In The Ranks: From the Wilderness to Appomattox Court House / The War, as Seen and Experienced by a Private Soldier in the Army of the Potomac

by R. E. McBride

"Set her up!"

"Ohé!"

Soon it would begin to give, and quickly would be hurled over from the road-bed with a ripping, crashing sound, followed by the shouts and cheers of the men. Then came the process of detaching the part thus overturned from that still undisturbed, if this had not been previously accomplished. Using a length of rail as a lever, this was quickly done, and in a surprisingly brief space of time the rails of a half-mile of road would be lying on blazing piles of ties. As a general rule, the rails were laid on the fire, and the heating of the middle portion would cause them to bend by their own weight, thus rendering them useless. When there was time, the men twisted the hot rails around trees or telegraph poles, or wreathed them together in fantastic shapes. We worked nearly all night. Toward morning we halted in a field, and slept for a couple of hours. Early in the morning the work was resumed, and continued till evening, with only brief intermission for dinner. It rained during the day, and became very cold toward evening. Night found us near a stream; I do not know whether it was the Meherrin River or a tributary of that stream. If the latter, it must have been near its junction with the river. The town of Bellefield is on the Meherrin. We tore up the road to that town. The town was held by a force of rebel infantry, and also artillery to the number of seven or eight guns.

A dismal storm of snow and sleet came on in the evening, and we could only anticipate a night of discomfort. Not long after dark we were ordered to fall in, with only arms and ammunition. The intention was to surprise the rebel force at Bellefield, or, at least, this was the belief of the men. If so, the project was abandoned. We crossed the stream, and tore up some more track, and returned. At this time the only man lost by the regiment during the raid was killed.

As we overturned a stretch of rail, as before described, he was caught under it as it fell. In the darkness and confusion no one noticed the accident but myself; and such was the noise and shouting, it was some time before I could make it known. As soon as possible we lifted the rails and drew him out. His chest was crushed by the great weight, and he scarcely breathed after he was extricated.

We spent the night standing around the fires. Sleep was impossible. The freezing mud was ankle deep, and, as the sleety storm swept by, it encased the outer world in an icy covering. Muffled in rubber blankets, crouched around the fires, to get what warmth and comfort they could, as the driving wind whirled the flames this way and that, the soldiers waited for the return of day.

The next morning the return march began. Flankers were kept out on each side of the column, to guard against surprise, and to prevent men from straggling out from the column, as it was known that rebel cavalry was hanging on our flank and rear, ready to inflict whatever damage they could. There was an occasional dash on our rear; but this was easily repulsed, and the day passed without special incident.

We camped that night in woods, two days' march from Petersburg. The storm still continued, but not so severe as during the previous night. I was fortunate enough to secure a piece of board, by means of which I provided myself comfortable lodging for the night. That board was torn from the side of a church near by. It was none the worse for that. Perhaps that church never before did any service in the cause of loyalty and the Union. That night it kept some Union soldiers off the wet ground. The next morning the march was resumed. Before we had gone far, we made a discovery that was enough to bring the blush of shame to the face of any civilized man. Some of our men, who had fallen behind in the march out, had been inhumanly butchered. I suppose the citizens, with their usual stupidity, thought we would never return, and no day of reckoning would come; and, finding these men in their power, murdered them with a cold-blooded brutality only equaled by the most degraded savages. Some were found riddled with bullets and stripped of their clothing; some had their throats cut, besides gunshot wounds. My first information was from Mike Coleman, who told me, with a look of horror in his face, of the blood-curdling sight he had just witnessed.

This discovery had a peculiar effect upon the soldiers. Even those who were usually undemonstrative gave vent to their feelings in hearty curses on the rebellion, and every thing connected with it. The wish was freely expressed that Lee might intercept us, and bring on the final battle between civilization and barbarism. Up to this time there had been no destruction of private property, except a mill, which had been burned as a war measure, and a house, from which a cavalryman had been treacherously shot; but now, either with or without orders, the men began to burn and destroy every thing within their reach. Even the fences were fired when it could be done. Not a single able-bodied man could be seen along the route; they had fled from the wrath to come.

The One Hundred and Ninetieth was on the flank most of the day. About the middle of the afternoon, we reached a group of houses and outbuildings, which might almost be called a village. Here the head of the column halted, and the flankers drew in near the road. A large dwelling-house stood on the left of the road, the side on which we were. The buildings on the other side of the road were already in flames, and men were preparing to fire the dwelling-house. An old man was looking out of a little out-door kitchen. He was leaning on his staff, trembling with age, cold, and terror. A woman, bearing in her arms a babe but a few months old, came out of the house. Her pale face and quiet bearing, as she walked hurriedly away from the door, touched the gentler nature in the soldiers' hearts, that was now dominated by the tiger, which the sight of blood unjustly shed had aroused. Sympathy was marked on every face. Not an unkind word was spoken; but the house must burn. This general distress must teach the lesson that even war has its limit of barbarity.