Part 4 (1/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: SECTION OF FAMOUS SUNKEN ROAD IN FRONT OF LINE OF 132D P.
V., NEAR ROULETTE LANE
The dead are probably from the Sixth Georgia Confederate troops]
The lines of battle of both armies were not only marked by the presence of the dead, but by a vast variety of army equipage, such as blankets, canteens, haversacks, guns, gun-slings, bayonets, ramrods, some whole, others broken,--verily, a besom of destruction had done its work faithfully here. Dead horses were everywhere, and the stench from them and the human dead was horrible. ”Uncle” Billy Sherman has said, ”War is h.e.l.l!” yet this definition, with all that imagination can picture, fails to reveal all its b.l.o.o.d.y horrors.
The positions of some of the dead were very striking. One poor fellow lay face down on a partially fallen stone wall, with one arm and one foot extended, as if in the act of crawling over. His position attracted our attention, and we found his body literally riddled with bullets--there must have been hundreds--and most of them shot into him after he was dead, for they showed no marks of blood. Probably the poor fellow had been wounded in trying to reach shelter behind that wall, was spotted in the act by our men, and killed right there, and became thereafter a target for every new man that saw him. Another man lay, still clasping his musket, which he was evidently in the act of loading when a bullet pierced his heart, literally flooding his gun with his life's blood, a ghastly testimonial to his heroic sacrifice.
We witnessed the burying details gathering up and burying the dead. The work was rough and heartless, but only comporting with the character of war. The natural reverence for the dead was wholly absent. The poor bodies, all of them heroes in their death, even though in a mistaken cause, were ”planted” with as little feeling as though they had been so many logs. A trench was dug, where the digging was easiest, about seven feet wide and long enough to accommodate all the bodies gathered within a certain radius; these were then placed side by side, cross-wise of the trench, and buried without anything to keep the earth from them. In the case of the Union dead the trenches were usually two or three feet deep, and the bodies were wrapped in blankets before being covered, but with the rebels no blankets were used, and the trenches were sometimes so shallow as to leave the toes exposed after a shower.
No ceremony whatever attended this gruesome service, but it was generally accompanied by ribald jokes, at the expense of the poor ”Johnny” they were ”planting.” This was not the fruit of debased natures or degenerate hearts on the part of the boys, who well knew it might be their turn next, under the fortunes of war, to be buried in like manner, but it was recklessness and thoughtlessness, born of the hardening influences of war.
Having now given some account of the scenes in which I partic.i.p.ated during the battle and the day after, let us look at another feature of the battle, and probably the most heart-breaking of all, the field hospital. There was one established for our division some three hundred yards in our rear, under the shelter of a hill. Here were gathered as rapidly as possible the wounded, and a corps of surgeons were busily engaged in amputating limbs and dressing wounds. It should be understood that the accommodations were of the rudest character. A hospital tent had been hurriedly erected and an old house and barn utilized. Of course, I saw nothing of it or its work until the evening after the battle, when I went to see the body of our dead colonel and some of our Scranton boys who were wounded. Outside the hospital were piles of amputated arms, legs, and feet, thrown out with as little care as so many pieces of wood. There were also many dead soldiers--those who had died after reaching the hospital--lying outside, there being inside scant room only for the living. Here, on bunches of hay and straw, the poor fellows were lying so thickly that there was scarce room for the surgeon and attendants to move about among them. Others were not allowed inside, except officers and an occasional friend who might be helping.
Our chaplain spent his time here and did yeoman service helping the wounded. Yet all that could be done with the limited means at hand seemed only to accentuate the appalling need. The pallid, appealing faces were patient with a heroism born only of the truest metal. I was told by the surgeons that such expressions as this were not infrequent as they approached a man in his ”turn”: ”Please, doctor, attend to this poor fellow next; he's worse than I,” and this when his own life's blood was fast oozing away.
Most of the wounded had to wait hours before having their wounds dressed, owing to insufficient force and inadequate facilities. I was told that not a surgeon had his eyes closed for three days after this battle. The doctors of neighboring towns within reach came and voluntarily gave their services, yet it is doubtless true that hundreds of the wounded perished for want of prompt and proper care. This is one of the unavoidable incidents of a great battle--a part of the horrors of war. The rebel wounded necessarily were second to our own in receiving care from the surgeons, yet they, too, received all the attention that was possible under the circ.u.mstances. Some of their surgeons remained with their wounded, and I am told they and our own surgeons worked together most energetically and heroically in their efforts to relieve the sufferings of all, whether they wore the blue or the gray.
Suffering, it has been said, makes all the world akin. So here, in our lines, the wounded rebel was lost sight of in the suffering brother.
We remained on the battle-field until September 21, four days after the fight.
My notes of this day say that I was feeling so miserable as to be scarcely able to crawl about, yet was obliged to remain on duty; that Lieutenant-Colonel Wilc.o.x, now in command, and Major Shreve were in the same condition. This was due to the nervous strain through which we had pa.s.sed, and to insufficient and unwholesome food. As stated before, we had been obliged to eat whatever we could get, which for the past four days had been mostly green field corn roasted as best we could. The wonder is that we were not utterly prostrated. Nevertheless, I not only performed all my duties, but went a mile down the Antietam creek, took a bath, and washed my underclothing, my first experience in the laundry business.
We had been now for two weeks and more steadily on the march, our baggage in wagons somewhere en route, without the possibility of a change of clothing or of having any was.h.i.+ng done. Most of this time marching in a cloud of dust so thick that one could almost cut it, and perspiring freely, one can imagine our condition. Bathing as frequently as opportunity offered, yet our condition was almost unendurable. For with the acc.u.mulation of dirt upon our body, there was added the ever-present scourge of the army, body lice. These vermin, called by the boys ”graybacks,” were nearly the size of a grain of wheat, and derived their name from their bluish-gray color. They seemed to infest the ground wherever there had been a bivouac of the rebels, and following them as we had, during all of this campaign, sleeping frequently on the ground just vacated by them, no one was exempt from this plague. They secreted themselves in the seams of the clothing and in the armpits chiefly. A good bath, with a change of underclothing, would usually rid one of them, but only to acquire a new crop in the first camp. The clothing could be freed of them by boiling in salt water or by going carefully over the seams and picking them off. The latter operation was a frequent occupation with the men on any day which was warm enough to permit them to disrobe for the purpose. One of the most laughable sights I ever beheld was the whole brigade, halted for a couple of hours' rest one hot day, with clothing off, ”skirmis.h.i.+ng,” as the boys called it, for ”graybacks.” This was one of the many unpoetical features of army life which accentuated the sacrifices one made to serve his country.
How did we ordinarily get our laundrying done? The enlisted men as a rule always did it themselves. Occasionally in camp a number of them would club together and hire some ”camp follower” or some other soldier to do it. Officers of sufficient rank to have a servant, of course, readily solved the question. Those of us of lesser rank could generally hire it done, except on the march. Then we had to be our own laundrymen.
Having, as in the above instance, no change of clothing at hand, the was.h.i.+ng followed a bath, and consisted in standing in the running water and rubbing as much of the dirt out of the underwear as could be done without soap, for that could not be had for love or money; then hanging them on the limb of a tree and sitting in the sun, as comfortable as possible, whilst wind and sun did the drying. A ”snap-shot” of such a scene would no doubt be interesting. But ”snap-shots” unfortunately were not then in vogue, and so a picture of high art must perish. We could not be over particular about having our clothes dry. The finis.h.i.+ng touches were added as we wore them back to camp.
My diary notes that there were nine hundred and ninety-eight rebel dead gathered and buried from in front of the lines of our division. This line was about a quarter of a mile long, and this was mostly our work (our division), although Richardson's division had occupied part of this ground before us, but had been so quickly broken that they had not made much impression upon the enemy. Our division had engaged them continuously and under a terrific fire from eight o'clock A.M. until 12.30 P.M. It may be asked why during that length of time and under such a fire all were not annihilated. The answer is, that inaccuracy and unsteadiness in firing on both sides greatly reduce its effectiveness, and taking all possible advantage of shelter by lying p.r.o.ne upon the ground also prevents losses; but the above number of rebel dead, it should be remembered, represents, probably, not more than twenty to twenty-five per cent. of their casualties in that area of their lines; the balance were wounded and were removed. So that with nine hundred and ninety-eight dead it can be safely estimated that their losses exceeded four thousand killed and wounded in that area. This would indicate what was undoubtedly true, that we were in the very heart of that great battle.
[Ill.u.s.tration: FIELD HOSPITAL]
Here I wish to say that some chroniclers of battles have undertaken to measure the effectiveness and bravery of the different regiments, batteries, etc., by the numbers they have lost in certain battles; for example, one historian has made a book grading the regiments by the number of men they lost in action, a.s.suming that the more men killed and wounded, the more brilliant and brave had been its work. This a.s.sumption is absolutely fallacious. Heavy losses may be the result of great bravery with splendid work. On the other hand, they may be the result of cowardice or inefficiency. Suppose, under trying circ.u.mstances, officers lose their heads and fail to properly handle their men, or if the latter prove cowardly and incapable of being moved with promptness to meet the exigency, great loss usually ensues, and this would be chargeable to cowardice or inefficiency. According to the loss way of estimating fighting regiments, the least deserving are liable to be credited with the best work. The rule is, the better drilled, disciplined, and the better officered, the less the losses in any position on the firing-line.
One regiment I have in mind, with which we were afterwards brigaded, ill.u.s.trates this principle. It was the First Delaware Volunteer infantry. It was a three years' regiment and had been in the field more than a year when we joined them. All things considered, it was the best drilled and disciplined regiment I saw in the service. It was as steady under fire as on parade. Every movement in the tactics it could execute on the jump, and its fire was something to keep away from. The result was that, pushed everywhere to the front because of its splendid work, it lost comparatively few men. Every man was a marksman and understood how to take all possible advantage of the situation to make his work most effective and at the same time take care of himself. This regiment, whose record was one unbroken succession of splendid achievements during its whole period of service, might never have gotten on a roll of fame founded on numbers of men lost. How much more glorious is a record founded on effective work and men saved!
CHAPTER VII
HARPER'S FERRY AND THE LEESBURG AND HALLTOWN EXPEDITIONS
Neither side seemed anxious to resume the fighting on the 18th, though there was picket firing and some cannonading. We remained the next day where the darkness found us after the battle, ready and momentarily expecting to resume the work. All sorts of rumors were afloat as to the results of the battle, also as to future movements. Whether we had won a great victory and were to press immediately forward to reap the fullest benefit of it, or whether it was practically a drawn battle, with the possibilities of an early retreat, we did not then know. We had no idea of what the name of the battle would be. My diary calls it the battle of ”Meyer's Spring,” from that magnificent fountain, on our line of battle, described in the last chapter. The Confederates named it the battle of Sharpsburg, from the village of that name on the right of their line.
Two days later, after the rebels had hauled off--which they did very leisurely the next day and night--we received ”Little Mac's”
congratulatory order on the great victory achieved at ”Antietam.”
So far as our part of the battle was concerned, we knew we had the best of it. We had cleaned up everything in our front, and the ”chip was still serenely resting on our shoulder.” But what had been the outcome elsewhere on the line we did not know. That our army had been terrifically battered was certain. Our own losses indicated this. We were therefore both relieved and rejoiced on receiving the congratulatory order. I confess to have had some doubts about the extent of the victory, and whether, had Lee remained and shown fight, we would not have repeated the old story and ”retired in good order.” As it was, the tide had evidently turned, and the magnificent old Army of the Potomac, after so many drubbings, had been able to score its first decisive victory.
On the twenty-second day of September we were again on the march, our regiment reduced in numbers, from casualties in the battle and from sickness, by nearly three hundred men. Lieutenant-Colonel Wilc.o.x was now in command. The body of our late colonel had been s.h.i.+pped to Scranton under guard of Privates S. P. Snyder and Charles A. Meylert, Company K, the ”exigencies of the service” permitting of no larger detail nor any officer to accompany it.
We were told the army was bound for Harper's Ferry, distant some eight to ten miles. We pa.s.sed through the village of Sharpsburg--what there was left of it. It had been occupied by the rebels as the extreme right of their line on the morning of the battle. It presented abundant evidence of having been well in the zone of the fight. Its buildings were riddled with sh.e.l.ls, and confusion seemed to reign supreme. We learned that Burnside, with the left wing of the army, had a very hot argument with Lee's right during the afternoon for the possession of the stone bridge over Antietam creek at the foot of the hill entering the village; that after two repulses with heavy loss, Colonel Hartranft (afterwards Governor of Pennsylvania) led his regiment, the Fifty-first Pennsylvania Volunteers and the Fifty-first New York, in a magnificent charge and carried the bridge and the heights above, and Sharpsburg was ours. If any one would like to get an idea of what terrific work that charge was they should examine that bridge and the heights on the Sharpsburg side. The latter rise almost perpendicularly more than three hundred feet. One of the ”boys” who went over that bridge and up those heights in that memorable charge was Private Edward L. Buck, Fifty-first Pennsylvania Volunteers, formerly a.s.sistant Postmaster of Scranton, and ever since the war a prominent citizen of this city. That bridge is now known as ”Burnside's Bridge.” Forty-one years afterwards, I pa.s.sed over it, and was shown a sh.e.l.l still sticking in the masonry of one of the arches. It was a conical sh.e.l.l probably ten inches long, about half of it left protruding.