Fraternally Yours,
Henry B. James.

MEMORIES OF
THE CIVIL WAR.

BY
Henry B. James.

Co. B, 32nd Mass. Volunteers.

“To you my comrades whether far or near,

I send this message, let our past revive;

Come, sound reveille to our hearts once more.”

NEW BEDFORD, MASS.
FRANKLIN E. JAMES.
1898

To my Boys,
Who delighted in their childhood
to hear their father tell stories of
the war, and at whose desire these
memories have been recalled, this
book is
—DEDICATED.—

CONTENTS.

PREFACE

I have written this account of my experience in the service of my country from memory, aided by old diaries, letters, etc., and have endeavored to be as accurate as possible, in regard to dates and events of historical importance, but if mistakes occur, it cannot be wondered at, after such a lapse of time. Some of my diaries were lost upon the battlefield, and of those that remain, many of the entries were in pencil and are almost effaced.

I had no intention when I began writing of making a long story, but as I went on, memory brought back many a stirring scene, many a weary march, many a tender thought of comrades who shared them all with me, and so I have written them down as they came to me.

My thanks are due my wife for so carefully editing, and my son for printing my attempt to keep in a permanent form, my recollections of the War of the Rebellion.

Chapter I.
ENLISTMENT.

To Arms! To Arms! Our country calls for aid,

Of faithful sons an offering must be made.

From every hamlet in the loyal North,

Her sturdy yeomen in their strength go forth;

Mechanics, merchants, all professions too,

Give up the arts of peace, another to pursue.

Edwin Emery.

I have often been asked to narrate my experience in the War of the Rebellion, and have as often refused, but now after the lapse of thirty three years since the close of that fearful struggle between brother men, I feel that perhaps it would be well, for the satisfaction of those who so earnestly desire it, to “Fight my battles over again.”

Mine was not an exceptional experience, only that of many a boy of ’61, but it may partly answer the question so often asked: “What did the privates do?”

I have often wondered how it happened that I, born of quaker stock on my mother’s side (she was descended from the Kemptons, who were among the first settlers of our quaker city of New Bedford,) should have had such a natural leaning towards scenes of adventure and conflict. It may well have been that I inherited it from the paternal side of the house, for my father’s father, John James, was taken prisoner on board his ship during the War of 1812, and thrown into an English prison, and I have often, during my childhood, listened to his tales of warfare and bloodshed, and longed to be a man that I might fight and avenge the wrongs inflicted on my devoted country in its earlier days; and how I wished, as I read of the War of the Revolution, that I might have lived in those stirring days, and done my part in creating the American Nation.

Certainly it did not seem possible that occasion would ever arise when I should be one of the defenders of that great nation.

The attack on Fort Sumter, the shot that so stirred the loyal hearts of the men of the North, awakened in me an ardent desire to enlist and help avenge the insult to our country’s flag, but my father was so opposed to the idea that I reluctantly yielded to his authority until a few months later, during a visit to my brother in Woburn, Mass., I enlisted November 2nd 1861, just past my twentieth birthday, in Co. B, 1st Battalion, afterwards the 32nd Mass. Infantry. The company was raised by George L. Prescott, of Concord, Mass.

We were mustered into the United States service on November 27th, and on December 3rd were sent to Fort Warren, Boston harbor, to guard prisoners of war, among them being the confederate generals Buckner and Tilghman, Commodore Barron, Colonel Pegram, the confederate commissioners Mason and Slidell, the mayor and chief of police of Baltimore, and many others.

I remember an incident that may be of interest to which I was an eye-witness: General Buckner was walking on the parapet, under guard, when a foreign man of war was being saluted in accordance with military usage; a large 32 lb. gun was belching forth half minute salutes; as he drew near it, wrapped in deep thought, not seeming to notice what was taking place the order came to fire just as he was abreast of the gun; he realized his danger and jumped forward just in time, for the next instant the gun was discharged, and the prisoner must have felt that it was indeed a narrow escape.

Many other interesting incidents connected with these celebrated prisoners occur to me, but they would make my story too long.

We were drilled in the art of war during all that winter, and under the strictest military discipline, the commander of the fort being that brave old martinet of the regular army, Colonel Justin E. Dimmock. My brother George also enlisted in the same company as myself and was with me at Fort Warren, but the hardships and exposures of that long cold winter and an attack of typhoid fever undermined his health to such an extent that he was discharged a short time before we left Fort Warren for the seat of war in the following May.

The hard and laborious life of the army seemed to agree with me, and from the day of my enlistment until the time I was wounded, more than three years later, my health was perfect, which was something to be thankful for, in the army.

I did not regret leaving my brother behind me for I felt that one son was enough for my father to spare for his country’s service; besides my brother had a wife and child, while I was young, with no mother to mourn for me, should I fall, and I felt that I could be spared better than those who had home ties, and that I could face hardships and dangers better than those who had families depending upon them. In short it seemed my duty and pleasure to go to the war.

Chapter II.
TO THE SEAT OF WAR.

They turned from home, from wife and child,

And all that life held sweet,

Into the hell of battle, calm

They walked with steady feet,

Resolved for wounds and pain and death;

In sacrifice complete.

Unknown.

On the 25th of May we left Fort Warren for the seat of war. Arriving at Washington we went into camp Alexander. June 30th our battalion, now composed of six companies, was ordered to join the army on the peninsula. Embarking on the transport Hero we arrived at Fortress Munroe July 2nd.

We continued on up the James river, landing at what was formerly President Harrison’s plantation, on July 4th 1862. Now began our soldier life in earnest, for fighting was then going on; mud was knee deep and all was confusion. We were assigned to the brigade of Gen. Charles Griffin, division of Gen. Morell, in Fitz John Porter’s command, afterwards the Fifth Army Corps.

We were drawn up in line and given 80 rounds of ammunition. Just then an officer rode up covered with mud, and said: “Well boys, I will give you a chance at the rebs; keep cool and fire low!” Off he went, and I was informed it was Gen. George B. McClellan.

We moved through a piece of woods, and were opened upon by a battery. It was getting to be pretty warm, when the order came “Forward to charge the battery,” but before we could move, the order was countermanded, and we retreated; this was the end of the Seven Days Fight.

We camped upon the banks of the river and staid there six weeks, every day sickness and death reducing our ranks, for it was a very unhealthy place. In fact it was the worst place that could be imagined for a camp, marshy, wet ground, dust and mud alternating; what wonder is it that our men sickened and died? Here on August 9th Lieut. Nathaniel French Jr., one of the most promising officers in our regiment died of malarial fever.

Through it all my health remained perfect, and I was always ready for duty. Many of our regiment were here detailed to act as guards over the quartermaster’s stores on the river bank.

Soon after our arrival at Harrison’s Landing, President Lincoln visited and reviewed our army. Our division stood in line from four o’clock in the afternoon until after nine in the evening, and then a party rode by in the moonlight, one of whom was said to be the President of the United States; as he was the only one who wore a stove-pipe hat, we concluded that it must be a fact, that we had been duly reviewed, and gladly broke ranks and prepared our suppers.

On the night of August 1st the enemy ran six pieces of artillery down on the opposite side of the James river, and about midnight opened upon our camp, and cold iron rained upon us, ending our slumbers for that night. We had two tents for the officers, and five for the men, and solid shot went through them all, but we escaped serious injury, which seemed rather remarkable. We were more than eager to leave this sickly camp and life of inaction, but here we had to stay and wait for marching orders.

Chapter III.
ON THE MARCH.

And we marched away to join the fray,

Where the work of death was done,

And soon we stood where the battle clouds

Hid the face of the mid-day sun.

’Mid the battle’s din our ranks grew thin,

And we dug our comrades’ graves,

By brook and rill, by vale and hill,

And laid away our braves.

Benj. Russell Jr.

Marching orders came on August 10th, and we gladly took up our line of march, passing through Williamsburg, Yorktown and Big Bethel to Newport News, where we boarded steamer Belvidere for Acquia Creek, thence by rail to Stafford Courthouse, near Fredericksburg. We were still kept on the move, and on August 27th we marched out on the Gainesville road, and formed in line of battle; here we had quite a sharp brush with the enemy. We were endeavoring to head him off in his march northward, but were too late, and had to chase him as rapidly as possible.

March 6, 1865.

I shall never forget the long and weary march of the next day, which happened to be my twenty-first birthday. All that hot, dusty day was spent in a forced march, and we suffered greatly for water, of which there was none to be had in that dreary country. Along in the afternoon I came to a puddle of water covered with green slime, in which partly lay a dead mule, who had probably died while trying to slake his thirst. I did not take warning by him, but brushed aside the green scum and took a drink; it was wet and that was all that could be said of it.

I dragged myself along until within an hour of sunset, and then I dropped by the roadside as hundreds had done before me. Our surgeon came along, and kindly urged me to keep on, saying we were to camp in a piece of woods about a mile further on; but I was too far gone to stir then. I rested an hour or so, and then limped into camp; too weary to get anything to eat or drink, I took off my equipments and without even unrolling my blanket, dropped upon the ground, and with my knapsack for a pillow, slept all night the dreamless sleep of a tired soldier.

When the boys reached camp, their first thought was to find water; there was but one well in the vicinity, and that was found under guard reserved for the headquarters mess. The indignant rank and file drove off the guard and helped themselves to the water.

Some of the boys, not knowing of the well, went into the swamp and dipped up the stagnant water there. No wonder there was a large amount of sickness after that time. It did not make me sick, but I felt rather lame when I awoke in the morning.

Next day, August 29th, we arrived on the old battle ground of Bull Run, in time to take part in the second battle of Bull Run. Again we had to fall back, and again we took up the line of march.

The next day we moved at 3 o’clock A. M. and camped at 11 P. M., after a march of twenty eight miles. At Chantilla we met the enemy on September 1st, but after a short engagement again kept on, marching through Georgetown into the state of Maryland. It was hot weather, and many of the men fell exhausted by the way; but we must not pause, for the enemy was still pressing northward and we must get between him and our own loved homes.

When we reached the South Mountain battle ground, that fierce conflict was over and they were burying the dead. I saw the body of General Reno who was killed in that battle. We had won a victory, but the loss was very heavy, and we had lost the gallant Reno, a serious blow for our cause. The idol of his men, they greatly mourned his loss.

“There was one poor fellow spoke up clear,

How he suffered before he died!

I am dying boys, but I feel no fear,

For I’ve fought by Reno’s side.”

Chapter IV.
ANTIETAM.

One summer morning a daring band

Of rebels rode into Maryland.

Over the prosperous, peaceful farms,

Sending terror and strange alarms,

The clatter of hoofs, and the clang of arms.

Fresh from the South, where the hungry pine,

They ate like Pharaoh’s starving kine;

They swept the land like devouring surge,

And left their path to its furthest verge,

Bare as the track of the locust scourge.

Unknown.

Harper’s Ferry had fallen, and Lee was gathering his army on the west bank of Antietam Creek in Maryland. When we reached the east side of the creek, we caught up to the main army under General McClellan on the 16th of September, just at sunset. We found the rebels to be well posted behind the top of the ridge on the other side of the stream.

The two armies now stood face to face, for McClellan’s army was camped on the east side of the hills on the west branch of the Antietam. Our division was soon among them, and busy getting our supper, while we could see the smoke from the campfires of the opposing forces, where they too were preparing their evening meal.

What a beautiful sight it was after nightfall! The thousands of glowing campfires upon both hillsides made a picture upon my memory that time will never efface. After our weary march it seemed good to be here in camp, even though I knew a battle was to be expected the next day. I remember how peaceful and quiet everything seemed, and the cheerfulness of the men around me, showed how they enjoyed the welcome rest, and how little they thought of the conflict before them.

The 17th of September dawned fair and pleasant, but what a storm of death took place that day! The battle began at dawn and lasted until dark. The loss of life was terrible; the loss to the Union army alone was more than fifteen thousand men. We held the field, but on that narrow strip of ground between the Potomac river and Antietam Creek lay many thousands of brave men, while their comrades were so worn out with their terrible exertions that they could hardly find strength to care for the wounded or bury the dead.

Our regiment being on the reserve, supporting a battery, our loss was not heavy. On the 18th our corps relieved the ninth (Burnside’s) corps at the lower bridge. On the 19th we expected another battle, but the enemy had retreated during the night. We pursued them through Sharpsburg, capturing many prisoners and several pieces of artillery. We went into camp and excepting a two days raid to Leestown, remained quiet until October 30th, when we started for Harper’s Ferry and crossed the river into Virginia once more.

Chapter V.
UNDER ARREST.

Although the years have long gone by,

And I ought to wear a wig,

I often give a smile or sigh,

To the memory of that pig!

And how we carried him that day,

Upon that weary tramp,

And thought that we would have a feast,

When once we got to camp.

But when at last we stopped to rest,

And cooked that little beast,

We never even got a bite,

The general had the feast!

L. M. James.

My company was detailed to guard the ammunition train on its way back into Virginia. Before starting on the march, we had general orders read to us, forbidding all foraging in Maryland. On the first day’s march towards Harper’s Ferry, several of the boys, myself included, noticed a number of small pigs in a field near the road.

As we had been on very short rations for about a week, it seemed to us a good chance to have a feast when we went into camp, so over the fence after the pigs we went. As I raised my gun to fire at a pig, I saw General Griffin, (who commanded our brigade,) and his staff, passing along the road on the further side of the wagons.

I waited until I thought he was beyond the sound of my rifle and then fired. The bullet passed through the pig, struck a stone, glanced, and went down the road, passing within a foot of the general’s head, for he had stopped for a few moments, instead of riding on as I had supposed.

After I had shot the pig, one of the boys ran up and was using the butt of his gun to finish him and stop his squealing, when suddenly we were surrounded by the staff of Gen. Griffin! I made a break for the road, but found it was of no use, for the general himself stood by the fence, so back I went and with the rest of the boys was placed under arrest. Orders were given to march us to camp without rest, and carry the pig along, which we took turns in doing. It was a long pull, and when I could march no longer, down I sat. The guard repeated the order. “I am going to rest,” I said. “Don’t let the general see you,” said the guard.

I did not rest long, but traveled all day without anything to eat, for we had left our haversacks and overcoats in the teams, which were now a long distance ahead.

At night we went into camp, then had to dress the pig, and it was cooked for the supper of the general and his staff, and we poor fellows got nothing. We pitched the general’s tent and were then turned over to the provost guard. About eight o’clock I went under guard to the general’s tent to do something he wanted done. “Guard, to your quarters,” said the general, “This man will not run away!” “No, general, I will not,” said I, and I quickly performed the duty required of me and went back to the provost guard.

At ten o’clock we were all sent under guard to our regimental headquarters. Our colonel had just rolled himself up in his blanket for the night and did not care to be disturbed. “Do you know where your company is?” he demanded:

“Yes sir” we answered, without any regard for facts.

“Go to it,” he ordered, and we gladly started, free men once more. There were one hundred thousand men in the camp, and to find one small company in the middle of the night was no easy task, but about daylight we found the teams and our haversacks, got something to eat, and started off on the march again. So ended the only time in my life that I was a prisoner, or under arrest.

Chapter VI.
IN CAMP.

Comrades known in marches many,

Comrades tried in dangers many,

Comrades bound by memories many,

Brothers ever let us be!

Wounds or sickness may divide us,

Marching orders may divide us,

But whatever fate betide us,

Brothers ever let us be!

An old army song.

The Army of the Potomac, on November 10th, 1862, was massed near Warrington Virginia, where General McClellan was relieved from command of the army. I shall never forget the grief that was manifested by the soldiers on the removal of this popular commander. Ever mindful of the welfare and comfort of his men, he had won a warm place in their hearts, and enjoyed the respect and esteem that was never accorded any other commander.

The following verses were sung in camp and on the march long after he left us:

The order came, the die was cast,

McClellan was removed at last,

While far and near o’er hill and dale,

In thrilling notes the accents fell—

“Come back to us McClellan!”

The bold, the brave, the fearless men,

When he had passed beyond their ken,

Bowed down their heads their tears to hide,

While still within their hearts they cried—

“Come back to us McClellan!”

His chieftains came to say farewell,

And in the evening camp light fell,

The tears they strove in vain to hide,

While from their sorrow’d hearts they cried—

“Come back to us McClellan!”

Go to the warriors on the field,

Charging upon the rebel steel,

And while they deal the fatal blow,

Hark to the cry, now high, now low—

“Come back to us McClellan!”

Go to the soldier sorely tried,

Go to the sick one’s lone bedside,

Stand by his cot, ere the soldier dies,

And listen to his feeble cries—

“Come back to us McClellan!”

Go to the tented camping ground,

Where dirt and dust and mud abound,

And from the restless, slumbering ones,

In murmuring words the entreaty comes—

“Come back to us McClellan!”

Jonas A. Bigelow, U. S. A.

He was succeeded by General Burnside, and after a week of rest, we started for Falmouth Virginia, and on the 22nd went into camp at Stoneman’s Switch. Here we remained most of the time all winter, although we expected every day to be ordered off on the march again for the unknown “Somewhere.”

I well remember the hungry Thanksgiving day spent here. We were a long ways from our base of supplies at Acquia Creek, and all that we received was brought in wagons for several miles over hard and rough roads from Belle Plain.

For a week we lived on hardtack, and the morning of Thanksgiving day, we received the last of the supplies in our regiment, half a cracker for each man. This was all we had until afternoon; our officers were out all the morning hunting in every direction for food, and at last succeeded in borrowing twenty boxes of hard bread, which was all that the officers and men had that day.

How we thought of home that day and the good dinners that we had enjoyed on former festival days! How little our friends at home would have enjoyed their feast, could they have known that we were starving! In the course of the day I happened to see, near the tent where the officers bought their supplies, (for they did not draw rations like the rank and file,) a few beans that had been trodden down into the mud. I carefully picked them out, and perhaps got half a pint altogether, which I washed and stewed, and with my tentmate, made out our Thanksgiving dinner.

This was not the only time I have gone hungry; many a time have I suffered from hunger from cold, and from heat, but I shall ever remember that particular time, for it seemed to make me still more hungry as I thought of former Thanksgiving feasts, and the food I had wasted. But such are the fortunes of war, and we bore it as we did all other discomforts, as part of the price that must be paid, that our flag might again wave over an undivided country.

Chapter VII.
FREDERICKSBURG.

Of all the terrible sights of war,

The worst and most fearful sight,

Is the stubborn struggle of gallant men

In brave but unequal fight!

The useless charge and the shattered ranks,

And the slaughter and the flight!

Edward Willett.

Here we remained for some weeks, building ourselves log shanties, chopping wood, standing guard, being drilled, inspected, reviewed, and now and then going over towards the river and watching the confederates making their works good and strong, against the time when we were ready to attack them. While we were making ready, they were building and strengthening works, that would be beyond the power of mortal man to carry by assault, and yet that was what we were called upon to do, when at last General Burnside had got his army ready for active service. He had entirely re-organized the Army of the Potomac, which now numbered one hundred and twenty thousand men, divided into three grand divisions, each division consisting of two corps. Everything possible was done to strengthen our forces, and put us in good condition for active service; all this was not completed until the 11th of September.

The town of Fredericksburg is on the south side of the Rappahannock river, nearly opposite Falmouth. Back of the town is the range of hills called Marye’s Heights, where Lee’s army was strongly entrenched, when Gen. Burnside had got ready for business.

General Lee, with his three hundred cannon, covered the town and river, and his position was one of the strongest, yet Burnside persisted in his plan of attack, for on the morning of the 11th of December, at daybreak, the bugle sounded “Forward!”

It was a still, cold morning, and we started off in heavy marching order, our regiment leading, as it was our turn that day. We were in good spirits, although we knew that we had started out on a desperate attempt, and were enroute for Fredericksburg, three miles away. We marched to a point near the river and remained until the next day, when we crossed the river on pontoon bridges under a heavy fire from the enemy, with terrible loss of life.

On the 13th the bloody battle of Fredericksburg was begun, one of the most disastrous of the war. It was a useless, ill-judged endeavor to rout Lee’s army from his impregnable position. In this battle more than thirteen thousand men were lost to the Union army, while the confederates lost less than half that number. My regiment lost thirty live men, killed and wounded. Defeated and disheartened, on the morning of the 16th, our army re-crossed the river and returned to our old camp.

On the 21st of January, 1863, we started on the “Mud march,” about four o’clock in the morning. A bitter cold wind was blowing fiercely, and the air was full of sleet and rain. We marched all day and when we stopped for the night, made fires and sat around them all night to keep warm. The next day was warm as summer, but rainy; the mud grew deeper, as we struggled along, sinking in and being pulled out, taking us all day to go three miles. The whole country was under water, and you could not step without sinking above your shoes in mud. When we stopped for the night we could only lay down in the mud, or sit by the fires we managed, with much difficulty, to make.

The next day the water dried up a little, so we pulled down the fences and used the rails to corduroy the road. We returned to Stoneman’s Switch, and re-constructed our shanties as well as we could, though we sadly missed the comforts we had destroyed before starting out, lest, in our absence, they might fall into the hands of the Johnnies.

We remained in camp until spring, and before that time arrived. Gen. Burnside was relieved, and General Hooker took his place. We gladly heard the order read that relieved him and appointed “Fighting Joe” as his successor.

Chapter VIII.
CHANCELLORSVILLE.

Ah I see you once more in your camp by the way;

Yes, again do I hear your guns in the fray!

In those tangled old woods you stood there in line,

While the foe was advancing! Ah boys, it was fine!

I remember it still, how they swept o’er the field

With their tiger like yell. They thought we would yield.

You stood like a rock, as all will agree—

My friends and my comrades of company B.

M. B. Duffie.

On April 27th 1863, we again started on our tour through Virginia. We crossed the Rappahannock at Kelley’s Ford, marched to the Rapidan river, and went into camp on the south side. A brief rest, and again on the march, arriving at Chancellorsville, where we waged battle with the enemy from April 30th to May 5th. Here, on the 2nd of May, occurred the famous charge of the eighth Pennsylvania cavalry, numbering but three hundred men under Major Keenan, on Stonewall Jackson’s leading division, keeping them back for a short time, giving our generals time to place their guns in position, thus saving our army from utter defeat. The tragic story is told by the poet Lathrop far better than I can tell it.

“Cavalry, charge!” not a man of them shrank,

Their sharp full cheer, from rank to rank,

Rose joyously with a willing breath,

Then forward they sprang, and spurred and clashed,

Shouted the officers, crimson sashed;

Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow,

In their faded coats of the blue and yellow:

And above in the air, with an instinct true,

Like a bird of war, their pennon flew.

With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds,

And blades that shine like sunlit reeds,

And strong brown faces bravely pale,

For fear their proud attempt shall fail,

Three hundred Pennsylvanians close,

On twice ten thousand gallant foes!

Line after line the troopers came,

To the edge of the wood that was ringed with flame;

Rode in and sabred, and shot, and fell;

Nor one came back, of his wounds to tell.

Line after line, ay, whole platoons,

Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons,

By the maddened horses were onward borne,

And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn;

As Keenan fought with his men, side by side,

So they rode, till there were no more to ride.

But over them lying there, shattered and mute,

What deep echo rolls? ’Tis a death salute.

From the cannon in place! For heroes, you braved

Your fate not in vain, the army was saved!

They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease,

Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace.

The rush of their charge is resounding still,

That saved the army at Chancellorsville!

George Parsons Lathrop.

We were defeated, and obliged to retreat, our brigade being detailed to cover the retreat of our army back over the river. We formed a line of battle, and as each division passed, we fell back a little nearer the river, still keeping our line of battle. Finally we were within half a mile of the river, where the last of our army were rapidly crossing on pontoon bridges. General Griffin, our brigade commander, had crossed the river on some duty assigned him, when he was informed that a large force of the enemy was rapidly approaching, and his brigade would inevitably be taken prisoners.

“If they are, I will be taken with them!” exclaimed our brave commander, and spurring his horse, he rapidly crossed on the pontoons, and soon reached us, and marched us quickly to the river, just as the confederates approached, intent on gobbling us up. We cut the fastenings of the pontoons, and the bridge swung off down the stream just in time, and we were all safely landed on the other shore, happy to know that we had escaped the horrors of a rebel prison, or death at the hands of the merciless foe.

Chapter IX.
BRANDY STATION AND ALDIE.

Oh, tell me not their lives are lost,

Who to the death-shots yield,

But rather, write beneath their names,

“Promoted on the field!”

Unknown.

After the battle of Chancellorsville, the thirty-second Massachusetts was detailed for guard duty on the railroad to Acquia Creek. We remained here but a short time however, for northward moved the enemy, and we on after them; at Brandy station on the 9th of June, we caught up with them, and had a sharp engagement, but failed to stop the march into Pennsylvania. Crossing the river towards Culpepper Courthouse, past Morrisville, on to Manassas, camping on the old battle ground on the night of the 16th.

We had a tough march the next day, travelling more than twenty miles; no water was to be had, and we suffered greatly with the heat and dust. Our regiment started in the morning with two hundred and thirty men, and camped that night with one hundred and seven, of which number I was one, and this was doing better than any other regiment in our division. Hundreds of men dropped by the roadside, fainting and dying from exhaustion; four died of sunstroke. We heard indications of battle all day from the direction of Aldie, and I suppose this forced march was thought necessary, but I can truly say that I much preferred all the horrors of the battlefield to these terrible long marches, when it seemed impossible to keep up. To drop out was to lose sight of your regiment, and perhaps die uncared for, or be gobbled up by guerrillas, who were plentiful all through that God forsaken country.

To be captured by guerrillas was sure death or imprisonment, which to me seemed worse than death on the field. It was during this march that I acquired the nickname of “Mosby,” after the noted guerilla Colonel Mosby, who was then making his dashing raids through that region, causing his very name to be a terror to all the inhabitants thereof.

I had picked up from the road where it had been dropped, among other impedimenta by the rebels we were pursuing, a gray cardigan jacket, which, being much better than the one I had worn so long, I had put on, and thrown away the old one. I wore it into the battle of Gettysburg a few days later, and had several narrow escapes from being shot for a rebel by our own men, on account of its color. As it was all I had, I had to wear it, for we could draw no clothing on the march.

Some little time after the Gettysburg fight, I was on guard at the colonel’s tent, and he noticed my gray jacket, and enquired why I wore it, and I told him it was all I had.

“I’ll see that you have another, my boy,” said the colonel, and soon after, my captain provided me with a new blouse, which I gladly donned, discarding the gray one, which had but one fault and that was its color. I could not discard the nickname however, by which I am best remembered by some of my old comrades, who will never forget how I fought the Johnny rebs at Gettysburg, with a confederate’s jacket on.

At Aldie occurred the great cavalry fight under Generals Pleasanton, Gregg and Kilpatrick. What a splendid sight it was! An event even in our eventful life to see those brave men move in battle line, with sabres drawn, steady as though on dress parade! Through the enemy’s line they went, dealing death right and left. Not all of them came back, but those who did, came with victory perched upon their banners.

Then on we went, across the state of Maryland, encamping at midnight July 1st at Hanover, Pennsylvania, after a forced march of sixteen hours. By this time we were about worn out with so much marching and fighting, but there was no rest for us yet; for we had hardly dropped down for the night, when an aid arrived with orders to march directly to the aid of the First corps, which was fighting the whole rebel army at Gettysburg. So again we took up our weary line of march, pressing forward as fast as possible to the aid of our comrades. As we drew near Gettysburg, word passed down the line that General McClellan was again in command of the army.

How we shouted! How we cheered, and we moved on with quickened step, believing that our beloved general would lead us on to battle, and to victory! It was a false report, perhaps sent down the line to cheer our hearts and quicken our lagging feet. It served the purpose, but it was a sad disappointment, when we learned the truth.

Chapter X.
GETTYSBURG.

God send us peace! And where for aye the loved and lost recline,

Let fall, O South, your leaves of palm, O North, your sprigs of pine!

But when with every ripened year, we keep the harvest home,

And to the dear Thanksgiving feast our sons and daughters come,

When children’s children throng the board in the old homestead spread,

And the bent soldier of these wars is seated at the head,

Long, long the lads shall listen to hear the graybeard tell,

Of those who fought at Gettysburg, and stood their ground so well;

“’Twas for the Union and the flag!” the veteran shall say,

“Our grand old army held the ridge, and won that glorious day!”

Edmund Clarence Stedman.

We arrived on the field of Gettysburg at nine o’clock A. M., July 2nd, and without rest were ordered into the front line of battle. Our brigade consisted of the 9th and 32nd Massachusetts, 4th Michigan, and 62nd Pennsylvania. We had hardly got into line, when the enemy advanced directly upon us, and for an hour we had it hot and heavy.

Here our regimental loss was heavy, but we finally repulsed them, and soon after changed position to a piece of woods bordering on the wheatfield. Here a line was engaged in the wheatfield, and the ground was covered with the wounded and dead. We advanced and relieved them, when the enemy charged us with such overwhelming fury that we were obliged to fall back.

Here Colonel Jeffers of the 4th Michigan and a color sergeant of the same regiment were killed, trying to save their flag, but it was captured, and a part of the regiment were taken prisoners.

We could not stand the terrible storm of leaden hail, and were retreating when our brigade commander halted us and ordered us to face the charging enemy. It was a fatal act for many of the Thirty-second! We fought our way back inch by inch, union and confederate men inextricably mingled; so we fought until we gained the shelter of the woods. I had lost my regiment, but saw the Pennsylvania Bucktails fixing bayonets for another charge, so I stepped into their ranks to charge with them, when I saw my regimental colors, with four of the color guard near by, so joined them and waited for the boys to rally under the old flag, when we again advanced into the bloody fray.

I look back with pride upon the valor shown that day by my brave comrades; at Little Roundtop, the Wheatfield, in the Loop, many a brave boy of the 32nd gave up his life, in that terrible struggle. Our regiment carried into the fight 227 men, and we lost 81 killed and wounded. My tentmate, Dwight D. Graves, went down severely wounded in the foot, and another comrade, Calvin P. Lawrence, was left on the field with a broken leg when we fell back. As the rebs charged over him, one of them turned to bayonet him, but his lieutenant prevented him, and asked the wounded man,

“Where’s your men now?”

“You just keep on, you’ll find them!” was the reply, as the men swept over him. Soon they rushed back in full retreat, and our brave comrade shouted after them, “I say, leftenant, I guess you found them.” We kept the field, and all that night I spent looking over the battle ground for wounded comrades, giving to one a drink of water from my canteen, placing a knapsack under the head of another, covering another from the chilly air with a blanket picked up on the field, and doing what I could to relieve their suffering.

Morning came, and our brigade remained near Little Round Top, receiving our full share of the storm of iron hail, throughout the artillery duel of the third day. Then came Pickett’s desperate charge, the final effort of the enemy, who never got further north than here. Then came the retreat of the enemy, and our pursuit of them back into Virginia.

During the battle, my cousin, James A. Shepard, of the 18th Massachusetts received his death wound, while going to a spring to fill several canteens for his comrades. I saw him the day before the battle bright and cheerful. I heard he was wounded, but did not learn of his death until some days after, when a letter from home gave me the following account of his death and burial.

He was shot in the shoulder, severing an artery, and died in a Philadelphia hospital a few days after the battle, but lived to see his widowed mother, who was telegraphed for, at his request.

When she arrived at the hospital, she stood a moment at the door of the ward where her boy lay on his deathbed, and where the long rows of beds and their occupants all looked alike to her; she heard his voice at the further end of the room, saying “Oh mother, mother! here I am come quick!” and soon the heartbroken mother knelt by his bedside, while he, happy in her presence, talked of the battle and tried to comfort her.

“I know I’ve got to die,” he said, “But never mind, mother dear, it is in a glorious cause, and we whipped the rebels good!” Poor boy, he was only twenty, yet was willing to die for his country!

As he grew weaker, he talked of the dear ones at home, and wished he could have bade them goodbye.

“Kiss them for me, mother,” he said, “And take me home, and lay me beside my father, and put some flowers on my grave from the dear old home garden, that I have so longed to see!”

His mother remained with him until he died, and through untold difficulties, she brought his body home, being obliged to smuggle it part of the way, and now, in the family lot, he lies beside his father and mother. Two of his brothers also lie buried there, Charles, who served in the Massachusetts heavy artillery, and George, who was badly wounded in the head while serving in the navy; he never fully recovered, and died soon after the war ended.

Chapter XI.
MINE RUN.

We wait for the bugle, the night winds are cold,

The limbs of the soldiers feel jaded and old.

The field of our bivouac is windy and bare,

There is lead in our joints, there is frost in our hair,

The future is veiled, and its fortune unknown,

As we lie with hushed breath till the bugle is blown.

Thomas B. Higginson.

We crossed the river near Berlin, keeping east of the Blue Ridge. At Manassas Gap on July 23rd, we saw some pretty fighting by the Third Corps, and on the 8th of August, we went into camp at Beverly Ford, and remained five weeks, enjoying our well earned rest. Here I saw five deserters shot. Sept. 15th we moved to Culpepper, where I saw a bounty jumper drummed out of camp, branded with the letter D. Here we received 180 recruits, and between October 10th and 29th, we were marching back and forth, to one point and then another, as though our generals thought we needed exercise.

November 29th, 1863 found us in line of battle at Mine Run. For three days and nights we faced the enemy, and awaited the signal to open the battle. I shall never forget one night, the coldest I ever saw in Virginia. Mine Run was a little stream of water made formidable by the rebels, whose works were back of it. The stream was filled with thorny bushes and brush, now frozen in; when across that, there was a strong abattis made of sharpened timber, that must be removed before we could charge the enemy, strongly entrenched behind earthworks. Not much charging could be done in that situation, and we old soldiers knew the hopelessness of such an attempt.

We knew that the order had been given to charge on the enemy’s works at daybreak. We felt rather gloomy, for we knew that death was certain, if we made that desperate attempt. For my part, I had faced many dangers, had been under fire many times, but had never felt, as I did then, that death stared me in the face. The horrors of that bitter cold night can never be told. All night long we had to keep in motion to avoid freezing to death, for no fire could we have, lest we be discovered by the enemy; more than one poor fellow was frozen to death in the rifle pits.

Morning came at last, but we heard no order to charge. All honor to General Meade, who has been censured for his failure to charge across Mine Run. With all his bravery, he was too humane to order such a useless sacrifice of life, though he knew he incurred censure and probably disgrace, in ordering a retreat instead. Silently we retreated out of our dangerous situation, and made our way towards Stephensburg. Hungry and cold as we were, we hurried along, halting now and then just long enough to build a little fire and boil some coffee, the soldier’s best friend.

Towards night it grew warmer, and when the order came to halt for the night on an open plain, we were too tired to do anything but drop in our tracks, rolled up in our rubber blankets. When we awoke in the morning, we found that several inches of snow had fallen during the night, and covered that vast body of sleeping men as with a white and fleecy blanket. We soon had fires and a warm breakfast. By ten o’clock the snow had melted, and we took up our march with renewed courage.

Our army crossed to the north side of the Rappahannock river, and two days after found us encamped at Liberty, near Bealton Station, on the Orange and Alexandria railroad, and here we had a brief respite from our toils and dangers.