The following interesting little incident is taken from Very Rev. W. C. Corby’s book, entitled “Memoirs of Chaplain Life:”
“On the 29th of November, 1863,” says Rev. Constantine L. Egan, O. P., chaplain of the Ninth Massachusetts Volunteers, “we advanced to Mine Run and formed a line of battle and bivouacked for the night. The enemy were posted on the east ridge, about one mile from the stream called Mile Run, on a centre ridge nearly 100 feet above the surface of the stream. Their works could easily be seen by us posted on the west ridge of the run. They were strongly fortified, their works bristling with abatis, infantry parapets and epaulements for batteries. About 3 o’clock on the evening of the 30th the order was given to charge the enemy’s line. Seeing the danger of death before us I asked the colonel to form his regiment into a solid square so that I could address the men. He did so. I then spoke to them of their danger, and entreated them to prepare for it by going on their knees and making a sincere act of contrition for their sins, with the intention of going to confession if their lives were spared.
“As the regiment fell on their knees, other Catholic soldiers broke from their ranks and joined us, so that in less than two minutes I had the largest congregation I ever witnessed before, or even since. Having pronounced the words of general absolution to be given in such emergencies and danger, I spoke a few words of encouragement to them.
* * * “After talking to the soldiers and finishing my remarks, they arose from their knees, grasping their muskets with a firm clinch, and went back to their respective commands, awaiting the hour to expire to make the assault.”
Smith Johnson, taking this as his theme, has written the following poem, entitled “A Miracle of War,” and dedicated it to Father Corby:
Two armies stood in stern array
On Gettysburg’s historic field—
This side the blue, on that the gray—
Each side resolved to win the day,
Or life to home and country yield.
“Take arms!” “Fall in!” rang o’er the line
Of Hancock’s ever-valiant corps—
For to the left the cannons chime
With music terribly sublime,
With death’s unceasing, solemn roar.
With spirits ardent, undismayed,
With flags uplifted toward the sky,
There stands brave Meagher’s old brigade
Those noble laurels ne’er will fade
Upon the page of history.
“All forward, men!” No, pause a while—
Dead silence follows like parade
At “order arms,” for ‘long the file
There moves a priest with holy smile—
The priest of Meagher’s old brigade.
All eyes were toward him reverent turned,
For he was known and loved by all,
And every face with fervor burned,
And with a glance his mission learned—
A mission of high Heaven’s call.