“In the round up of Lee’s army culminating at Appomatax, two divisions of the corps were commanded by Sixty-first men. Barlow commanded one and Miles the other, and between them they fought the last infantry battle of the Army of the Potomac.”
“In Colonel Fox’s admirable analysis of the Regimental Losses during the Civil war, he shows that the Sixty-first New York came very near having a place among the forty-five regiments that lost over two hundred men, killed or mortally wounded in action during the war. Its actual loss was 193, including 16 officers. He says: ‘The Sixty-first had the good fortune and honor to be commanded by men who proved to be among the ablest soldiers of the war. They made brilliant records as colonels of this regiment, and, being promoted, achieved a national reputation as division generals. The Sixty-first saw an unusual amount of active service and hard fighting. It served through the war in a division that was commanded successively by Generals Richardson, (killed at Antietam), Hancock, Caldwell, Barlow and Miles, and any regiment that followed the fortunes of these men was sure to find plenty of bloody work cut out for it.”
In the place we were marched to we lay down. Very soon the fifty men under Captains Broady and Mount, who had been detached, joined the forty or so of us making all told a fighting force of from ninety to one hundred men. Most, if not all the men, except those on guard, went to sleep.
About two o’clock a. m. of July 1st, we were quietly awakened and cautioned to make no noise. The order to move was whispered and we started silently.
A good part of our way was over a road through the woods. No artillery or wagon trains were in the way, and we shoved along at a good pace. Most of the canteens were empty before the last battle, and now the men were suffering for water nearly as much as it was possible for them to. I do not know of any of our troops following us, and it is my belief that we were the last of the Army of the Potomac to go over this road, as we were, the following December to cross the pontoon bridge at Fredericksburg.
I suppose we made a march of from three to five miles, when we came into open country, not far from three o’clock a. m. The light was just beginning to show in the East. We did not know the locality or the name of the place if it had one. We saw that a part of our army at least was massed here. Later on we came to know that it was Malvern Hill, where a great battle was soon to be fought. I am glad we did not know it before it came. In our ignorance, we assumed that now the fighting was over for a time, and we would be given a chance to recuperate after the strain of the past week. As soon as arms were stacked details for water gathered the dry canteens and went in search of the much needed fluid. Those who could, stretched out on Mother Earth for another nap.
As soon as the sun was up the men stirred themselves, made coffee and ate such food as they had in their haversacks—hard bread, and boiled salt pork, or beef. At such times the soldier’s menu is not elaborate, and he is satisfied if there is enough of it to prevent the pangs of hunger.
We were occupying an open field with other troops of our corps, without protection from the broiling sun. The intense heat was not as bad as a battle, but some of our men were used up by it. I think it must have been in the neighborhood of 10 a. m. when some of our men spoke out: ‘There’s the reb’s planting a battery.’ Every eye was turned in the direction indicated. It was plain to be seen that artillery was being placed, but, at the distance, I could not distinguish the uniforms, and I declared that they were our men. My wisdom did not have long to maintain itself, for in a short time shells were dropping in on us in a way no friend would shoot.
Now preparations were rapidly going on for a great battle—the last of an historic series. Ammunition was being distributed to the infantry, boxes of cartridges were brought to us and opened while we were standing this shelling. Capt. Broady superintended the distribution. Every man filled his cartouch, and then Broady made us take from forty to sixty rounds in the haversacks. He declared as he went up and down the lines, when some of the men grumbled at the quantity, ‘Men, you may be glad to have them before you get more.’ After a while our batteries silenced the guns that had been making it disagreeable for us.
While we were in this place a matter transpired that has left an unfading impression on my mind. A member of our regiment, who had been much of the time detailed, and had acted as hostler for some of the field officers, but was now with his company, came up to Colonel Barlow with a woe-begone countenance and told him that he was sick and not able to be in the ranks, and said that the doctor thought he ought to be permitted to go to the rear. No doubt Barlow had noted the use this man had been put to, and, where he believed a soldier was managing to escape danger and find a soft place, he always endeavored to make it as unpleasant for that man as possible. The Colonel was not in an amiable frame of mind. He was on foot, old “Billy” had been killed the night before, and he felt like having a dialogue with someone. He asked this man some questions which satisfied him he was a coward. His wrath broke out vehemently. He cursed and swore at him and called him a variety of unpleasant and detestable things and then he began to punch him with his fist wherever he could hit. Finally he partly turned him around, and gave him a hearty kick in the stern and said: “Damn you, get away from here! You’re not fit to be with my brave men.” The fellow departed as fast as his short legs would carry him. I knew of no other man presenting an excuse or asking for leave of absence that day. I believe every man of us preferred to meet the rebels rather than the vocal scorn and denunciation of Barlow. I believe he did not know what personal, bodily fear was, and he had no consideration for a coward.