Cattle in the Corn.
While resting in the camp on this mountain slope, from which the corn fields stretched away for miles, the army cattle were driven up, the fence bars were let down and the cattle turned in to a large field, beautiful in its waving green product. In one hour’s time that field looked like new ploughed ground, not a green blade was left. The army advanced to the Gap, and in crossing the ford the enemy opened fire upon them, and a brisk engagement followed. From our position we could hear the cannon and see the smoke of the battle. This continued until sunset. We were ordered out on picket, and took our posts in the woods, being cautioned to keep a sharp outlook. Our troops began to fall back, and our second sergeant brought in the pickets exclaiming in breathless haste “The army is cut to pieces and in full retreat.”
Of course we hurried back into ranks, drew forty rounds of cartridges, and, guarding the wagon train started on the “double quick” for Washington. This was at nine o’clock at night. We marched without a stop until eight o’clock the next morning, when we halted at Leesburg. That night in passing through burning pine woods the train was fired upon from ambush and some were wounded. During this hard night march the men walked along nearly asleep on their feet, and if there was a temporary halt they dropped in the dusty road, asleep instantly. After a short rest at Leesburg we pushed on and went into camp near “Chain Bridge” at Washington. We arrived at night, completely worn out from our long forced march. The Regiment stacked arms, spread blankets on the ground and lay down to sleep. We lay upon our gum blankets and covered with the woolen ones. During the night it turned quite cool and rained hard. We were soaked through when we awoke in the morning. We started fires, made coffee, ate some hard tack, then wrapping our blankets around us, sat down in the mud to silent meditation. It rained hard until about noon, then began to break away. By night it was clear and we had a good sleep.
The next morning, July 21st, we drew new shoes, formed ranks, crossed the bridge and followed the Sixth Corps who were just breaking camp as we came up. We marched through Maryland via Rockville to the battle field of Monocacy, which we passed over. We saw there the signs of the fierce fighting, the high fences full of bullet holes, and the grain stacks that obstructed Gordon’s advance. We forded the river and marched on through Frederick city. Some of the boys of Company A at this point “straggled” and slept in the fields just beyond the town. They came up with the regiment the next day in time to draw rations, and resumed the march until we reached Harper’s Ferry. Somewhere on this march an incident occurred that made an impression upon my mind that I will never forget. I call it
The Negro Cabin in the Vale
The army had halted at noon for a little rest and dinner. Four of us, comrades, went into the woods in search of berries. Pushing along through the pines we came to a deep valley in which was a little clearing and a small log cabin. A tiny brook flowed down the vale, and the dark pine woods shut in a scene of beauty. It was the home of a negro family, who were all out in front, listening to the banjo played by one of our colored teamsters. He was a fat, oily, good natured fellow, black as ink. Seated on a stump with his eyes rolling in ecstacy and a broad grin showing his ivory teeth, he was an example of the happy, carefree contraband of those days. After listening awhile we passed on and after getting some blackberries we returned the same way. The family were seated at dinner and when we looked in, saw the white table cloth and the dishes, with the family and the banjo player seated around the table, eating, our mouths watered and we wished we could sit with them. Thoughts of home and of our friends, at their tables in the distant north, filled our minds as we made our way back to the dusty turnpike and again took up the weary march. This scene was an oasis in our desert of dust, and its memory is pleasant.
The Negroes
While marching one hot, dusty day, a little negro boy, about ten years of age, came out from a farm house and walked along with us, on his road to freedom. After marching awhile he became very thirsty and appealed from one soldier to another for a drink of water. He was refused by several but his thirst increased and he became desperate. Rolling his eyes in agony, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, he exclaimed, “Please sir! for the love of God, Massa, give dis heah poor nigga a drink of water.” We could not withstand such an appeal so we gave him a drink from our canteen. I suppose he became tired and went back home where there was plenty of water, at least we heard no more of him.
We did not see many negroes during our service. They hid away when the army passed. Occasionally we would catch a glimpse of a colored woman peeping from a door or window grinning at us. Two boys came back with us from Virginia. By passing as body servants we brought them through to Chillicothe. One was a black, ignorant fellow, by the name of Henry. He was about town for several years, employed as a hosler. The other was a bright mulatto, intelligent in conversation, but unable to read or write. He was anxious to get an education. We afterward heard of him as a school teacher near Chillicothe.
The negro could always be depended upon to assist Union soldiers in their efforts to escape from prison, and they approached their cabins with confidence, knowing that they would give them shelter and share their last morsel of food with him, and guide him along his way. Many a weary, hungry soldier has blessed the memory of his kind benefactors, with black faces and white hearts. This was the experience of our two boys, Cook and Martin, who escaped from Mosby, and has been the experience of hundreds of others, who, escaping from the prison pens of the south with the north star as a guide made their way through rugged mountains and trackless forests, back to “God’s country.”