We went through the town and in sight of the fortifications, but were ordered back into the village and the artillery came and did all the firing. To get out of range of the guns, while we were not firing, about 75 of us lay down in a basement where a house had been burned a year or so before, and our artillery and that of the enemy was firing over us for a while and the roar nearly deafened us. I have never yet heard out of my left ear as well as I did before. The firing stopped about nightfall and we remained there until the next morning.
When we went up to Gettysburg and burned the commissaries at Carlisle, Penn., and Thad Stevens Iron Works, and the packet boats at Seneca Falls, I told them I was bitterly opposed to setting the torch to the enemy’s property, for it meant greater loss for us when they would retaliate. Since that, our men, Early and McCoslin, had burned Chambersburg, so I guess Sheridan thought he was in a good position to retaliate now. The morning we left Waynesboro, I counted 100 barns, granaries, mills and wheat ricks, burning. We were on an elevation and could see a long distance. We knew it was the beginning of a dreadful disaster to the Confederacy.
Sheridan passed on, burning as he went, only leaving dwellings and one mill in every ten miles. He was like a spoilt child. Drove well, as long as we followed at a distance, but as soon as we would press him, he would halt and fight us. As his forces out-numbered ours so much, all we could do was to keep our distance and let him go on. Every night we camped and rested and so did he.
Recruits were coming in occasionally, and one young fellow, Dick Oliver, from Orange Co., came to us on this march toward Harper’s Ferry. We were scarce of men for picket duty about that time, in our company, and some one suggested to send this new man, and an old picket guard with him, as it was his first service. So the Orderly Serg. introduced me to young Oliver as Bro. Peck and told him I would accompany him.
We got the countersign and watchword and started for our picket post. He was a very intelligent young man and highly educated. We were standing guard on the Shenandoah river and after being out awhile, he said it reminded him of the children of Israel going from Egypt back to the Land of Canaan. He made a mistake in relating some of the narrative and I called his attention to it and he remembered then, that I was right. He talked on a while and soon made another error. He then said that he didn’t remember the Bible as he did other things and for me to take the subject and we’d talk it over together, as it was very interesting to him. I told him, I thought to make the topic more interesting, it was better to start with the baby, Moses, and how Miriam had watched him in his little basket in the rushes, and I came on up to his manhood when he was Pharoah’s adopted son; then how God had spoken to him from the burning bush. Then I talked on of how Moses tried to get Pharoah to let the children of Israel go back to their own land and of his crossing the Red Sea with them; how the 12 spies were sent to explore the Land of Canaan and ten reported a bad land and only two, Joshua and Caleb, said it was a good land. The report of the ten spies so discouraged the children of Israel that they rebelled, and God punished them by keeping them wandering in the wilderness 40 years. And by the time I got through with it all, and Moses on Mount Nebo, and fought two or three battles over in Canaan with Joshua and Caleb, I heard an old rooster crow at a farm house, near. We went back into camp after daybreak, and Oliver went to the Serg. and said: “What in the world did you send the Chaplain out there with me for? I had two canteens of whiskey and wanted some so bad all night, but hated to ask the parson to drink with me or drink in his presence.” The Serg. said: “You are crazy, I never sent the Chaplain with you.” Oliver said: “Oh yes, you did. I was spouting some of the Bible and he corrected me twice and commenced at the birth of Moses and talked on for more than 50 years. Why he knows the Bible by heart, I believe!” The Serg. had a hearty laugh and when the other boys found it out, I was called “Parson” for a long time. I regretted his mistake, of course, as I missed several drinks that would have helped me over the night very much.
We marched all that day and at night we needed rations and Capt. James Breckinridge told me to butcher some sheep that some of our men had captured from Sheridan. Sheridan was driving off all the cattle, sheep, hogs and horses, that he could get to starve us out, but we captured sheep and cattle from him occasionally and these had been put in a tobacco house near. I went to the house and butchered two of the sheep in the dark, and got them dressed by about one o’clock. I then went to the nearest house to get vessels to cook the mutton in, and no one answered me when I called. Of course, at that time of night they were all asleep. But finally a lady called down from an upper window and I told her I had orders to press their cooking utensils into service, and I’d like for her to get them for me. She came down and helped me to get the mutton to cooking, and was as kind as any one could be. By the time the army came along the next morning, I had the mutton ready and each man’s bread and mutton cut off, and handed it out as they passed. When young Oliver passed with Sandy White, Sandy told Oliver that he ought to feel complimented to have the chaplain serving him, and we had a laugh over the joke and they rode on. Capt. Breckinridge was among the last coming by and told me I had better butcher a couple more of the sheep and cook them at this same place that day, and have it ready for the next day’s rations, and he would send and get it. So I went to work and got it ready, but by the time I got the meat to boiling, word came to me that Oliver had been killed and Sandy White mortally wounded and captured. Such is life in warfare. Oliver had only been with us two days and nights until he was killed.
As soon as the meat had been cooked, the wagon came for it and I went on with the wagon and joined the command about 10 miles farther on, where they had encamped. We remained here until ordered back to Petersburg.
Chas. Cahoon and I were sent out on picket one day and there was a nice brick house near where we thought we had to stand guard, so I went up and called and asked the lady of the house if this wasn’t the place the pickets usually stood. She said, in a very gruff way: “No, it is where the thieves stand, you are every one a set of nasty thieves.” I said, is it possible that you would call such gentlemen as we are, thieves? Now, what would my mother say if she knew her son had been called a thief? I’m certainly sorry to know that you have such an opinion of us. She said: “Well that is all you are and I’ll never believe anything else until you prove it.” I told her, now since she had branded me as a thief I was going to take something. She said: “No you won’t, for I’m going to watch you.” She sat on the porch and watched us a part of the time and her daughter watched when she left. She had the school children, about 60 yards away, watching, and the old man was watching, also. She told the school teacher to watch us, so they’d be sure that we wouldn’t get anything.
I fed the horses before the school children got out for dinner and held some corn in my hand to bait the chickens. I helloed, “shew!” and pretended to try to drive the chickens away, but was showing them the corn and calling so the old lady couldn’t hear me. Directly one came and ate from my hand and I just closed my hand on it and twisted its head off, and slipped it under my overcoat and then put it in Cahoon’s haversack. He said: “Peck, that old devil is looking right at you.” I told him that was the funny part of it. The old man would hit one lick at his chopping and then look at us, then another lick and up at us again. Presently another chicken came up and I got it the same way, so I had my two chickens and was content. When school was out I went a few steps, down to the branch, and helped the teacher and children across. I had talked to the old lady some during the day and found out that she was a sister of Peach Wolf, who had been on our circuit at my home and had preached a funeral in our family. I had called on her brother at Winchester that same spring. He was a splendid man and I told the old lady how much I thought of him. I began to get on the right side of her in that way. We left about sundown and went up to tell them all good-bye. Her daughter was beautiful and I told her I had fallen completely in love with the young lady, and how sad it was to think we might never meet again, that I might be numbered with the slain before another day. I quoted the poetry:
“Oh, ever thus from childhood hours,