Three years in the Sixth Corps

by George T. Stevens

The remnants of the rebel army collected some miles beyond the town, and reformed; but after a short rest made haste to get farther up the valley. As we advanced we found the mountains full of fugitives, and in the town were thousands of their wounded.

The infantry halted upon the high grounds at the borders of the town, leaving the cavalry to follow up the pursuit of the flying foe; and as Generals Sheridan, Wright, Emory and Crook rode along our front, we made the welkin ring with lusty cheers. Glorious leaders of a victorious army!

At our feet was Winchester, the scene of Washington's early military experience. Here he was stationed during the French war, and shared in the perilous sentinelship of the frontier. For then the valley was ravaged by French and Indians, and fearful massacres were of frequent occurrence; and when Washington demanded of Governor Dinwiddie reinforcements, and was refused, he offered to resign; and when the governor could not allow him to resign he sent him men.

Here, on the ground occupied by the Seventy-seventh New York regiment, near the ruins of an old church, was the grave of General Daniel Morgan, the hero of Quebec and Saratoga, the friend of Washington. A plain marble tablet, broken across, now covered the grave, with a simple inscription, his name and the date of his death, 1802.

In the cemetery, still north, we saw, as we passed, the resting place of Thomas, Earl of Fairfax; a great tory in his day, and the owner of immense tracts of land in this part of Virginia, and from whom Fairfax county took its name.

The sun had sunk to his golden rest behind the wall of hills on our left when we arrived at the outskirts of Winchester; and, as darkness set in, the infantry of our victorious army stretched themselves upon the ground to sleep. It had been a hard day's work, and the men were faint. It required no unusual inducements to woo the angel of sleep.

If the day had been an active one on the field, it had been no less so in the hospitals. First, early in the morning, came ambulance loads of men with white crosses; they were from the Third brigade, Second division, all from the Seventy-seventh New York. Then came others from the Forty-ninth New York, from the Seventh Maine, and from the One Hundred and Twenty-second and Forty-third New York. Then came men from the Vermont brigade, and from our First brigade, and soon the hospitals of the Third division began to be filled. Then, last of all, came the men of the red crosses, bleeding and mangled. Surgeons worked all day and all night. There was no rest as long as a wounded man was uncared for. Yet, when morning came, and the medical officers were ordered forward with the army, there was much to do, and faithful men were left to finish the needful task. Next morning Winchester was full of rebel wounded and rebel prisoners. Five thousand men in gray were under guard in the court house yard and other public places, and Colonel Edwards' brigade of the First division was left to take care of the prisoners and the town. Many brave men had fallen. Russell was gone; the gallant Upton was wounded; Colonel Elright, of the Third division, was dead, and many, many brave boys were lying with their blackened faces to the sun, a slip of paper or a letter envelope pinned to the breast of each to tell the buriers his name and regiment.

"Why Don't He Come?"

The term of service of one of our regiments, the Fourth Vermont, had expired, and on the day after the battle the small remnant of the regiment, a company of about forty men, under command of Colonel Foster, started for Harper's Ferry, on their return home. They had suffered heavily, and they left many of their brave comrades dead upon the battle-field, or suffering in the hospitals. How had those noble boys, whose lives had, at the very expiration of their three years of toil, danger and privations, been given for their country, rejoiced at the prospect of a speedy reunion with the loved ones at home. How had they written, even the day before the battle, "we are going home!" and then how had the loving ones, away among the beautiful green hills of Vermont, exulted at the thought that now, after three long years of suspense and anxiety, the danger and toil were over. And we can picture to our thoughts the mother who watches with eager interest the smoking train as it dashes along at the base of the old hills, wondering if her patriot son will not come to-day; but instead, a letter comes with the heavy news, a great battle has been fought and her son lies in the Valley; or, on the banks of the sunny Champlain, some young sister or lover gazes from the window of the cottage among the trees, at the steamer as it glides over the surface of the beautiful lake and touches at the wharf near by. But her soldier boy is not on board, and she watches in vain to see his familiar form coming toward the cottage. She sadly leans her head upon her hand and sighs, "Why don't he come?"