On to Richmond Once More—Foragers Captured—General McClellan Superseded by General Burnside—The March to the Rappahannock—Battle of Fredericksburg.
The closing days of October found us again on the march, swinging down the Virginia valley with the grand Army of the Potomac, fully recovered and equipped for another measuring of strength with our wily foe, the Army of Northern Virginia.
On November 12th, while we were encamped near Waterloo bridge, six men of Company K, Corporal Theodore Barber, Privates William Murray, A. L. Marsh, J. W. Hummer, Adam Wert and F. E. Hinman, were captured while returning from a foraging expedition. When captured they had several sheep they had gobbled. For some days it was rumored that they had been taken by Mosby's guerrillas and hung, but after a short sojourn in Libby prison, they were sent to Camp Parole at Annapolis, Md., were exchanged, and rejoined the regiment in the following February.
No other incident of moment occurred until we reached the vicinity of Warrenton, Va. There the morale of the army received a shock from which it required months for recovery. It was the unexpected relieving of Gen. George B. McClellan from command, and the assignment of Gen. Ambrose E. Burnside to that high position. That General McClellan was the idol of the Army of the Potomac cannot be gainsaid. In him the mass of the troops had unbounded confidence. He had organized, equipped and drilled them. On his shoulders that did not rest the blame of their discomfiture on the Peninsula. Instead they praised him for his masterly "change of base" from the swamps of the Chickahominy to the James. He had from the jaws of defeat at Bull Run wrested victory from their elated and confident enemy at South Mountain and Antietam, and now, when on the forward movement again, hopeful of final victory, he was unceremoniously discharged, and one substituted of whom they knew little, and who with protestations of unfitness accepted the command!
At Warrenton the army encountered the first snowfall of the winter, the morning reveille waking the sleeping host covered with an extra blanket of purest whiteness. Our march to the Rappahannock was without further incident of note. On November 25th we arrived upon the heights overlooking the ancient city of Fredericksburg sleeping in the river valley, beyond which rose Marye's heights and the range of wooded hills, on whose slopes was marshaled our old foe, interrupting our further advance upon the Confederate capital. Here the army pitched its winter camp. Many of the quarters were built quite substantial and comfortable. The messes of five and six, cut and split the soft pine indigenous to that region, constructing therewith log cabins roofed with their shelter tents. Many of these cabins were fitted up quite tastefully, having open fire places and bunks erected against the walls which were supplied with pillows and mattresses of the resinous pine needles covered with army blankets, making very comfortable beds, at least quite luxurious to men who had enjoyed nothing better than the ground, or the soft side of a plank, for a year past. But from this dream of peace and comfort we were soon to be rudely wakened. In the early twilight of the morning of December 11th, the guards that paced their lonely beats about the silent camps were startled by the sudden boom of a signal gun, its deep reverberations up and down the river valley giving warning to friend and foe that a strife for the possession of yonder steeps was soon to begin. For a moment silence followed this signal and then from the hundred brazen throats of the batteries that lined the crest of the hills on the north side flashed sheets of flame amid deafening roar and scream of shot and shell, that brought every sleeper to his feet. The deep notes of the heavier ordnance, mingled with the rifle crack of the lighter parrotts; the whizzing of shot and screaming shells, the path of the latter marked by burning fuse, presented a scene grand and awe-inspiring beyond description. It was war's magnificent prelude to the fiercer music of the clash of a hundred thousand muskets to follow. By daylight, camps were broken, knapsacks packed, and marching columns were pouring forward toward the river where the batteries continued to play and pile their smoke in thick banks along the crest of the hills. All day long we sat about our campfires in our dismantled quarters waiting the order to move, but none came and darkness found us replacing our shelters for another night's rest in our accustomed berths. During the afternoon of the 12th our corps, the 3d, marched to the extreme left of the line and bivouacked for the night in a piece of woodland overlooking the river. The next day, the 13th, we retraced our steps, halting just before noon at a point where we had a magnificent panoramic view of the river, town and field, and down into the valley, where could dimly be seen through the river mists the long lines of blue with flying colors waiting the command to storm the wooded heights beyond. Judged by the character of our movements it looked as though we were to be spectators of the struggle about to open. In the line of battle our place properly would be with Hooker's grand division, which occupied the center, but instead we were on the extreme left in support of Franklin. In this, however, we were mistaken. About 12 o'clock the bugles sounded and the order to fall in passed along the line, and without further delay the long line of the 3d corps wound down the hill, crossed the river on the lower pontoon bridge and from thence marched directly out upon the plain to the front line of battle. That the hour to strike for the possession of yonder wooded slopes, occupied by the veterans of Jackson, had come was evident to all. From our right came the crash and long roll of musketry, telling us that Hooker was crowding the enemy in his front and we should not long be idle. Soon Randolph's and other batteries in our front and on our flanks began to feel for the enemy in the woods to our front. As we stood intently watching the effect of the bursting shells a stream of smoke shot out from a clump of trees and brush to our left center, and an instant later a shell whizzed wickedly over our heads. The enemy's cover was now revealed and on this piece of woodland the fire of every gun in our batteries were concentrated. For a time he replied with vigor, sending shot for shot. The voice of Colonel Campbell rang out above the din: "Lie down." We waited not a second order, but quickly and closely embraced our mother earth. Soon explosion followed explosion in quick succession within the enemy's lines. A shot from one of our guns had penetrated one of their caissons and now their own exploding ammunition was doing its deadly work, and silencing their only battery in position to do us immediate harm. Now is the time to charge the heights! The Pennsylvania Reserves are chosen for the hazardous task. In three lines, with arms at a right shoulder shift, they advanced at a quick step. What a magnificent spectacle! Not a man falters, but shoulder to shoulder they move across the plain in perfect alignment. At the railroad in the edge of the woods they encounter the enemy, who pour into their ranks a withering fire. With a cheer they spring forward and press back the foe. Soon they are lost to view amid the scrub pine, their location only known by the curling smoke from their pieces and their cheers as they ascend the hill. Over half way to the summit the second line of the enemy is encountered. Again a galling fire is poured into their faces, but still they cheer and press on. Down in the valley we stand anxiously, but idly watching the now desperate and unequal contest our comrades of the Old Keystone are waging. They are brothers, friends and neighbors to many, if not all of us. A half mile intervenes between them and us. We know we are not in supporting distance. Our impatience overcomes our discipline to wait the word to advance. Shouts are being heard all along the line: "Why are not the Reserves being supported?" We know too keenly that they must yield to the overpowering odds against them unless reinforced at once!
"Battalion, right face, forward, file left, march!" rings out clear from the colonel's lips. The men are quick to obey, and we move more rapidly to the front. "By company, half wheel! Forward into line on first company!" The movement was executed with alacrity. "Forward, guide right." We pressed forward with quick step toward the woods from which was now emerging the broken lines of the Reserves, not in panic, but resolutely disputing, as best they could, every step. A drainage ditch from three to four feet deep, grown up in many places with a tangle of briers, extended along our front and parallel with the railroad at the foot of the hills. Into this we were ordered in the hope that by its protection we could stay the enemy's countercharge. The Reserves were still in our front and to deliver an effective fire was impossible. Orders to fall back were given, but in the din of battle were unheard or unheeded, and many who attempted the retreat were left dead or wounded on the field. The enemy swarmed out of the woods in our front without order or alignment, giving but little heed to the ditch, springing over the heads of its occupants in their mad rush for our batteries. There was not time for the gunners to debate the question of the safety of their comrades in their front if they would save their batteries, and possibly the day to our cause. They poured volley after volley of grape and cannister into the advancing enemy, each discharge mowing great swathes in their ranks. It was more than human flesh could bear and soon they were in full retreat for the cover of the woods, and thus ended, so far as the 57th was concerned, the battle of Fredericksburg. In this short encounter, possibly lasting ten minutes, the losses of the regiment were fearful, considering the number engaged. Out of 316 men in line, 21 were killed, 76 wounded and 78 missing, 54 of whom were prisoners, 55.38 per cent of the whole force engaged! Among the wounded was Colonel Campbell, who fell pierced with three balls; Captain Strohecker, and Surgeon Kennedy. During the 14th the remnant of the regiment acted as provost guard to gather up stragglers until evening, when we were again placed in the front line, where we remained until the night of the 15th. During the 15th a truce was declared for the burial of the dead, and removal of the wounded; the ghastly sequel of the battle that robs it of its glory and drowns the acclaims of the victors in the tears of the widowed and sobs of the orphans. During the night of the 15th our army withdrew to the north side of the river, leaving the Confederates the practical victors on the fiercely contested field. The 57th, with shattered ranks, reoccupied its old quarters, the empty tents and broken messes being sad reminders of the horrors of war, and the uncertainty of the soldier's term of life. Thus closed the second year of the war, and the first of service of the 57th regiment for the preservation of the Union, amid scenes of discomfiture, defeat and gloom.
CHAPTER VII.
BY E. C. STROUSS.
Camp Pitcher—The "Mud March"—General Hooker in Command of the Army—Resolutions Adopted by the Fifty-Seventh—Re-assignment to the First Brigade—Anecdote of Colonel Campbell—Drill and Inspection—Adoption of Corps Badges—The Chancellorsville Campaign—Jackson Routs the Eleventh Corps—A "Flying Dutchman"—In a Tight Place—General Hooker Disabled—General Sedgwick's Movements—A New Line Established—Strength of the Fifty-Seventh and Its Losses.
The old camp to which we returned after the battle was now, by order of General Birney, called Camp Pitcher, in honor of Major William Pitcher, a brave and gallant officer of the 4th Maine, who was killed in the battle of Fredericksburg. The camp was located near Falmouth on the west side of the Richmond & Potomac railroad.