Three years in the Sixth Corps

by George T. Stevens

Certain erudite historians, who have sent broadcast over our land, compilations of newspaper paragraphs under the sounding titles of historians of the rebellion, powerful gentlemen, who, from their comfortable quarters in northern homes, watched our battles from afar, quiet citizens whose sensibilities were never shocked by the sight of a battle-field, and whose nerves can hardly withstand the shock of fire crackers on the morning of a Fourth of July, have gravely informed their readers that our whole army, including the Sixth corps, was driven pell-mell six miles to the rear; and one of these grave historians very quietly assures those who have leisure to peruse his queer accumulations of absurdities, that we were driven all the way to Winchester, a distance of more than twenty miles. For the comfort and encouragement of these historians, so prolific of martial literature, and so barren of any ideas of military movements, it is conceded that their accounts of this battle are quite as correct as any which they are accustomed to give to the public.

We took position just north of Middletown, which was about two miles in the rear of the position held by the Second division of our corps early in the morning. We went back quietly and in good order, a single regiment, the Second Vermont, holding without difficulty the position we abandoned. We carried with us all our wounded, all our shelter tents and all our personal property of every description, and the rebels did not dare to attack us. When we had taken our new position in the same order that we had formed in the morning, the Second division on the left, the First in the center, and the Third on the right, other troops also took position in the line. The cavalry, which had never for a moment faltered, took position, Custer on the right, Merritt on the left and the Nineteenth corps, which had now succeeded in restoring order to its broken ranks, was massed on the right and rear of the Sixth.

With this new line of battle in the strong position we now held, General Wright determined that not only should the retreat stop here, but that the rebels should be driven back across Cedar creek. Their career of victory was ended. The grand old Sixth corps, directed by our own loved General Getty, had turned the fortunes of the day. It was now ten o'clock; far away in the rear was heard cheer after cheer. What was the cause? Were reinforcements coming? Yes, Phil Sheridan was coming, and he was a host. He had ridden from Winchester at amazing speed, and now, as he passed the long trains of ambulances in which were the hundreds of bleeding victims of the morning's work, the wounded men whose shattered limbs or mangled bodies attested that they had not run away, raised themselves and cheered with wild enthusiasm the hero of the valley. On he rode; most of his staff left far to the rear, his famous war-horse covered with foam and dirt, cheered at every step by hundreds of men in whom new courage was now kindled. Dashing along the pike, he came upon the line of battle. "What troops are those?" shouted Sheridan. "The Sixth corps," was the response from a hundred voices. "We are all right," said Sheridan, as he swung his old hat and dashed along the line toward the right. "Never mind, boys, we'll whip them yet; we'll whip them yet! We shall sleep in our old quarters to-night!" were the encouraging words of the chief as he rode along, while the men threw their hats high in air, leaped and danced and cheered in wildest joy.

Sheridan at once completed the arrangements already commenced and nearly finished by General Wright. The men of the Sixth corps meanwhile busied themselves in cooking their morning meal.

None but soldiers can realize the contending emotions we experienced as we waited for the development of the new arrangements. We had, with the pride which none but soldiers can feel, regained for northern troops the prestige for brilliant achievements and open field fighting in this valley, so often, in times past, the scene of humiliation to our arms. Were we now, notwithstanding all our brilliant successes and our proud consciousness of superiority, to see our prestige fade in an hour? Sheridan said, "No;" and we trusted him. Had Sheridan never reached the field, General Wright would have led us against the foe, whose ardor was already lost after the repeated repulses from the single corps. But there was a charm about the real commander of the army, and his opportune arrival inspired fresh hope and zeal in the breasts of all. Even a considerable portion of the Eighth corps was collected and placed on the left of the Sixth, and then, with cavalry on either flank, Custer on the right and Merritt on the left, we were ready to assume the offensive.

Thus, all things being arranged, we were prepared to test the question whether our army was to fall back to Winchester beaten and humiliated or return to our old camps.

At one o'clock, the rebels advanced against the right of our line, but were repulsed. A brisk fire of artillery was for a time kept up, but even this died away and nothing but the scattering fire of skirmishers was heard.

Early had, without doubt, now relinquished the idea of any further offensive operations, and he as little thought that any were designed on our part. The rebels quietly proceed to bring their baggage wagons and ambulances across the river, and they set themselves about fitting up our camps for their own use.

At three o'clock, Sheridan gave the order to move; wheeling from right to left, as a gate swings upon its hinges. The Third division on the right of our corps became for a moment embarrassed in passing through a strip of woods, the First division moved slowly but firmly, gaining a strong position. The Second division also advanced, but it was ordered to go very slowly, and this was far more difficult than to rush quickly over the ground. Yet the division obeyed the order and forced the rebels to fall back. In front of the First and Second brigades was a stone wall. This they seized and were at once partially sheltered; but there was no such protection for the Third brigade. In its front was a meadow and a gradually inclined plane, and behind a wall which skirted the crest, was the rebel line. Between that line and ours, in a hollow, stood a brick mill, from the windows of which the enemy's sharpshooters picked off our men. The galling fire from the line of battle, and the fatal shots of the sharpshooters in the mill, made it impossible to advance slowly, and the line fell back. Our best men were falling fast. The color-sergeant of the Seventy-seventh fell dead; another sergeant seized the flag and fell. Adjutant Gilbert Thomas, a youth of rare beauty and surpassing bravery, seized the fallen flag; he cried, "forward, men!" and fell dead with the staff grasped in his hand.

"I cannot take my brigade over that field, slowly," said Colonel French; "then go quickly," responded General Getty. The word was given, and with a bound and a shout the noble brigade went across the field, quickly driving the confederates from their strong position.