to serve in the command with distinction up to the death of Wheat, and the disbanding of the battalion as just stated.
Grinnell (a son of Henry Grinnell, one of the merchant princes of New York) also came from Europe at the breaking out of the war, sacrificing a lucrative business, and joined the command of Wheat also, as a first lieutenant. In the fight with Kenly’s forces at Front Royal, he had the misfortune to lose a portion of his right hand by a piece of shell, and had just been declared convalescent, and was ready for the field, but found himself without a command.
Shellman had practiced law in Frederick, Maryland, and served with great credit as first lieutenant of my company from its organization.
Never having kept a diary, reader, you will excuse little discrepancies in dates, but I think it was about the 22d of August that Atkins marshalled his forces and marched them aboard a James River canal boat, en route for the anticipated scene of action—I mean to say we were, and not the canal boat. We were compelled to take this route owing to the Central Road being taxed to its utmost capacity in the transportation of troops to reinforce Lee’s army, and therefore our only alternative was to go by the way of Scottsville, Charlottesville, to Gordonsville, etc.
Arriving at the former place, we hired a rickety wagon, to which was attached a wretched specimen of the mule kind, and after a long and tedious ride made our entre into the ancient village of Charlotte, not with the “pomp, pride and circumstance of glorious war,” but amid the curses of an irate driver, and such expressions as “may the divil take the ass and his master for hathans,” from our illustrious brigadier.
A day of rest at the excellent hotel de Farish so refreshed us that when we resumed our trip we felt as though our brigade had assumed the proportions of a division, and every one of us an officer. Rapidan Station, the terminus of our trip by rail from Charlottesville, was reached late in the afternoon, and distributing our traps equally, we set out on foot to overtake Longstreet’s corps, the rear of General Lee’s army. Jackson had the advance, and was making a forced march to get in the rear of Pope’s army, at Manassas. Our march lay along the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, through Culpepper, where we diverged to the left and took the road to Salem and the Plains. Shortly after leaving Culpepper we overtook the stragglers and broken down men of the army—to be counted by thousands. The majority of the poor fellows—barefooted and with bleeding feet—were struggling manfully to reach their respective commands, whilst others were quietly building shelters and laying in a supply of green corn, to await, as they coolly informed us, “the return of the army.”
Marching rapidly, on the 28th day of the month we came upon the rear of Longstreet’s corps in bivouac a mile or two from Thoroughfare Gap. Heavy cannonading was going on in front, and upon inquiring the reason for it, we were informed the enemy in strong force were disputing the pass, but that heavy columns of infantry had been sent over the mountain to flank them, and it was not doubted for a moment but the movement would succeed.
A council of war was now called by our commandant, and the brigade unanimously resolved to go into camp for the night, as Atkins declared, “Divil the bit could he fight on an impty stomach, at all, at all.” Selecting a little strip of woods somewhat retired from the main body of the army, the brigade went supperless to rest.
The sun was at least an hour high when we awoke from our slumber, to find the corps of Longstreet gone, and already several miles on its way to relieve Jackson, who, rumor said, had been closely pressed for two days by overwhelming numbers, and with difficulty held his own. We arose feeling gloomy enough. The roar of artillery had ceased, as had the rattle of musketry of the previous evening, and everything was still as death. Poor, hapless little brigade, retiring supperless and arising breakfastless. Shellman was the first to complain, though having the least to sustain. “Who ever heard of a command without a commissary?” he muttered.
“Arrah, Mr. Shellman, you see I am economizing, for what in the divil is the use of having a commissary when there’s nothing to commissary, and the Confideracy is poor enough, God knows, except in shinplasters. Bad luck to ye.”
The argument was unanswerable, and Shellman subsided, “As we have no commissary to plase the gintleman—and I’m blasted if I am much plased meself—I would suggest we went skrimmigen.”
The command responded aye unanimously, and, rolling up our blankets, we prepared to move. Resuming our march, we soon came to a neat, substantial looking farm house, where it was determined an effort should be made to procure breakfast at any price in Confederate currency. We crossed the fence and approached the house. Our commander was to be the spokesman, but just as he was about to apply his knuckles to the stout oaken door, the clatter of horses feet was heard, and to our no little surprise General Lee and staff galloped up.
“The brigade will retrate and rally on me, being it’s in the presence of superior numbers, for by Saint Patrick, for all the Confideracy, I wouldn’t have Gineral Lee see me besage a lone counthry house without his orthers,” was the command of our brigadier.
The “retrate” was conducted in good “orther,” and the forces assembled upon the commandant some two hundred yards distant. Here, after a short consultation, we concluded to make another essay upon a house close at hand. As we neared the premises the prospect of success seemed discouraging enough, for some twenty cavalry horses were tied to the pailings, and experience had taught us their riders were close by. Judge then of my surprise, when upon inquiring for the proprietress of the house I was confronted by an old and dear acquaintance, Mrs. Hamilton, of Loudon county, and now, at this writing, residing at Chantilly, on the Little River turnpike. ’Tis needless to say the party were made welcome, and in a few minutes we were seated around a bountifully supplied table, laughing and chatting merrily, the vexation of our former disappointment forgotten. A quiet smoke followed, when we prepared to part with this most estimable family with unfeigned regret. The dear old lady of the house, with tears in her eyes, bid us farewell, and her last words were, “Should anything happen to yourself or comrades, don’t forget my house.” I little thought but forty-eight hours would elapse ere I was once more her guest, but under vastly different circumstances. But of that anon.
As we passed through Thoroughfare Gap there were evidences on all sides of a stubborn fight, and I could not help being struck with the vital importance of possessing the place. It seemed almost a Thermopylæ, and it astonished me that it was not defended by a larger force of the enemy. Had General Lee been delayed here forty-eight hours we would have lost Jackson and his command, and the remainder of the army would have been compelled to recross the Rappahannock. How imminent the peril! But the masterly generalship of the peerless Lee averted it, and the flanking columns across the mountains soon removed every obstacle. But no time was to be lost, for already we had been delayed too long; and the incessant peals of artillery in our front plainly told us Jackson was sorely pressed, and needed our assistance.
How little the General whose “headquarters were in the saddle,” knew his advantage; for he had it within his power to have annihilated the Confederate army. But if we are to believe his own report, and the account of his “Man Friday,” (“Personal recollection,” in that vilest of periodicals—Harper,) the illustrious Pope had too many generals in the field, and too many masters in Washington. The “lamented” would telegraph “do this;” Halleck would say “do that;” Fitz John Porter would do nothing; McClellan sent the commissary wagons to Washington, and it was but natural the hungry troops should seek their rations there—all of which, combined “unsaddled” poor Pope, and placed McClellan in his stead.
More than once that night, as General Lee paced his room, he was heard to mutter: “The Gap must be forced at any sacrifice. On the success of this movement depends everything. General Jackson must be hard pressed; but he will hold out, or I do not know my man. Twenty-four hours behind my promise to him; forty-eight hours would result in his destruction.”
Friday, the 29th day of August, 1862, was a hot, sultry day, and the corps of Longstreet, already wearied and broken down by excessive marching, dragged itself along with difficulty. Had it not been for the stimulus afforded by the roar of Jackson’s artillery the ten long miles from Thoroughfare Gap would have consumed much more time, and there would have been many more stragglers. But steadily those veterans pressed on, and before noon the head of the column reached Haymarket, but a short distance from the scene of conflict. We here received the most encouraging accounts from Jackson. He was not only holding his ground, but had driven the enemy some distance before him. But nevertheless an expression of relief must have passed over that usually stern and placid face when he observed the clouds of dust that heralded the approach of the iron Longstreet.
Rapidly the different brigades and divisions were thrown into position, and by three o’clock the line of battle was complete. Longstreet held the right, joining Jackson near the Groveton turnpike, and about a mile from that village, where was stationed Hood with his Texans, Virginians and Mississippians. Being personally acquainted with the General, I suggested to Atkins that he proffer the services of the “brigade” to him, which was readily acceded to. That gallant, glorious, but subsequently unfortunate officer, received us most cordially, but regretted that for the present he could assign us to no other duty than that of firing a musket. Enfields were soon procured, and we took our place in the ranks of the Fourth Texas, a regiment that at the battle of Gaine’s Mills had won imperishable laurels.
In the woods to the left Jackson was hotly engaged. The musketry fire was terrific, and it seemed neither to advance nor recede. A curtain of smoke that hung over the tree-tops told us where the fighting was going on, but not a soul could be seen. For more than two hours this desperate struggle continued, when a soldier or two in blue emerged from the woods into the open plain, rushing frantically in the direction of the Federal reserves. Another and another followed, and presently a heavily column, torn and shattered, broke forth from the woods in wild confusion. A moment after, in close pursuit, a column in grey appeared, moving at the double-quick with the most beautiful precision, though subjected to the fire of a battery of artillery, which opened on them as soon as they appeared. But the glorious column never wavered. On, on, they pressed. The enemy was seeking protection behind the battery. It mattered not, they would take battery and infantry too; all the better. Oh! how it made my heart ache as I saw the great gaps rent by grape and canister as they pressed on in this desperate charge. But “forward” was the command, and “forward” they went. The battery is neared; no hesitation there; and in an instant it is enveloped by our grey jackets. A yell, a wild Confederate yell, announced the success of the charge, and in a moment we saw them retire with hundreds of prisoners and the captured battery.
“Glorious, glorious,” exclaimed the heroic Hood, at whose side I was standing, and who was most anxiously watching the charge. “Who can it be?”
An aid-de-camp presently appeared riding at full speed in the direction of General Lee’s headquarters. Hood hailed him with, “Who made that splendid charge?”
“Bradley Johnson, in command of the Third Virginia brigade,” was the response.
How my heart thrilled with pride and pleasure as I heard the announcement; for it was my late Colonel, fighting like the members of Atkins’ brigade, without a commission.
But what means this demonstration in our immediate front? Cheer after cheer, huzza upon huzza, and presently a long line of skirmishers appear over the intervening hill. An attack beyond question. They are met unhesitatingly by our skirmishers, and a fierce fight ensues. But the dense, dark column that now comes in view compels our advance to fall back. But Hood, with his Texans, Virginians and Mississippians, are in waiting. Rapidly they approach, and musket balls are whistling in every direction.
“Let them come a little closer,” I heard him remark to a staff officer, “they shall have a reception.”
Just then a voice behind us was heard to command, “Charge, General, charge!”
Judge my feelings as I turned my head and saw our beloved Lee sitting calmly upon his iron-grey, with but a single aid, and exposed to this severe fire.
But we had little time for reflection, for the clarion voice of Hood was heard the next instant to “fix bayonets,” and then came the command “forward, double-quick,” and the long line of glittering steel rushed madly down the hill.
The collision was awful, and the enemy was unable to resist its force, though he stood to his work manfully. Gallant men fell by hundreds on both sides. The Federal troops gave way; and the field was covered with thousands of fugitives. The column in grey pressed on until it neared the village of Groveton. What is this dark mass seen in the twilight thundering down upon us, making the very earth tremble? The column halts. On come the gallant troopers. The sight is grand beyond description. Nearer and nearer they approach. They are almost upon us! “Fire,” is the command, and the heavens are lit up by the flash that leaps along the line; and when the smoke lifts, hundreds of riderless steeds are seen flying frantically across the plain, whilst the ground in front of us is covered with dead and wounded men and horses.
In the excitement of the fight I had lost sight of my companions, and it was not until I heard a voice with the Celtic twang exclaiming, “Catch a harse, catch a harse,” that I was aware of the presence of Atkins. “Catch a harse, catch a harse,” I heard again, as a dozen riderless steeds dashed up the turnpike, “for I’m blasted if my command shall be infantry any longer.” Turning my head I saw him making frantic efforts to secure one of the frightened horses and his efforts were successful. I was not so fortunate. Seizing a bridle, I was leading my capture in triumph across the road, when giving a sudden plunge, he wrenched the rein from my hand and was off like the wind.
Leaving my companion in ecstacies over his prize, I started after something to eat. But where was I to get it? The wagons were far in the rear, and being tired, I could not think of hunting them up. A happy thought suggested itself. The Federal soldiers generally carried a day or two’s rations. I will secure what some dead man has left. The idea may shock the sensibilities of the reader with a well-filled stomach, but a tired and hungry soldier is not much troubled with such wares. Crossing the Groveton road I threaded my way among the dead and wounded with a melancholy interest. A few minutes before the air had resounded with the shouts of infuriated men, the roar of artillery, and the rattle of small arms; but now all was still, save an occasional picket shot, and the groans and cries of those who had fallen wounded in the bloody strife.
More than one dead man’s haversack did I examine that night; but alas, some one as hungry as myself had anticipated me. I had given the search up in despair, and was returning to my companion, when I stumbled over the body of a Federal soldier that I did not see, owing to the darkness. A suppressed groan escaped the poor wretch, and shocked at my carelessness, I knelt at his side and asked if I could do anything for him.
“Water, water, for God’s sake water!” he plead. Placing my canteen to his lips he drained it to the last drop.
“Now turn me on my back that I may look once more at the beautiful sky, and watch the bright stars. Stranger, I see from your dress you are an enemy, but in my dying moments I like you none the less. Your turn may come next; and perhaps you, too, will ask the same favor I have asked of you. God grant that you may receive it.”
His mind here wandered for some minutes, when recovering, he continued: “Oh it is hard to die thus, away from home and friends; but it is a comfort to have the presence of even one with whom I have just been engaged in deadly strife, and for aught I know inflicted this death wound. My poor wife, my precious child. Stranger, perhaps you, too, have a wife and child far away whom you love dearly? Away up in Pennsylvania I had a happy home, with a fond and loving wife. We were blessed with one dear little babe, a boy. In an evil hour I went to the war to fight for my country’s honor; how much better had I remained at home, for there are plenty without me who have nothing to leave behind.”
Again his mind wandered, and I heard him murmur: “How beautiful the heavens are to-night, Emma, and how bright the stars. Come, Eddie, get upon papa’s knee.” A pause, a convulsive shudder, and with “My wife, my child,” upon his lips, the poor soldier’s spirit took its flight from earth.
And still, reader, this was but one incident of the thousands that could have been gathered upon that dreadful field.
Disengaging his well-filled haversack, I made my way back to where I had left my companion. To my surprise he had heard nothing of either Shellman or Grinnell; and we began to fear they had fallen in the fight. However, they may be at the rendezvous appointed, and thither we directed our steps.
We found them there, and unhurt, but engaged in a violent dispute as to which had killed the most Yankees in the fight.
“Why, Grinnell,” said Shellman, “didn’t you see that officer fall when I fired?”
“I saw an officer fall,” replied Grinnell, “but I tell you your gun didn’t go off. And I will tell you what’s more, you didn’t fire a shot during the fight, but you did a devil of a sight of loading.”
“An’ be me soul, Liftinent Shellman, an’ I belave Grinnell is right,” put in Atkins, “for divil the wonst did I see the thing go off, an’ I’ll prove it by the crather itself, I will.”
The Enfield was produced, and to the “Liftinent’s” chagrin the barrel was found to contain at least half a dozen cartridges.
“An’ it’s a pretty command I have, to be sure. What would Gineral Lee think if I told him one of my ‘brigade’ put his cartridges in his gun upside down? An’ thin the sarious consequinces that might ensue. Faith, an’ it might cost the Confideracy its independence.”
“I don’t think you have much the advantage of me, Mr. Atkins, for you did nothing but run after loose horses,” retorted Shellman.
“Did you ever hear the like o’ that? To spake in that way to his commander. An’ thin he called me Misther Atkins, too; bad luck to yez.”
I put an end to the controversy by announcing the contents of the dead soldier’s haversack.
“Fourteen crackers, a pound of salt horse, a well-filled bag of coffee, and several little articles that I will examine to-morrow.”
A fire was soon kindled, and we proceeded to boil the coffee. As I untied the string around the little bag, I could not but think of the hand, now cold and stiff in death, that had so carefully tied it that morning; and during the repast, at every mouthful, “My wife, my child,” was ringing in my ears.
Considerably refreshed, I wrapped my blanket around me and lay down to rest, and was soon in a sound sleep, from which I was awakened in the morning by Atkins soliloquizing:
“An’ it was a sin an’ a shame to trate the poor dumb baste so, an’ so it was. Laving out that bullet hole in the nose, an’ the one in the left fore leg, an’ the one in the hind quarther, an’ the divil knows how many more, for I havn’t been on the other side of him, he’s as beautiful a crather as I ever saw. Be me soul he’s the very picture of an Irish hunter, he is.”
Rising from my blanket I approached the disconsolate Atkins, who was engaged in taking a survey of his capture of the previous evening, and upon inquiring the reason for his lamentations, he pointed to a dreadful wound in the horse’s left fore leg, but which had escaped our notice in the darkness of the evening, and said:
“Look what those hathens of Hood’s have done to this poor dumb baste, the very picture of a staple-chaser. An’ there, too, an’ there, an’ there,” pointing to as many wounds, “be me soul, if the rider got as many he’s as dead as Paddy’s pig.”
“What disposition are you going to make of him?” I ventured to inquire.
“Take him along wid us, to be sure. Can’t he carry our traps. I’m astonished that you should ax such a question. If you had been wid Whate and meself in Italy—”
Not caring to be bored for an hour with this his favorite subject, I interrupted him by inquiring the name he intended to give his steed?
Scratching his head for a moment, he replied, “Pegassus; an’ what do you think of that for a name?”
“A devil of a Pegassus,” remarked Shellman, who had joined us.
“An’ who axed you for your say, misther six-shooter, who can’t appraciate an Irishman’s joke?”
“And why Pegassus?” inquired Shellman.
“Why don’t you see the crather has been winged, but divil the bit do I belave there’s much fly in him.”
After partaking of a cup of coffee and a cracker or two, the remains of the poor dead soldier’s rations, I shouldered my Enfield, and bidding my companions remain until I returned, started off in search of Colonel (afterwards General) Bradley T. Johnson, whose command we had determined to join.
Moving rapidly across the field, subjected to a sharp fire from the enemy’s sharpshooters, I reached the cover of a friendly woods in safety. Meeting a horseman, I inquired the Colonel’s whereabouts, and was informed it was but a short distance ahead.
“I am going that way myself,” said he, “and will with pleasure pilot you. I perceive from your uniform that you are a Captain, and presume you belong to his command.”
I informed him of the circumstances that had placed me with the army, and told him I thought it most likely “Atkins’ Brigade” could render more efficient service as officers in some of the depleted regiments, than as privates as we were.
“I assure you,” said the stranger, “it would gratify me much should you accept a command in my brigade, for I have suffered fearfully in officers during the past three days.”
“What brigade do you command,” I inquired.
“The Second Louisiana. My name is Starke, sir, General Starke, and I am immediately on the left of Johnson. Should he have no place to assign you to, call upon me.”
After pointing out Johnson’s command, the General put spurs to his horse and disappeared. Poor fellow, I never saw him after, for he rendered up his precious life in battling for his beloved South upon the bloody field of Sharpsburg.
I found Colonel Johnson with his brigade drawn up in line of battle close by the edge of a woods, and in momentary expectation of an attack.
“How do you do, Captain?” he greeted me, “the very man I wished most to see. Here I am in command of a brigade without officers. The Forty-eighth Virginia has but two Lieutenants left. Come, let me introduce you to Dabney. He is at present in command of the regiment, and I know will not hesitate to surrender it to you at my suggestion.”
I found Lieutenant Dabney a most agreeable young gentleman, and he cheerfully tendered me the command of his regiment.
I then informed the Colonel of the obligation I was under to return to my companions, but he would not listen to it for a moment.
Johnson then explained to me the situation. Immediately in our front, and distant some two hundred yards, was a railroad cut. This was considered the key to the position, and was to be fought for to the last extremity. “You will therefore take fifty of your men and place them under cover of that thicket to the right, in close proximity to the excavation, and keep me advised of all you see and hear.”
I detailed my fifty men, and after taking a careful survey of the ground I was to traverse, made a run for it across the field amidst a shower of bullets from the enemy’s sharpshooters, but which fortunately did no execution. Shortly after reaching the designated point I had the misfortune to lose the services of Lieutenant Dabney by the accidental explosion of his pistol, and I had, therefore, but one officer left.
We had been there perhaps an hour when I became convinced from hearing the command “forward, guide centre,” repeatedly given in the woods some four hundred yards distant in our immediate front, that the enemy was massing for an attack. Finding my men reluctant to take the risk of recrossing the field with a message to the Colonel, I was compelled to go myself. Placing them under the command of a Sergeant, I made the attempt and reached the brigade in safety. I reported to Johnson what I had heard; and at his suggestion we walked to the brow of the hill before us, and to our astonishment beheld three lines of battle emerging from the woods, and moving rapidly upon the railroad excavation.
It was out of the question for me to return to my fifty men, and I should not have gone if I could, for the greater portion of my command was with the brigade. Rushing back therefore with him, the command “forward, double-quick,” was instantly given, and then commenced a wild race as to which should reach the much coveted point first. As we emerged from the woods, and became exposed to the view of the enemy’s artillery, he opened a terrible fire, which was returned with interest upon his advancing columns by thirty pieces of our artillery on a plateau to the right of us.
We reached the opposite banks of the cut simultaneously, and then began one of the most desperate and bloody conflicts of the war. Muzzle to muzzle, each delivered their fire into the very bosoms of their foe. Dead and wounded men fell by hundreds, and many on both sides rolled down the embankment and intermingled at the bottom. The importance of the place was known to each, and each was determined to possess it. The appearance of Colonel Johnson upon that field I shall never forget. But few men had ever before had so important a trust imposed in them, and there he intended to win or die. Never have I seen such sublime courage displayed upon the field of battle. In his shirt sleeves, his eye flashing, his lips compressed, he was everywhere encouraging his men. Three different times he ran along his line, the target for many a bullet, and how he escaped unscathed that awful fire, God only knows.
But the enemy are too strong for us, and our right begins to swing back, contesting every inch of ground. And the enemy’s left cross the cut. At this moment a man fell at my side. Picking up his musket, I leveled it and fired, and when in the act of lowering the piece, I felt a sharp pain in the fore part of my left arm, and glancing at it, discovered I was hit. Even as I did so, I received a tremendous blow in my left side, and was knocked off my feet, and fell heavily to the ground. Our troops giving way left me midway between the contending forces, and never did a poor devil more heartily wish himself away from a warm place than I did from this, for the bullets were knocking up the dust all about me; but I knew to move even a limb would draw the fire of the enemy, and I contented myself with laying still, and watching the progress of the fight. The combatants surged backwards and forwards as each gained or lost some temporary advantage; but the tide of battle was evidently fast going against Johnson. The enemy were too strong for him; still he fought on. Everything seemed lost, and Jackson’s corps will surely be cut in two. Why do not the reserves come up?
Hark! What means that wild yell, and that cracking and crashing in the woods behind us? Hurrah! it is Starke with his Louisianians. It was a grand sight as those grim veterans emerged from the woods on the run. Nothing on earth could withstand the impetuosity of their charge, and the foemen were swept back across the cut like chaff, and the position was ours.
Fearing I should be struck by some of the many flying bullets, I determined to get under the friendly cover of the position won, and after many efforts succeeded in getting on my hands and knees, and dragging myself to the bank, quietly rolled down. It was well I did so, for the enemy were not going to give it up without another effort. Fresh troops advanced, and the conflict was renewed with redoubled fury. Steadily the column in blue moved forward in the face of the terrible fire of the Confederates, and reached the very edge of the embankment. Our ammunition was giving out. No matter, stones lay around in abundance, and were hurled with desperate energy.
“Bad luck to yez, there goes my last cartridge,” I heard an Irishman exclaim at my side. Remembering I had two packages in my jacket pocket that I had found in the haversack of the previous evening, I requested him to take them out. As he did so he uttered an exultant shout, and with a “Come on yez d—d Yankees, its Louisianians yer fitin now,” resumed his firing.
For at least fifteen minutes this desperate hand to hand conflict continued, when the enemy began to give way and scatter in every direction to avoid our fire. But the artillery to the right, which for some time had been silent owing to the proximity of the contending forces, now opened upon the dense mass with grape and canister at point blank range, and the slaughter was horrible until the fugitives reached the cover of the woods.
On the right, in Longstreet’s front, the battle still raged, but long before nightfall it ceased; the second battle of Manassas was won, and our army in close pursuit.
The excitement of the fight over, I began to think seriously of my own condition. I had lost a great deal of blood, and was almost in a state of collapse. The dying words of the poor soldier who expired in my arms the evening before, more than once occurred to me: “Your turn may come next.” And had it come? And then: “Oh, ’tis hard to die thus, away from home and friends; but it is a comfort to have the presence of even one with whom I have just been engaged in deadly strife.” But no ministering hand was there. I was alone with those still in death, and others like myself writhing in mortal agony. No one near me to take a last message to my home, or to tell how I died. But I am burning up with thirst.
“Water, water, for God’s sake water!” rang in my ears, and I envied the poor wretch the few drops I had given him the previous evening. Gradually I grew more faint; I felt as though I was being whirled round and round with fearful rapidity. Round and round, faster and faster, and I lost all consciousness.
I must have remained in this swoon some time, and when I recovered I found Dr. Richard Johnson and the noble Irishman, Atkins, at my side.
“Ah, this is a divil of a pretty mess,” was the first words I heard. “This is what you get for disobeying orthers. Had ye remained wid your legitimate command this wouldn’t have happened. Here’s Grinnell, Shellman and meself as sound as a new quarther. Oh, the hathens, to trate one of ‘Atkins Brigade’ so mane a thrick.”
All night I lay on the field, attended by Dr. Johnson and my good ex-commander, and next morning, was placed in an ambulance and conveyed to Mrs. Hamilton’s, where I was received as a brother and a son by the family. For weeks I languished upon a bed of sickness, nursed with the care and tenderness of an infant by every member of the family, when I was declared convalescent, and made my way to Richmond.
I here met my late companions, who had returned from the campaign in Maryland in safety, and we more than once talked over incidents that attended “Atkins’ Brigade at the Second Manassas.”
THE END.