I never hear that old tune, nowadays, on these fancy parades, but it brings up the recollection of that great day and causes the cold chills to creep up and down my spine.
I rode with General Meade this day; to prove which, I will ask some of the survivors who witnessed that event to recall a smooth-faced boy on a lame horse that brought up the rear of the dashing cavalcade. My nag got hurt the first day, and I did not have a chance to steal another, and, as I was bound to be on hand, I had to ride my lame horse.
The General and Staff always go at a break-neck gallop, the Staff tearing along in the rear, like a tail to a comet, so that, in this case, I "got left" about a gunshot to the rear; and, because I so energetically spurred the lame horse, to catch up, our boys, behind the stone wall, gave me the laugh and some cheers of derision. They were all feeling pretty good just then, and were excusable.
One of the Staff-officers told me that we had captured General Longstreet, and when I got over among the Reserves I told this bit of news, where it created a sensation.
I have never seen an account of that ride along the lines in print. It is correct, though it may have been the fourth day instead of the third. You will find in the Rebel reports of the battle, that General Lee states that, on hearing these shouts and cheers from our army, he thought it meant an advance on his line, and he made preparations to meet it. I think it was the cheers for General Meade that he heard, even so distant as his headquarters.
But we will leave Gettysburg. I want to say something about Kilpatrick and the Corn Exchange Regiment of emergency men, that came out of Philadelphia at that time to repel the invasion.
It is not for me to criticise General Meade for not closely pursuing Lee's shattered army. We all know that, when a rattle-snake is chased into his hole, he don't leave his tail exposed, but at once presents his head to the entrance. I remember that some days after Gettysburg, while we were at Emmittsburg, or between there and Frederick, Maryland, General Kilpatrick and some of his associates had an animated conversation about it, which everybody in the neighborhood heard, as Kilpatrick was a free talker when he became very much interested in a subject. On this occasion he freely expressed his disgust with the slow proceedings, but no one who knew Kilpatrick well paid much attention to his bluster. He was nick-named "Kill Cavalry," because of his recklessness and apparent disregard of his own and the lives of his men.
I will relate a single incident illustrating this General's character, that occurred in my hearing at Hagerstown. At the time of the Gettysburg campaign there had been quite a lot of emergency troops called out by the Governor of Pennsylvania—"ninety-minute men" we called them. On our march from Gettysburg we met with these home-guards at different points. I remember that just outside of the town of Frederick, Maryland, there was a regiment of these men doing guard duty. As we marched by, and these citizen-soldiers, who were fresh in their picturesque, zoo-zoo uniforms, or, as they are sometimes called, "Night-drawers Cadets," the dirty-looking, old, blue-bloused veterans chaffed them most unmercifully. It was wet weather, and the roads were muddy, as is always the case after a battle. Wherever these ninety-minute men were stationed on guard duty, they were to be found perched as sentries on top of a pile of cracker-boxes or fence rails, to keep their feet out of the mud, the boxes giving them the appearance of a statue on a pedestal.
"Pretty boys," "Nice little sogers," "Don't get your feet wet, sonny; you might take cold," "Let me kiss him for his sister," are mild specimens of the expressions hurled at them from the marching columns of old vets.
My recollection is that these were Philadelphia troops. When we reached Hagerstown, we ran into a lot more of them, that had come down the Cumberland Valley from Harrisburg and Chambersburg to head Lee off. One of these organizations was, I think, called the Corn Exchange Regiment, recruited, or at least fathered, and sent into the field by the wealthy gentlemen of the Philadelphia Exchange. They were composed of what may be termed the better class of men; at least, that was their own estimate of themselves. At their Philadelphia home they probably ranked as rather an exclusive set of boys. Their officers were decidedly "fresh," to use a slang term; at least, we around headquarters, who had become accustomed to pay some attention to military etiquette, were disgusted to see these line officers crowd around our Generals, to stare at and talk as familiarly as if they were all corps commanders.