Part 9 (1/2)

General Burnside was relieved from command of the army on the 26th of January, 1863, and was succeeded by Major-General Joseph Hooker.

”Fighting Joe,” as he was familiarly called, was justly popular with the army, nevertheless there was general regret at the retirement of Burnside, notwithstanding his ill success. That there was more than the ”fates” against him was felt by many, and whether under existing conditions ”Fighting Joe” or any one else was likely to achieve any better success was a serious question. However, all felt that the new commander had lots of fight in him, and the old Army of the Potomac was never known to ”go back” on such a man. His advent as commander was signalized by a modest order announcing the fact, and matters moved on without a ripple upon the surface. Routine work, drills, and picket duty occupied all our time. Some of our men were required to go on picket duty every other day, so many were off duty from sickness and other causes. Twenty-four hours on picket duty, with only twenty-four hours off between, was certainly very severe duty, yet the men did it without a murmur. When it is understood that this duty required being that whole time out in the most trying weather, usually either rain, sleet, slush, or mud, and constantly awake and alert against a possible attack, one can form an idea of the strain upon physical endurance it involved.

The chief event preceding the Chancellorsville movement was the grand review of the army by President Lincoln and staff. The exact date of this review I do not remember, but it occurred a short time before the movement upon Chancellorsville. Owing to the absence of Colonel Albright and the illness of Lieutenant-Colonel Shreve, the command of the regiment devolved upon me, and I had a funny experience getting ready for it. As a sort of preliminary drill, I concluded I would put the regiment through a practice review on our drill grounds. To do this properly, I had to imagine the presence of a reviewing officer standing before our line at the proper distance of thirty to forty yards. The ceremony involved opening the ranks, which brought the officers to the front of the line, the presenting arms, and dipping the colors, which the reviewing officer, usually a general, acknowledged by lifting his hat and gracefully bowing. I had reached the point in my practice drill where the ”present arms” had been executed, and the colors lowered, and had turned to the front myself to complete the ceremony by presenting sword to my imaginary general, when lo! there rose up in front of me, in the proper position, a real reviewing officer in the shape of one of the worst looking army ”b.u.ms” I ever saw. He a.s.sumed the position and dignified carriage of a major-general, lifted his dirty old ”cabbage-leaf” cap, and bowed up and down the line with the grace and air of a Wellington, and then he promptly skedaddled. The ”boys” caught the situation instantly and were bursting with laughter. Of course I didn't notice the performance, but the effort not to notice it almost used me up. This will ill.u.s.trate how the army ”b.u.mmer” never let an opportunity slip for a practical joke, cost what it might. This fellow was a specimen of this genus that was ubiquitous in the army. Every regiment had one or more. They were always dirty and lousy, a sort of tramp, but always on hand at the wrong time and in the wrong place. A little indifferent sort of service could be occasionally worked out of them, but they generally skulked whenever there was business on hand, and then they were so fertile of excuses that somehow they escaped the penalty and turned up again when the ”business” was over. Their one specialty was foraging. They were born foragers. What they could not steal was not to be had, and this probably accounts in a measure for their being endured. Their normal occupation was foraging and, incidentally, Sancho Panza like, looking for adventure. They knew more of our movements, and also of those of the enemy, than the commanding general of either. One of the most typical of this cla.s.s that I knew was a young fellow I had known very well before the war. He was a s.h.i.+ning light in society, occupying a high and responsible business position.

His one fault was his good-fellows.h.i.+p and disposition to be convivial when off duty. He enlisted among the first, when the war broke out in 1861, and I did not see him again until one day one of this genus ”b.u.mmer” strayed into our camp. He stuck his head into my tent and wanted to know how ”Fred Hitchc.o.c.k was.” I had to take a long second look to dig out from this bunch of rags and filth my one-time Beau Brummel acquaintance at home. His eyes were bleared, and told all too surely the cause of the transformation. His brag was that he had skipped every fight since he enlisted. ”It's lots more fun,” he said, ”to climb a tree well in the rear and see the show. It's perfectly safe, you know, and then you don't get yourself killed and planted. What is the use,”

he argued, ”of getting killed and have a fine monument erected over you, when you can't see it nor make any use of it after it is done? Let the other fellows do that if they want to. I've no use for monuments.” Poor fellow, his cynical ideas were his ruin. Better a thousand times had he been ”planted” at the front, manfully doing his duty, than to save a worthless life and return with the record of a poltroon, despised by himself and everybody else.

This review by President Lincoln and the new commander-in-chief, General Hooker, was, from a military, spectacular point of view, the chief event of our army experience. It included the whole of the great Army of the Potomac, now numbering upward of one hundred and thirty thousand men, probably its greatest numerical strength of the whole war. Deducting picket details, there were present on this review, it is safe to say, from ninety thousand to one hundred thousand men. It was a remarkable event historically, because so far as I can learn it was the only time this great army was ever paraded in line so that it could be seen all together. In this respect it was the most magnificent military pageant ever witnessed on this continent, far exceeding in its impressive grandeur what has pa.s.sed into history as the ”great review,” which preceded the final ”muster out” at the close of the war in the city of Was.h.i.+ngton. At the latter not more than ten thousand men could have been seen at one time, probably not nearly so many, for the eye could take in only the column which filled Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol to the Treasury Building. Whereas, upon our review the army was first drawn up in what is known as three lines of ”ma.s.ses,” and one glance of the eye could take in the whole army. Think of it! One hundred thousand men in one sweep of vision! If the word ”Selah” in the Psalm means ”stop!

think! consider!” it would be particularly appropriate here.

A word now about the formation in ”lines of ma.s.ses.” Each regiment was formed in column of divisions. To those unfamiliar with military terms, I must explain that this very common formation with large bodies of troops consists in putting two companies together as a division under the command of the senior officer, thus making of a regiment of ten companies a column of five divisions, each two-company front. This was known as ”ma.s.sing” the troops. When so placed in line they were called a line of ”ma.s.ses;” when marching, a column of ”ma.s.ses.” It will be seen that the actual frontage of each regiment so formed was the width of two companies only, the other eight companies being formed in like manner in their rear. Now imagine four regiments so formed and placed side by side, fronting on the same line and separated from each other by say fifty feet, and you have a brigade line of ma.s.ses. The actual frontage of a brigade so formed would be considerably less than that of a single regiment on dress parade. Now take three such brigades, separated from each other by say fifty feet, and you have a division line of ma.s.ses.

Three divisions made up an army corps. The army was formed in three lines of ma.s.ses, of two corps each, on the large open plain opposite Fredericksburg, to the south and east of where the railroad crossed the river. Each of these lines of ma.s.ses contained from seventy to eighty regiments of infantry, besides the artillery, which was paraded on the several lines at different intervals. I do not remember seeing any cavalry, and my impression is that this branch of the service was not represented. Some idea may be formed of the magnificence of this spectacle when I state that each of these lines of ma.s.ses was more than a mile in length, and the depth of the three lines from front to rear, including the s.p.a.ces between, was not less than four hundred yards, or about one-fifth of a mile. Each of the regiments displayed its two stands of silk colors, one the blue flag representing the State from which it came, the other the national colors. There were here and there a brace of these flags, very conspicuous in their brilliant newness, indicating a fresh accession to the army, but most of them were tattered and torn by shot and sh.e.l.l, whilst a closer look revealed the less conspicuous but more deadly slits and punctures of the minie-b.a.l.l.s.

Now place yourself on the right of this army paraded for review and look down the long lines. Try to count the standards as the favoring wind lifts their sacred folds and caressingly shows you their battle scars.

You will need to look very closely, lest those miniature penants, far away, whose staffs appear no larger than parlor matches protruding above lines of men, whose forms in the distance have long since merged into a mere bluish gray line, escape your eye. Your numbering will crowd the five hundred mark ere you finish, and you should remember that each of these units represented a thousand men when in the vigor and enthusiasm of patriotic manhood they bravely marched to the front. Only a fifth of them left? you say. And the others? Ah! the battle, the hospital, the prison-pen, the h-ll of war, must be the answer.

How can words describe the scene? This is that magnificent old battered Army of the Potomac. Look upon it; you shall never behold its like again. There have been and may yet be many armies greater in numbers, and possibly, in all the paraphernalia of war, more showy. There can never be another Army of the Potomac, with such a history. As I gazed up and down those ma.s.sive lines of living men, felt that I was one of them, and saw those battle-scarred flags kissed by the loving breeze, my blood tingled to my very finger-tips, my hair seemed almost to raise straight up, and I said a thousand Confederacies can't whip us. And here I think I grasped the main purpose of this review. It was not simply to give the President a sight of his ”strong right arm,” as he fondly called the Army of the Potomac, nor General Hooker, its new commander, an opportunity to see his men and them a chance to see their new chief,--though both of these were included,--but it was to give the army a square look at its mighty self, see how large and how strong it really was, that every man might thereby get the same enthusiasm and inspiration that I did, and know that it simply could not be beaten. The enemy, it is not strange to say, were intensely interested spectators of this whole scene, for the review was held in full view of the whole of their army. No place could have been chosen that would better have accommodated their enjoyment of the picture, if such it was, than that open plain, exactly in their front. And we could see them swarming over Marye's Heights and the lines to the south of it, intently gazing upon us. A scene more resplendent with military pageantry and the soul-stirring accessories of war they will never see again. But did it stir their blood? Yes; but with bitterness only, for they must have seen that the task before them of successfully resisting the onslaughts of this army was impossible. Here was disclosed, undoubtedly, another purpose of this grand review, viz., to let the enemy see with their own eyes how powerful the army was with which they had to contend.

A remarkable feature of this review was the marvellous celerity of its formation. The various corps and subdivisions of the army were started on the march for the reviewing ground so as to reach it at about the same time. It should be remembered that most of them were encamped from four to eight miles away. Aides-de-camp with markers by the score were already in position on the plain when the troops arrived, so that there was almost no delay in getting into position. As our column debouched upon the field, there seemed an inextricable ma.s.s of marching columns as far as the eye could see. Could order ever be gotten out of it? Yet, presto! the right of the line fell into position, a series of blue blocks, and then on down to the far left, block after block, came upon the line with unerring order and precision, as though it were a long curling whiplash straightening itself out to the tension of a giant hand. And so with each of the other two lines. All were formed simultaneously. Here was not only perfection of military evolution, but the poetry of rhythmic movement. The three lines were all formed within twenty minutes, ready for the reviewing officers.

Almost immediately the blare of the trumpets announced the approach of the latter, and the tall form of the President was seen, accompanied by a large retinue, galloping down the first line. Our division was formed, as I recollect, in the first line, about three hundred yards from the right. The President was mounted on a large, handsome horse, and as he drew near I saw that immediately on his right rode his son, Robert Lincoln, then a bright-looking lad of fourteen to fifteen years, and little ”Tad” Lincoln, the idol of his father, was on his left. The latter could not have been more than seven or eight years old. He was mounted on a large horse, and his little feet seemed to stick almost straight out from the saddle. He was round and pudgy, and his jolly little body bobbed up and down like a ball under the stiff canter of his horse. I wondered how he maintained his seat, but he was really a better horseman than his father, for just before reaching our regiment there was a little summer stream ravine, probably a couple of yards wide, that had to be jumped. The horses took it all right, but the President landed on the other side with a terrific jounce, being almost unseated. The boys went over flying, little ”Tad” in high glee, like a monkey on a mustang.

Of course, a mighty cheer greeted the President as he galloped down the long line. There was something indescribably weird about that huzzah from the throats of these thousands of men, first full, sonorous, and thrilling, and then as it rolled down that attenuated line gradually fading into a minor strain until it was lost in the distance, only to reappear as the cavalcade returned in front of the second line, first the faintest note of a violin, then rapidly swelling into the full volume, to again die away and for the third time reappear and die away as the third line was reviewed. The President was followed by a large staff dressed in full uniform, which contrasted strongly with his own severely plain black. He wore a high silk hat and a plain frock coat.

His face wore that peculiar sombre expression we see in all his photographs, but it lighted up into a half-smile as he occasionally lifted his hat in acknowledgment of the cheering of the men.

About one hundred yards in rear of the President's staff came the new commanding general, ”Fighting Joe.” He was dressed in the full uniform of a major-general, and was accompanied by his chief of staff, Seth Williams--he who had held this position under every commander of the Army of the Potomac thus far--and a large and brilliant staff. There must have been fully twenty officers of various ranks, from his chief of staff, a general, down through all grades to a lieutenant, in this corps of staff officers. It was the first time I had seen General Hooker to know him. His personal appearance did not belie his reputation. He had a singularly strong, handsome face, sat his superb horse like a king, broad-shouldered and elegantly proportioned in form, with a large, fine head, well covered with rather long hair, now as white as the driven snow and flowing in the wind as he galloped down the line, chapeau in hand; he was a striking and picturesque figure. It was evident the head of the army had lost nothing in personal appearance by its recent change. The same cheering marked the appearance of ”Fighting Joe” which had greeted the President, as he and staff galloped down and up and down through the three long lines.

Both reviewing cavalcades moved at a brisk gallop, and occupied only about twenty minutes covering the three miles of lines; and then the President and staff took position, for the marching review, some distance in front and about midway of the lines. Instantly the scene was transformed. The first line wheeled into column by brigades successively and, headed by General Hooker and staff, moved rapidly forward. There were but few bands, and the drum corps had been consolidated into division corps. On pa.s.sing the President, General Hooker took position by his side and remained throughout the remainder of the ceremony. The troops marched in columns of ma.s.ses, in the same formation they had stood in line; that is, in column of two companies front and only six yards between divisions. This made a very compact ma.s.s of troops, quite unusual in reviews, but was necessary in order to avoid the great length of time that in the usual formation would have been required for the pa.s.sing of this vast body of men. Yet in this close formation the balance of the day was nearly consumed in marching past the President.

It must have been a trying ordeal to him, as he had to lift his hat as each stand of colors successively dipped in pa.s.sing. Immediately on pa.s.sing the President, the several brigades were wheeled out of the column and ordered to quarters. I remember that we returned to our camp, over a mile distant, dismissed the men, and then several of us officers rode back to see the continuation of the pageant. When we got back the second line was only well on its way, which meant that only about half the army had pa.s.sed in review. We could see from fifteen to twenty thousand men in column--that is to say, about one army corps--at a time.

The quick, vigorous step, in rhythmical cadence to the music, the fife and drum, the ma.s.sive swing, as though every man was actually a part of every other man; the glistening of bayonets like a long ribbon of polished steel, interspersed with the stirring effects of those historic flags, in countless numbers, made a picture impressive beyond the power of description. A picture of the ages. How glad I am to have looked upon it. I could not remain to see the end. When finally I was compelled to leave the third line was marching. I can still see that soul-thrilling column, that ma.s.sive swing, those flaunting colors, that sheen of burnished steel! Majestic! Incomparable!! Glorious!!!

CHAPTER XV

THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE

An interesting item in the experience that winter at Falmouth was the celebration of St. Patrick's day by the Irish brigade and their mult.i.tude of friends. They were encamped about a mile to the south of our brigade upon a beautiful, broad, open plain between the surrounding hills, which gave them a superb parade and drill-ground. Upon this they had laid out a mile race track in excellent shape, and they had provided almost every conceivable sort of amus.e.m.e.nt that was possible to army life--matches in running, jumping, boxing, climbing the greased pole, sack races, etc. But the usual pig performance had to be omitted owing to the enforced absence of the pig. The appearance of a live porker would have stampeded the army in a wild chase for fresh meat.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON THE BATTLE-FIELD OF ANTIETAM

Fourth Reunion of Survivors of 132d Regiment P. V., held Sept. 17, 1891, on the ground occupied by the Regiment during the battle, in front of Sunken Road, near Roulette House]

The chief events were horse races. The army abounded in excellent thoroughbreds, private property of officers, and all were anxious to show the mettle of their steeds. Everybody was invited to be present and take such part as he pleased in any of the events. It was a royal gala day to the army; from morning until night there were excitement and side-splitting amus.e.m.e.nt. Nor was there, throughout the whole day, a thing, not even a small fight, that I heard of, to mar the wholesome fun, until towards night our old enemy, John Barleycorn, managed to get in some of his work.

The chief event of the day and the wind-up was a hurdle and ditch race, open to officers only. Hurdles and ditches alternated the course at a distance of two hundred yards, except at the finish, where a hurdle and ditch were together, the ditch behind the hurdle. Such a race was a hare-brained performance in the highest degree; but so was army life at its best, and this was not out of keeping with its surroundings.

Excitement was what was wanted, and this was well calculated to produce it.

The hurdles were four and five feet high and did not prove serious obstacles to the jumpers, but the ditches, four and five feet wide and filled with water, proved a _bete noir_ to most of the racers. Some twenty-five, all young staff-officers, started, but few got beyond the first ditch. Many horses that took the hurdle all right positively refused the ditch. Several officers were dumped at the first hurdle, and two were thrown squarely over their horses' heads into the first ditch, and were nice-looking specimens as they crawled out of that bath of muddy water. They were unhurt, however, and remounted and tried it again, with better success.