S. Emma E. Edmonds

EVACUATION OF YORKTOWN—OUR ARMY ON THE DOUBLE QUICK—PURSUIT OF THE FUGITIVES—THE ENEMY’S WORKS—A BATTLE—ON THE FIELD—A “WOUNDED,” AND NOT INJURED COLONEL—CARRYING THE WOUNDED—FORT MAGRUDER SILENCED—THE VICTORY WON—BURYING THE DEAD—STORY OF A RING—WOUNDED REBELS—A BRAVE YOUNG SERGEANT—CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS—A SOLDIER’S DEATH-BED—CLOSING SCENES—LAST WORDS.

The next day the continuous roar of cannon all along the lines of the enemy was kept up incessantly. “Nor did it cease at night, for when darkness settled over the encampment, from the ramparts that stretched away from Yorktown there were constant gushes of flame, while the heavy thunder rolled far away in the gloom.” A little after midnight the cannonading ceased, and a strange silence rested upon hill and valley. The first dawn of day which broke peacefully over the landscape discovered to the practiced eye of Professor Lowe that the entrenchments of the enemy were deserted; the rebels had abandoned their stronghold during the night and had fled toward Richmond.

The news spread throughout the Federal army like lightning; from right to left and from center to circumference the entire encampment was one wild scene of joy. Music and cheering were the first items in the programme, and then came the following order: “Commandants of regiments will prepare to march with two days’ rations, with the utmost dispatch. Leave, not to return.” At about eight o’clock in the morning our advance guard entered Yorktown. There were nearly one hundred guns of different kinds and calibers and a large quantity of ammunition. The road over which the fugitive army passed during the night was beat up into mortar, knee deep, and was strewn with fragments of army wagons, tents and baggage.

The Federal troops were in excellent spirits, and pushed on after the retreating army almost on the double quick. In this manner they kept up the pursuit until toward evening, when the cavalry came up with the rear-guard of the enemy about two miles from Williamsburg, where a sharp skirmish followed. Night came on and firing ceased; the rebels were behind their entrenchments, and our army bivouaced for the night. The cavalry and artillery forces were under command of General Stoneman; Generals Heintzelman, Hooker and Smith were in command of the advance column of infantry, while Generals Kearney, Couch and Casey brought up the rear.

The enemy’s works were four miles in extent, nearly three-fourths of their front being covered by the tributaries of Queen’s Creek and College Creek. The main works were a large fortification, called Fort Magruder, and twelve redoubts for field guns. The woods around and inside of those works were felled, and the ground was thickly dotted with rifle pits. The battle commenced the next morning at half-past seven o’clock. General Hooker began the attack. The enemy were heavily reinforced, and made a desperate resistance. Hooker lost a great number of men and five pieces of artillery before Kearney, Couch or Casey came up. The roads were a perfect sea of mud, and now it was raining in torrents. The roar of battle sounded all along the lines; the thunder of cannon and the crash of musketry reverberated through the woods and over the plain, assuring the advancing troops that their companions were engaged in deadly strife.

The thick growth of heavy timber was felled in all directions, forming a splendid ambush for the rebel sharpshooters. The Federals moved forward in the direction of the enemy’s works, steadily, firmly, through ditch and swamp, mud and mire, loading and firing as they went, and from every tree, bush and covert, which could conceal a man, the rebels poured a deadly fire into the ranks of our advancing troops. I was glad now that I had postponed my second visit to the enemy, for there was plenty of work for me to do here, as the ghastly faces of the wounded and dying testified. I was subject to all kinds of orders. One moment I was ordered to the front with a musket in my hands; the next to mount a horse and carry an order to some general, and very often to take hold of a stretcher with some strong man and carry the wounded from the field.

I remember one little incident in connection with my experience that day which I shall never forget, viz.: Colonel —— fell, and I ran to help put him on a stretcher and carry him to a place of safety, or where the surgeons were, which was more than I was able to do without overtaxing my strength, for he was a very heavy man. A poor little stripling of a soldier and myself carried him about a quarter of a mile through a terrific storm of bullets, and he groaning in a most piteous manner. We laid him down carefully at the surgeon’s feet, and raised him tenderly from the stretcher, spread a blanket and laid him upon it, then lingered just a moment to see whether the wound was mortal. The surgeon commenced to examine the case; there was no blood to indicate where the wound was, and the poor sufferer was in such agony that he could not tell where it was. So the surgeon examined by piecemeal until he had gone through with a thorough examination, and there was not even a scratch to be seen. Doctor E. straightened himself up and said, “Colonel, you are not wounded at all; you had better let these boys carry you back again.” The Colonel became indignant, and rose to his feet with the air of an insulted hero and said: “Doctor, if I live to get out of this battle I’ll call you to account for those words;” to which Doctor E. replied with decision, “Sir, if you are not with your regiment in fifteen minutes I shall report you to General H.”

I turned and left the spot in disgust, mentally regretting that the lead or steel of the enemy had not entered the breast of one who seemed so ambitious of the honor without the effect. As I returned to my post I made up my mind in future to ascertain whether a man was wounded or not before I did anything for him. The next I came to was Captain Wm. R. M., of the —— Michigan. His leg was broken and shattered from the ankle to the knee. As we went to lift him on a stretcher he said: “Just carry me out of range of the guns, and then go back and look after the boys. Mc—— and L. have fallen, and perhaps they are worse off than I am.” Oh how glad I was to hear those words from his lips. It confirmed the opinion I had formed of him long before; he was one of my first acquaintances in the army, and, though he was a strict disciplinarian, I had watched his christian deportment and kind and affectionate manner toward his men with admiration and interest. I believed him noble and brave, and those few words on the battle-field at such a moment spoke volumes for that faithful captain’s heroism and love for his men.The battle was raging fiercely, the men were almost exhausted, the rebels were fighting like demons, and were driving our troops back step by step, while the space between the two lines was literally covered with dead and wounded men and horses. One tremendous shout from the Federals rent the air and fairly shook the earth. We all knew in an instant, as if by intuition, what called forth such wild cheers from that weary and almost overpowered army. “Kearney!” was shouted enthusiastically along the Federal lines, while the fresh troops were hurled like thunderbolts upon the foe. One battery after another was taken from the enemy, and charge after charge was made upon their works, until the tide of battle was turned, Fort Magruder silenced, and the stars and stripes were floating in triumph over the rebel works.

The battle was won, and victory crowned the Union arms. The rebels were flying precipitately from the field, and showers of bullets thick as hail followed the retreating fugitives. Night closed around us, and a darkness which almost equaled that of “Egypt” settled over the battle-field, and the pitiless rain came down in torrents, drenching alike the living and the dead. There lay upon that crimson field two thousand two hundred and twenty-eight of our own men, and more than that number of the enemy. It was indescribably sad to see our weary, exhausted men, with torches, wading through mud to their knees piloting the ambulances over the field, lest they should trample upon the bodies of their fallen comrades.

All night long we toiled in this manner, and when morning came still there were hundreds found upon the field. Those of the enemy were found in heaps, both dead and wounded piled together in ravines, among the felled timber, and in rifle pits half covered with mud. Now the mournful duty came of identifying and burying the dead. Oh, what a day was that in the history of my life, as well as of thousands both North and South. It makes me shudder now while I recall its scenes.

To see those fair young forms
Crushed by the war-horse tread,
The dear and bleeding ones
Stretched by the piled-up dead.

Oh, war, cruel war! Thou dost pierce the soul with untold sorrows, as well as thy bleeding victims with death. How many joyous hopes and bright prospects hast thou blasted; and how many hearts and homes hast thou made desolate! “As we think of the great wave of woe and misery surging over the land, we could cry out in very bitterness of soul—Oh God! how long, how long!”

The dead lay in long rows on the field, their ghastly faces hid from view by handkerchiefs or the capes of their overcoats, while the faithful soldiers were digging trenches in which to bury the mangled bodies of the slain. I passed along the entire line and uncovered every face, in search of one who had given me a small package the day before when going into battle, telling me that if he should be killed to send it home; and, said he, “here is a ring on my finger which I want you to send to ——. It has never been off my finger since she placed it there the morning I started for Washington. If I am killed please take it off and send it to her.” I was now in search of him, but could find nothing of the missing one. At last I saw a group of men nearly half a mile distant, who also seemed to be engaged in burying the dead. I made my way toward them as fast as I could, but when I reached them the bodies had all been lowered into the trench, and they were already filling it up.

I begged them to let me go down and see if my friend was among the dead, to which the kind hearted boys consented. His body lay there partially covered with earth; I uncovered his face; he was so changed I should not have recognized him, but the ring told me that it was he. I tried with all my might to remove the ring, but could not. The fingers were so swollen that it was impossible to get it off. In life it was a pledge of faithfulness from one he loved, “and in death they were not divided.”

The dead having been buried and the wounded removed to the churches and college buildings in Williamsburg, the fatigued troops sought repose. Upon visiting the wounded rebels I saw several whom I had met in Yorktown, among them the sergeant of the picket post who had given me a friendly shake and told me if I slept on my post he would shoot me like a dog. He was pretty badly wounded, and did not seem to remember me. A little farther on a young darkie lay groaning upon the floor. I went to look at him, and asked if I could do anything for him. I recognized in the distorted face before me the same darkie who had befriended me at Yorktown, and to whom I had offered the five dollar greenback. I assure my friends that I repaid that boy’s kindness with double interest; I told Doctor E. what he had done for me when my “hands” turned traitors. He was made an especial object of interest and care.

Some few of the rebel prisoners were gentlemanly and intelligent, and their countenances betokened a high state of moral culture. Many were low, insolent, bloodthirsty creatures, who “neither feared God nor regarded man;” while others there were who seemed not to know enough to be either one thing or the other, but were simply living, breathing animals, subject to any order, and who would just as soon retreat as advance, so long as they did not have to fight. They did not care which way the battle went. On the whole there was a vast contrast between the northern and southern soldiers as they appeared in the hospitals, but perhaps prejudice had something to do in making the rebels appear so much inferior to our men.

In passing through the college building I noticed a young sergeant, a mere boy, who was shot in the temple. He attracted my attention, and I made some inquiry concerning him. He was a Federal, and belonged to the —Massachusetts regiment. An old soldier sitting by him told me the following: “That boy is not sixteen yet; he enlisted as a private, and has, by his bravery and good conduct, earned the three stripes which you see on his arm. He fought all day yesterday like a young lion, leading charges again and again upon the enemy. After we lost our captain and lieutenants he took command of the company, and led it through the battle with the skill and courage of a young brigadier, until he fell stunned and bleeding. I carried him off the field, but could not tell whether he was dead or alive. I washed the blood from his face; the cold water had a salutary effect upon him, for when Hancock and Kearney had completed their work, and the cheers of victory rang over the bloody field, he was sufficiently revived to hear the inspiring tones of triumph. Leaping to his feet, faint and sick as he was, he took up the shout of victory in unison with the conquerers on the field. But he had scarcely uttered the notes of victory and glory when his strength deserted him and he fell insensible to the ground.” The old man added: “General —— says if he lives through this he will go into the next battle with shoulder straps on.” I went up to him, took his feverish hand, and told him that I was glad that his wound was not mortal. He thanked me, and said with enthusiasm, “I would rather have been killed than to have lost the battle.”

There is one thing that I have noticed on the field in every battle that I have witnessed, viz.: that the christian man is the best soldier. Says a minister of the Gospel, writing upon this subject: “It is a common saying among the officers that, as a class, the men who stand foremost when the battle rages are the christian men. Many a time I have talked with them about such scenes, and they have told me that their souls have stood firm in that hour of strife, and that they have been perfectly calm. I have had christian generals tell me this. I have heard General Howard often say that in the midst of the most terrific portion of the battle, when his heart for a moment quailed, he would pause, and lift up his soul to God and receive strength. “And,” said he, “I have gone through battles without a particle of fear. I have thought that God sent me to defend my country. I believed it was a christian duty to stand in the foremost of the fight, and why should I be afraid?”I once heard an eminently pious lady say that she never could reconcile the idea in her mind of a christian going into the army to fight; it was so inconsistent with the christian character that she was tempted to doubt the piety of all fighting men. I respect the lady’s views upon the subject, but beg leave to differ from her; for I believe that a man can serve God just as acceptably in fighting the enemies of liberty, truth and righteousness with the musket down South, as he can in the quiet pulpits of the North; in fact I am inclined to think he can do so a little more effectually in the former place. I only wish that there were more of our holy men willing to take up the carnal weapons of warfare, forego the luxuries of home, and, by setting examples worthy of emulation, both in camp and on the battle field, thus strike a fatal blow at this unholy rebellion.

The last night I spent in the hospital before leaving Williamsburg, I witnessed the death of a christian soldier, a perfect description of which I find in the “Memorials of the War:” “It was the hour of midnight, when the chaplain was summoned to the cot of a wounded soldier. He had only left him an hour before, with confident hopes of his speedy recovery—hopes which were shared by the surgeon and the wounded man himself. But a sudden change had taken place, and the surgeon had come to say that the man could live but an hour or two at most, and to beg the chaplain to make the announcement to the dying man. He was soon at his side, but overpowered by his emotions, was utterly unable to deliver his message. The dying man, however, quickly read the solemn truth in the altered looks of the chaplain, his faltering voice and ambiguous words. He had not before entertained a doubt of his recovery. He was expecting soon to see his mother, and with her kind nursing soon to be well. He was therefore entirely unprepared for the announcement, and at first it was overwhelming.

“‘I am to die then; and—how long?’ As he had before expressed hope in Christ, the chaplain replied: ‘You have made your peace with God; let death come as soon as it will, He will carry you safely over the river.’ ‘Yes; but this is so awfully sudden, awfully sudden!’ His lips quivered; he looked up grievingly: ‘And I shall not see my mother.’ ‘Christ is better than a mother,’ murmured the chaplain. ‘Yes.’ The word came in a whisper. His eyes were closed; the lips still wore that trembling grief, as if the chastisement were too sore, too hard to be borne; but as the minutes passed, and the soul lifted itself up stronger and more steadily upon the wings of prayer, the countenance grew calmer, the lips steadier, and when the eyes opened again there was a light in their depths that could have come only from heaven.

“‘I thank you for your courage,’ he said more feebly, taking the chaplain’s hand; ‘the bitterness is over now, and I feel willing to die. Tell my mother’—he paused, gave one sob, dry, and full of the last anguish of earth—‘tell her how I longed to see her; but if God will permit me I will be near her. Tell her to comfort all who loved me; to say that I thought of them all. Tell my father that I am glad that he gave his consent. Tell my minister, by word or letter, that I thought of him, and that I thank him for all his counsels. Tell him I find that Christ will not desert the passing soul, and that I wish him to give my testimony to the living, that nothing is of real worth but the religion of Jesus; and now, will you pray with me?’ With swelling emotion and tender tones the chaplain besought God’s grace and presence; then, restraining his sobs, he bowed down and pressed upon the beautiful brow, already chilled with the breath of the coming angel, twice, thrice, a fervent kiss. They might have been as tokens from the father and mother, as well as for himself.

“So thought, perhaps, the dying soldier, for a heavenly smile touched his face with new beauty, as he said, ‘Thank you; I won’t trouble you any longer. You are wearied out; go to your rest.’ ‘The Lord God be with you!’ was the firm response. ‘Amen,’ trembled from the fast whitening lips. Another hour passed, still the chaplain did not go to rest, but retired to an adjoining room; he was about to return to the bedside of the dying when the surgeon met him and whispered softly, ‘He is gone.’ Christ’s soldier had found the captain of his salvation, and received his reward.”

Tell my mother, when you see her,
That I fell amid the strife;
And for freedom and my country
I have given up my life;
Tell her that I sent this message
Ere my tongue refused to speak,
And you tell her, comrade, won’t you?
Tell my mother not to weep.
Tell her, comrade, how we battled
For our country and the right;
How I held the starry banner
In the thickest of the fight;
Tell her how they struggled for it,
And, with curses loud and deep,
Took my bosom for their target—
But tell her not to weep.
Tell her I held up the banner
’Mid the screaming shot and shell,
Till the fatal leaden missile
Pierced my side, and then I fell.
Tell her I was ready, waiting,
When my pulses ceased to beat,
And I longed once more to see her—
But you tell her not to weep.
Tell her that the truths she taught me
Nerved my arm and led my feet,
And I trusted in the promise
’Mid the battle’s fiercest heat.
Tell her, while my life was ebbing,
That I kissed her face so sweet—
Kissed the picture that she gave me—
And you tell her not to weep.

Tell her, comrade, when you see her,
That my battlefields are o’er,
And I’ve gone to join an army
Where rebellion comes no more;
Tell her that I hope to greet her,
When together we shall meet,
In that better home in heaven,
Where we never more shall weep.