They brought back many recollections of pleasant camps and stirring scenes, and the story of their experiences brought a welcome freshness to the gossip of the battalion. They rejoined the Regiment near Beverly Ford, August 24th, 1863.
While we were encamped at Beverly Ford five deserters were tried, convicted, and sentenced to be shot, and the sentence was executed near our camp in the presence of the corps, massed on a hillside facing the place of execution. No more solemn scene was witnessed in the army than the march of those five men from the barn in which they had been confined to the graves in which they were to lie. They were dressed alike, in white shirts, trousers, shoes and stockings, and caps. The order of procession was as follows: First, the band, playing the death march, then four soldiers bearing an empty coffin, which was followed by the prisoner who was soon to occupy it, guarded by four soldiers, two in front with reversed arms, and two behind with trailed arms. Then another coffin and another prisoner, borne and guarded as described above, and so the five doomed men marched across the field to their graves, where each, seated upon his coffin, was to pay the penalty of desertion by death. Although at first they marched with firm and steady step, yet they staggered ere they reached the spot where they were to face death at the hands of comrades. Eighty men selected from the provost guard were there in line, posted to fire the fatal volley. When all was ready, the men having been placed in position and blindfolded, the officer in command of the guard, without a word, but by the motion of his sword, indicated the ready—aim—fire, and instantly every gun (forty loaded with blank and forty with ball cartridge) was discharged and all was over. Silently we viewed the solemn spectacle, and as silently returned to camp—not with cheerful martial airs, as when a faithful soldier, having met a soldier’s death, is left to his last repose, but with the sad ceremony uneffaced, and all deeply impressed with the ignominy of such an end.
On the 15th of September we broke up this pretty camp and moved along to Culpepper, with some lively skirmishing, and then rested for another month with some picket duty but no warring.
A French Canadian who left without permission on our march to Gettysburg, and took to bounty-jumping for a living, was detected, returned to us, and at this camp was tried, sentenced, and punished for his offences in the presence of the entire brigade.
In the middle of a square formed by the troops who had been his fellows, one half of his head was shaven close, and his shoulder was branded with a letter D. The square was then deployed—the line formed with open ranks, the front rank faced to the rear, and the poor wretch, under guard, was marched down the path thus lined with on-looking soldiers, the musicians leading the way playing the Rogue’s March, and then he was sent from the lines as not worthy to associate with an honest soldiery.[2]
[2] The scoundrel’s own description of the proceedings was: “they shave my head—they burn my back—they march me in review.”
Here, too, we received a reinforcement of 180 drafted men, who were assigned to the different companies, and of whom we made good soldiers.
Between the 10th of October and the 29th of November the Army of the Potomac and the Army of Virginia were waltzing about the country between Culpepper and Fairfax. Frequently it was “forward and back,” sometimes “forward all,” and occasionally “back to back.” Generals Meade and Lee called the figures, and we danced to the music of artillery and rifles. There was in fact no fun in all this; the campaigning was severe, and some of the engagements were marked by sharp fighting, but the campaign was mainly one of manœuvres.
Sunday morning, November 29th, found our corps in position, in the centre of the line of battle at Mine Run, with orders to be ready to charge the enemy’s works at a given hour, when a signal gun was to be fired. There the two great armies of Virginia were brought face to face, each occupying a strong natural position, about a mile apart, with a deep valley between, through which passed a small stream called Mine Run.
We have said that each army occupied a strong natural position. The Confederate army however, had us at a great disadvantage. They knew it and expressed it by acts which spoke louder than words—coming out from behind their works by hundreds in the open field, seemingly to challenge us to charge across the valley, which they knew—and so did we—would be to many of our number the valley of death. For we had to charge down the hill across the Run and up the opposite slope, in the face of a hundred guns, planted so as to sweep the field with grape and canister the moment we came within range, and thousands of muskets in the hands of the enemy, who were evidently not only ready, but anxious to see us storm their position, that they might mow us down like grass.