As we got a view of the situation it was seen that the rebels were in a sunken road, having sides about four feet in height; this formed for them a natural barricade. Barlow, with the eye of a military genius (which he was) at once solved the problem. Instead of halting his men where Meagher had, he rushed forward half the distance to the rebel line, halted and at once opened fire. We were so near to the enemy, that, when they showed their heads to fire, they were liable to be knocked over. It did not take them long to discover this, and for the most part, they hugged the hither bank of this sunken road. Barlow discovered that by moving his men to the left and a little forward he could rake the position of the Confederates. This he did, and our firing was resumed with vigor. The result was terrible to the enemy. They could do us little harm, and we were shooting them like sheep in a pen. If a bullet missed the mark at the first it was liable to strike the further bank, and angle back, and take them secondarily, so to speak. In a few minutes white rags were hoisted along the rebel line. The officers ordered “cease firing,” but the men were slow of hearing, and it was necessary for the officers to get in front of the men and throw up their guns.
Finally the firing ceased, then Barlow ordered the men forward. They advanced on a run, and when they came to the bank of the sunken road, they jumped the rebels to the rear. Those able to move were glad to get out of this pit of destruction. Over three hundred were taken, who were able to march to the rear.
The dead and wounded were a horrible sight to behold. This sunken road, named by some writers “The Bloody Lane,” was a good many rods long, and, for most of the way, there were enough dead and badly wounded to touch one another as they lay side by side. As we found them in some cases, they were two and three deep. Perhaps a wounded man at the bottom, and a corpse or two piled over him. We at once took hold and straightened out matters the best we could, and made our foes as comfortable as the means at hand afforded—that is, we laid them so that they were only one deep, and we gave them drink from our canteens. After some time spent in this way, a body of the enemy was discovered deployed to our right. Barlow at once formed the command nearly at right angles to the position we had just held, and advanced us. We passed a fence, and soon opened fire on this new force. In the meantime the enemy had placed a part of a battery in position that began to rake our line with canister. Charges of this deadly stuff went in front and in the rear of our line. Some of those discharges, if they had happened to go a little further to the front or the rear, would have destroyed our two little regiments. Such close calls often happen in battle. We held our ground, and after a while the rebels fled from the field. One of them was considerably in the rear of his comrades and as he was exerting himself to get out of harms way, our men concentrated a fire on him. He was on plowed ground, and we could see the dirt fly up in front, and rear, and on each side of him as he was legging it. He was escaping wonderfully, and I felt as though he was entitled to succeed. I called out to our men and entreated them not to fire at him again, but without avail. The shooting went on, and, just before he was out of range, down he went, killed perhaps, possibly wounded.
About this time Col. Barlow was dangerously wounded from a canister shot, and Miles took charge of our affairs. The firing had again quieted. He directed me to take two men and go forward, part way through the corn field in front, and watch and report any appearance of the enemy. If I am not mistaken, I took Porter E. Whitney and George Jacobs of my company. We went forward half way through the corn field, which was for the most part trampled down. We arranged the broken stalks so as to be partially concealed. After a time to our front and right, and on the brow of a considerable rise of ground, a body of officers appeared on horseback, and with glasses took observations. We discussed the propriety of aiming at these Confederates and giving them a volley. I finally concluded it was best not to take this responsibility, as it might bring on an attack that we were not ready for. In a short time these men disappeared. I sent back one of the men to report what we had seen. Very soon he came back with the word to join the regiment. Longstreet in his book entitled “From Bull Run to Appomatox,” speaks of looking the field over about this time and from near this location, so, I judge, it was he and his staff that we had such a plain view of.
Our command under Miles, was, about 5 p. m., drawn back and established just in rear of where we made our first fight. Our Division General, Richardson, was this day mortally wounded. He had the entire confidence of his men, as a brave and skillful soldier, and his taking off was deeply lamented. Barlow was supposed to be mortally wounded, but he recovered, and in a few months came back a brigadier, and was given a brigade in Howard’s Eleventh Corps.
Gen. Hancock was assigned to our division. By this time he had won the reputation of being a hard fighter, and this he justly held through the remainder of the war.
In this battle I had a hand in an amusing incident that is worth recording. There was in Company A, a little Irishman about 40 years of age by the name of Barney Rogers. This man had been recruited by our New York party the spring before. He did not write, and, knowing me from the first, had come to me to do his correspondence. When we started to take the place of the Irish brigade, I noticed that Barney appeared to be holding up his pants, but I made no inquiry as to the reason for his so doing. When we took our first position in advance of where the Irishmen had fought, and began firing, Barney had to use both hands, and his predicament was at once revealed. He had held up his pants by a strap around his waist without suspenders. This strap had given out, and that accounted for his holding up performance. When he began loading and firing he had to “let go” and leave the pants to follow the law of gravitation. Soon his ankles were swathed with these low down breeches, and he was effectually teddered. I was here and there, doing my duty as a sergeant. I had not noticed Barney’s predicament till he called to me in a tone of urgency and said, “Charley, cut the damned things off!” I took in the situation in an instant, and in less time than I can write it, jerked out my large knife, opened it, grabbed the waistband, made a pass or two, and one leg was free, I said, “You can kick the other leg out.” He made a few passes, and from the top of his stockings up his legs were bare. A good breeze was blowing sufficient to take away the smoke from our guns, and sufficient to flap his unconfined shirt tail. I remember calling Ike Plumb’s attention to it and our having a good laugh over it. Barney continued his fighting, and was with the men in the grand charge that captured the rebels in the sunken road. He was also in his place in the second attack we made. While the firing was at the hottest I heard a man cry out, and I looked just in time to see Barney throw his gun, and start off on his hands and one leg—the other leg held up. The last I ever saw of him he was pawing off in that fashion. I suspected that in some way he had got a shot in the foot. Years after this occurance, I wrote a series of articles for The Sherburne News, and in one of them gave this account. As soon as the paper was out, my comrade, Porter E. Whitney came into my office. He was in this battle and, I supposed, he knew about this affair. He had read the account, and I said to him, “Of course, you remember it?” To my chagrin, he replied, “That is the first I ever heard of it!” I said to him, “That will leave me in a fine situation, people will ask you if you remember the Barney Rogers incident, and you will say, “No,” and the enquirers will conclude that I have been telling a “Jim Tanner yarn.” “Well,” he replied, “I can’t remember what I never before heard of.”
Some days after this, Whitney came to me and asked if I knew Barney Rogers’s address. I said, “No.” He told me it was in the roster lately published by the regimental association. I found it and at once wrote to the address, and briefly inquired if he was the little Barney Rogers that I cut the breeches off from at Antietam. In a few days I got a letter from Barney written by his son, in which was the statement, “I am he.” It went on to say that he was hit under the big toe by a bullet that had probably gone into the ground, struck a stone and glanced up, taking him as indicated. He said that he went off the field in the way I have described, until he was out of danger, and then hopped along as best he could. Finally, a soldier from a Connecticut regiment met him, who had an extra pair of pants, which he gave to Barney. He got inside of them as speedily as possible, and then waited for an ambulance, when he was taken to a hospital, and finally discharged.
In this battle our flag was shot through a good many times and the staff had a bullet go through its center just above the hands of Sergt. Hugh Montgomery, who was carrying it.
All through the 18th we remained in position, hugging the ground. The picket lines of the two armies were near together, and were blazing away at one another on every opportunity. Our line of battle was so near to the picket line that anyone showing himself would be fired on. One of my company, Julius C. Kelsey of Smyrna, was killed while on this duty. The Sixty-first lost in killed and wounded about one-third of its number, and so was again reduced to the size of a full company.