Three years in the Sixth Corps

by George T. Stevens

Our march over the mountain that day was by a wild, romantic route, than which none more charming could be asked by tourist in search of nature's wildest moods. Before each little log house by the roadside would stand a wondering group, astonished at seeing such multitudes of men in those secluded regions, where scarcely a dozen travelers usually passed in a week. At one place, as the column was passing a cottage half hidden by sunflowers and flowering beans, those at the head of the column were heard cheering heartily; and, as we advanced, other voices took up the cheer, exciting the curiosity of those behind. In the midst of the noise, sounded a shrill voice; and as we approached, we saw, sitting upon the fence in front of the cottage, a little boy, about four years old, his face flushed with excitement, his flaxen hair flying in the wind, as he was waving his little hat, and with childlike indistinctness shouting in his shrill tones, "Hurrah for 'e Union! Hurrah for 'e Union!"

Soon those in the rear of the line heard those ahead shouting again, and another shrill voice was heard between the cheers of the men. There by the roadside stood an old man, over whom more than eighty years had passed, with voice indistinct with the tremor of age, all excited as the little boy had been, his hair tossed about by the breeze, as with hat swinging he too was shouting, "Hurrah for the Union! Hurrah for the Union!" And the cheers of the multitude again rang in response to the old man's shout. We could but note the similarity and the disparity. One vaguely dreamed of those blessings which the other had fully realized, and for which he had struggled; and the same shout was lifted up by those two children—the one of four, and the other of fourscore—the one with the flaxen curls of childhood, and the other with the white locks of age—the one voice with the shrill treble of infancy, and the other with the high-keyed tones of decrepitude. Those people, who had seen the rebel army pass a few hours before, now felt the value of the Union.

On the summit of the mountain we passed Monterey Springs, a charming summer retreat, where the Pennsylvanians resort to indulge in the sports of trout-fishing and deer-hunting. Passing down the western slope of the mountain, the handiwork of Kilpatrick was strewed along the roadside for miles. As the battle of Gettysburgh drew to a close, and General Meade knew that Lee must retreat toward Virginia, he had sent the dashing Kilpatrick with his brigade of cavalry to harass the rebels in their flight. Reaching these mountains, the cavalry had come upon a long rebel train of wagons and ambulances, hastening with all speed, with their lading of stolen goods and provisions and their wounded men, towards the Potomac. With shouts and cheers the horsemen dashed from the cover of the woods, upon the flying train, shot the leading horses and mules, captured the drivers and remaining animals, appropriated the stolen goods to their own use, and burned the wagons. Now, as we marched down the forest road, the wildness of the scene was heightened by the remains of the ruined wagons which lined the wayside, some burned, some with the wheels disabled by cutting the spokes, others tumbled off the steep embankment. For more than three miles, these remnants of the rebel trains met our view.

It was near the middle of the afternoon when the column, the army under General Neill, descended into the beautiful Cumberland valley, and arrived at the village of Waynesboro. The people gave our little army a joyous reception, and we encamped at a little distance from the village. One regiment, the Seventy-seventh, was sent on picket on the banks of the Antietam creek, and so pleasant was the duty that the regiment petitioned to be allowed to remain until the army moved, to which request General Neill very graciously assented. Our picketing on the Antietam became one of the bright sports in the history of our campaigning. We were a mile in advance of the other troops, and the picket line was two miles long, so that we were not at all crowded. The weather was fine, the country delightful, and the people kind and hospitable. The most friendly relations sprang up at once between the people and the soldiers, the inhabitants supplying the boys with luxuries, and taking them into their houses as welcome guests, the soldiers on their part guarding the people against the depredations of stragglers and militia.

The grain was ripe for the harvest, and the farmers were short of help; but the boys laid aside their guns, and swung the cradle and the scythe with a zest that showed that they worked with a good will. Day after day the boys of the Seventy-seventh reaped and bound in the fields, while the good ladies worked day and night to make bread and cakes for the veterans, who had so long been accustomed to diet on pork and hard tack. Soft bread, milk, poultry and the staple luxury of Pennsylvania, apple butter, was a glorious improvement on the usual bill of camp fare, and kind sympathizing Union people were much better calculated to render our stay among them agreeable, than the bitter rebels among whom we had so long been.

The left wing of our extended picket line was under command of Major Babcock, who, with the line officers of his part of the picket, established head-quarters at the house of a miller, whose comfortable rooms and well filled larder afforded substantial inducements to our friends; but the great attractions at the miller's house were doubtless the three charming daughters, whose merry faces and bewitching eyes rejoiced the hearts of our gay major and his associates. Word came to the right of the line that our friends on the left were in the enjoyment of far more than the usual allowance of pleasure for men on picket, and thither started the colonel and the doctor, and our friend, Colonel Connor, of the Seventh Maine, to investigate the matter. Riding through a lovely region, now rising to the summit of some gentle eminence, from whence they could look away upon the surrounding country, its rich fields of grain ready for the harvest, its charming groves of oak, and its neat farm houses, making up a most delightful landscape, now descending into some green valley where babbling brooks danced over pebbly beds, and now reining up to listen to the complaint of some cottagers, who said that "the militia were robbing them of their pigs and their poultry, and but for the old soldiers, who were perfect gentlemen, they would be stripped of everything they had;" now fording the bright waters of the Antietam, and anon halting to converse with some group of men who were reclining beneath the shadow of some clump of chestnuts or oaks, doing picket duty as amateurs, the party at length arrived at the miller's house, nestled in a pleasant grove by the side of the beautiful river. Here was the major, and here were the happy line officers, and here was the main reserve of the left wing of the picket, all exhibiting the most abundant good humor. Here, also, they found our chaplain, and Chaplain Osborn, of the Forty-third New York. It was evident, at a glance, that the reports of gay soldiering which had reached the right of the line were in no way exaggerated. The miller took the horses, and the party was ushered into the house, when the good lady and her merry daughters welcomed them heartily. The miller brought out his best wines and his biggest apples. The ladies were smiling, the wines were good, and the apples delicious, and the hearts of the soldiers were gladdened. The ladies retired, leaving the gentlemen in possession of the airy sitting-room. They sung Old Hundred, and Coronation, and Lenox, and Cambridge. Now our friend, Colonel Connor, would lead off in a rollicking soldiers' song; then our chaplain would follow with "Benny Havens, Oh!" and all would join in the chorus. Chaplain Osborn, of the Forty-third, could tell a good story, and relish a glass of wine; and so they passed a happy hour, singing and chatting, till called to dinner, where the long table was loaded from the abundance of the miller's stores. Dinner over, the company strolled among the fruit trees and along the banks of the river; but at length, as an end must come to all pleasures, our party, who had left the right of the line in the morning, galloped back to their quarters, satisfied that picket duty was not necessarily the most vexatious in the service.

The Forty-ninth was provost guard for the town, and a merry time the men had of it. Here in the principal hotel, General Neill established his head-quarters, and in regal style amid flowers and fruits he received the homage of the citizens and soldiers. The remaining regiments of the brigade were stationed in a lovely grove half way between the town and the picket line. They lounged in the shade of their beautiful camp, or strolled to the village or to the picket line on the Antietam. They purchased from the people fruit and bread, apple butter and other luxuries, enjoying a pleasant respite from labors, while the Forty-ninth guarded the town and the Seventy-seventh the river. But notwithstanding all the pleasures of this bright episode in our campaign, the boys were not without a source of annoyance.

Soon after our arrival at Waynesboro, we were joined by a large division of New York and Pennsylvania militia, under our old commander General W. F. Smith, who still held a prominent place in the affections of the boys. The militia was composed mostly of young gentlemen who had left their places behind the counter or at the desk, for the double purpose of lending their aid to their country in its hour of need, and of enjoying a month of what they hoped would be amateur soldiering.

On the evening of their arrival, they were all complaining bitterly of the terrible marches they had endured, and swore they would shoot the general if they ever got into a fight. They had marched all the way from Harrisburgh, to which point they had been brought in cars, at the rate of from eight to fifteen miles a day! In addition to the severe marches, they had been subjected to great privations; many of them had not tasted any butter for more than a week, and nearly all declared that they had absolutely nothing to eat for several days. The writer, who listened to these grievous complaints from some who had been his friends in civil life, pointed to their trains of wagons loaded with boxes of hard bread. "What," replied the militia-men, "You don't expect us to eat that hard tack do you?"

These regiments of militia were undisciplined and unaccustomed to the hard fare of the soldier's life, and the majority of the men took to plundering the inhabitants of the neighboring country, and perpetrating other depredations equally dishonorable in the eyes of the old soldiers. As the veterans constituted the picket and the guard of the town, and were intrusted to guard many of the houses of the citizens outside of the village, they found great annoyance in attempting to resist the incursions of the militia, and rather frequent collisions resulted, in which the old soldiers usually got the best of the encounter.