The roads, trod by new regiments, were always marked by just such evidence of the lessons of experience. The regiments thus starting were the Eighth, Forty-sixth, Fifty-first and Thirty-ninth Massachusetts, forming the Fourth Provisional Brigade of the Second Division, First Army Corps; the respective commanders being Generals John Newton of the corps, John C. Robinson of the division, and Henry S. Briggs of the brigade. The Thirty-fourth, which had accompanied the Thirty-ninth from Baltimore, remained and gave the parting good word as the Thirty-ninth departed, the two organizations not to meet again until the homeward march through Richmond in 1865.

AT THE FRONT

When a brigade advances, all portions thereof do not, cannot move at once, hence it was fully nine o'clock in the evening of the 12th, before all were fully under way. It is a forced march on which the soldiers are entering, and those who are keeping the run of events will merge the 12th and 13th together, there being no good stopping place between them. As one writer expresses it, "up hill and down, so dark that we can scarcely see, all night, right up to 5 o'clock in the morning, when we halt for rest and breakfast in a belt of woods, about two miles from Boonsboro."[E] The trials of that night were long matters of reference, blankets were thrown away, so heavy did they become under the severe strain to which all were subjected. When the halt came, many threw themselves upon the ground for sleep, rather than prepare their coffee, the prime source of strength to the campaigner, and some of those who did set about breakfast getting immediately fell asleep over the task, so completely worn out were the marchers by the exactions of the night.

Nor was the end yet, since all too soon for the tired soldiers the sound of "assembly" calls them into the ranks and "forward" is again the word. To crown their discomforts, rain begins to fall and the mud to deepen, as the ranks once more press forward through Boonsboro, and thence over ways trodden by the participants in the Antietam battle of the year before, the men obey orders and, being at the right of the brigade, they pretty effectually distance their friends in the other regiments and, finding themselves practically alone, they are obliged to halt and await the coming up of the remainder of the brigade; so thorough had been the disciplinary drills on the Poolesville parade, the men of the Thirty-ninth were equal to almost any exaction. The termination of the long march was Funkstown, an insignificant Maryland village, important only as the point near which was stationed a part of the Army of the Potomac, all awaiting the word to advance against July 13, '63 Lee, whose forces had been unable to recross the Potomac, on account of the heavy rains, which had greatly swollen the waters of that important stream.

Also the name had been heard a year before, when the Battle of Antietam had for the first time given Funkstown distinction, otherwise it might have slumbered a thousand years with no signs of awakening. To the wearied men of the Thirty-ninth who, in twenty hours or less, had traversed through rain and mud from twenty-five to thirty miles of wretched roads any sort of place was agreeable for a terminal, and they were glad to hear the command "Halt," and the subsequent direction to pitch tents was equally grateful. Those that could turned in early, but those unlucky ones who had to stand guard faced their duty grimly, realizing that war was not altogether fun. A skirmish line actively engaged, out towards the lines of the enemy, gave to these inexperienced soldiers just the least foretaste of what hostile bullets meant. There was a general feeling that the morrow would bring the clash of arms, and that the days of preparation were over. Ten days after Gettysburg, the Confederates, at bay between the river and the Federals, must either fight, drown or surrender.

Lieut. Colonel Peirson who, when a member of the Twentieth Massachusetts had served on the staff of General Sedgwick, now commanding the Sixth Army Corps, naturally improved the opportunity to call upon his former leader. Our officer was received most kindly and the situation was freely discussed, the General saying that he had just returned from a conference of all the general officers, at which it was decided that it was then inexpedient to attack Lee, his force being about as large as our own and his position for defense being stronger than ours for attack. So depleted were the regiments by the great battle, so recently fought, the Thirty-ninth was as large as almost any brigade. Years later, on meeting General Meade in Boston, the decision of the conference was confirmed, the Potomac Army Commander telling Colonel Peirson that the risk involved was considered too great. Of course of this the rank and file, wondering when the orders to attack would be heard, knew nothing.

The dawn of Tuesday, the 14th, revealed an entirely different situation; the Confederates, afar from their case of supplies, impoverished as to ammunition by the demands of Gettysburg, hence in no condition to attack even if so disposed, had worked industriously all of Monday, the 13th, in constructing a pontoon bridge across the Potomac, at Falling Waters, over which they had withdrawn during the night. To the rank and file, the situation did not appeal as it did to those in command who saw in the escape of the enemy the possible results of the fierce engagement at Gettysburg vanish away. Men with guns, as they advanced, were not encountering the expected opposition and finally, when in the afternoon Williamsport was reached and still no sight of the foe, the dullest man in line realized that the fight for that day was off. One of the observers inscribes in his diary these reflections, "If we had attacked the rebels yesterday, we might have made great havoc among them, crossing the river, but, as it is, we probably will have to follow them into Virginia; pitched our tents, cooked some coffee and went to sleep." Another commentator remarks, "The Somerville (E) Company is detailed as guard at General Newton's headquarters."

History is now repeat to itself, since Lee with his army is moving up the Shenandoah Valley as he did after Antietam, while Meade and the Union army will follow the route of McClellan along the eastern side of the Blue Ridge, appearing at each one of the successive gaps through which the Confederates might essay a passage on their return to their former stamping grounds. With what might have had been, had Meade done this or that, we have no more to do than with the events which followed Antietam, and a like dilatoriness on the part of McClellan in moving immediately on the enemy's works. Our present July 14, '63 concern is with and for the Thirty-ninth Regiment which hears the reveillé at five o'clock in the morning of the 15th, with the injunction to be ready to march in twenty minutes, a command which resulted in a start at six o'clock. The day is hot and sultry, the pace rapid and again men rid themselves of everything possible to lighten their burdens as they hasten over the dusty Maryland roads. Funkstown is again sighted, though on the right, and the battle-line of the day before is hurriedly passed. The gory field of Antietam, where so many of the blue and the gray mingled their life-blood, is also recognized and a halt is called near Antietam Creek.

One of the early incidents of the day's march was the meeting of the Sixth Corps and the First, rendering it necessary for the two bodies to pass each other at nearly right angles. The writer also notes the peculiar coincidence that this passage of the Thirty-ninth was effected through the ranks of the Thirty-seventh, a Western Massachusetts regiment; just a chance to say "Good-morning and Good-bye," all in the same breath. It was on this day's march also that the news came of the fall of Port Hudson and the bloody combats before Charleston, South Carolina. Burnside's bridge, over the Antietam, is crossed in the opposite direction from that taken by that leader a year ago and the hurried way is pursued through Keedysville to Rohersville where the camp is pitched for the night. It has been a hard day, with a record of fully twenty-five sun-broiling miles passed over, and to crown the miseries of the march, rations are scarce, in most cases entirely lacking. The story is told that a goose was appropriated on the way, with the hope that soon opportunity might be found for cooking it, but the wearied men, successively, grew tired of carrying it and its body was left for some luckier party, nearer the rear of the line, to enjoy on reaching camp. The strain must be excessive which will cause a soldier to throw away an edible luxury.