The next day I reached the regiment, then on the Welden Railroad, near the Yellow Tavern. I say "the regiment." I mean what was left of it. Instead of the large, full organization I left in July, it was now but a remnant. Four commissioned officers of the One Hundred and Ninetieth remained. These were Colonel Pattee, Adjutant Wright, Captain Birkman, and Lieutenant Peacock. Of Company C, there were but ten men, myself making the eleventh.
A terrible calamity had befallen them at the time the Welden Railroad was taken from the enemy, August 18th and 19th. The brigade was sent forward to skirmish. They advanced and drove every thing before them till they struck the main force of the enemy. Here they fortified and held their ground without support until the afternoon of the 19th, when they were compelled to surrender. A few escaped by taking the suicidal risk of running through a gap in the rebel lines. Mike Coleman, Captain Birkman, and a few others escaped in this way. Mike told me he heard men call "Halt! Halt!" on every side; but he looked neither to the right nor left, and went ahead. Dave Steen was killed in this battle. A ball struck him in the breast, a little to the right, and high up, severing one of the large blood vessels. As he fell, two of the men ran to him. He asked for his Bible—his only words. Hastily opening his knapsack, they handed it to him. Almost as his fingers closed on the holy book, his spirit hastened away from that scene of turmoil to the rest above. He was a brave soldier and a true man.
After the ground had been re-occupied, as it quickly was by men of the Ninth Corps, his remaining comrades buried him, and placed around his grave a rude framework to protect it from disturbance. The few that escaped, together with returning absentees, represented the organization under Colonel Pattee, who had now recovered from his wound. During September and October the regiment suffered considerable loss in fighting along the left of our line at various points.
On one occasion they were ordered to advance and "feel" the enemy. The design was merely to drive in his pickets, and compel him to show his strength. As soon as the command "forward" was given, away they went with a yell, sweeping the rebel pickets before them, and on into the works beyond, before the enemy knew what was the matter or could recover from his astonishment. An attempt was made to recall them as they went rushing on toward the rebel works; but signals and bugle-calls were unheeded. They entered, and for a time held a part of the rebel works. Of course, this could not last long. It was not the intention to bring on a general engagement, and they were not supported. In a little while they were driven back again with serious loss. Captain Kinsey, of Company C, was severely wounded, and never returned. In trying to bring Captain Kinsey off the field, young Overdoff was killed, shot through the head. When he first came to the company he was not very well liked; but his kind and pleasant bearing soon made friends of all. From his first experience in the Wilderness until his death, he was loved and honored as a brave and fearless soldier.
In the latter part of November the Ninth Corps was passing, one day, and I went over to the road, and waited till the One Hundredth Pennsylvania came along. Here were many familiar faces. George Preston was there, his face as honest and bright as in boyhood's days; and George Dillinger—or was his name Hugh? Names become confused as the mind runs back over so many years. What I saw there was but a section of the past slipped forward, and given a different setting. My earliest recollections were connected with these faces, when, at church or school in the pleasant Summer-time, in one we listened to the good Irish pastor's "sixteenthly" and "seventeenthly" and "in conclusion" as sedately as our seniors; and in the other we took our regular flogging, as prescribed by the lamented Solomon. The stalwart boys in blue were the same boys still; but now they were the heroes of many a hard-fought battle. The hurried questions and answers of that brief interview touched upon as tragic scenes as ever employed the pen of genius. They told how one fell here, another there—dead for the land they loved.
December 7, 1864, we started on a raid, the object of which was to disturb the enemy's railroad communications toward the south. We followed the Jerusalem plank-road one day's march, reaching Notaway River in the evening, at Freeman's Ford. Our force was a strong one, consisting of the Fifth Corps, under General Warren, and a division of cavalry. With this force we felt quite at home within one day's march of the main army. Once across the river, and at a greater distance, we might stir up all the game we could take care of. Such was the feeling expressed by the soldiers as they discussed the situation on the march that day, and indulged in conjectures as to our probable destination and the outcome of the expedition. Of course, the company wag had a hearing while he expounded his views as to what we would do to the Confederacy or the Confederacy to us. The soldiers had confidence in General Warren, and regarded him as a prudent and efficient officer. He had the reputation of being personally brave and fearless.
As evening approached, we turned to the right from the plank-road, and halted in a corn-field, not far from the river. As we were about to break ranks we heard on our right the clatter and snapping of gun-caps, which, in a regiment armed with muzzle-loading guns, usually follows the command to prepare to load. This sounded like business; but nothing further indicating trouble occurred, and soon the cheerful camp-fires enlivened the scene, and we proceeded to make ourselves comfortable.
It was the general impression that we would soon move on, and make a night march; but as time passed, the men made down their beds, and addressed themselves to sleep. About ten or eleven o'clock, orders—perhaps delayed—were received for the men to camp for the night, the march to be resumed at two in the morning. It at once entered into the fertile brain of Lieutenant Peacock to extract a little fun from the circumstances. Going to a group of men sleeping soundly under their blankets, he deliberately roused them up and informed them that they could sleep till two o'clock.
"Well, what the —— did you wake us up for, to tell us that?"
"Why, you —— lunatic, aren't two sleeps better than one?"
Then would follow a volley of protestations and modified blessings from one side and the other.At two in the morning we were again on the march. We passed Sussex Court House and a place called Corman's Well. In the evening we reached the North Cross House, on the Halifax road, thirty miles from Petersburg. Here we struck the Welden Railroad, and the work of destruction began. It was an exciting scene as the work progressed. There was an abundance of ties along the road, and of these fires were built beside the track. As far as the eye could reach the track was a line of blazing fires and busy, shouting men. A brigade would stack arms on the bank beside the track; then, taking hold of the rails, would begin to lift and surge on it altogether, shouting in unison:
"OhÉ!"
"OhÉ!"
"Set her up!"
"OhÉ!"
Soon it would begin to give, and quickly would be hurled over from the road-bed with a ripping, crashing sound, followed by the shouts and cheers of the men. Then came the process of detaching the part thus overturned from that still undisturbed, if this had not been previously accomplished. Using a length of rail as a lever, this was quickly done, and in a surprisingly brief space of time the rails of a half-mile of road would be lying on blazing piles of ties. As a general rule, the rails were laid on the fire, and the heating of the middle portion would cause them to bend by their own weight, thus rendering them useless. When there was time, the men twisted the hot rails around trees or telegraph poles, or wreathed them together in fantastic shapes. We worked nearly all night. Toward morning we halted in a field, and slept for a couple of hours. Early in the morning the work was resumed, and continued till evening, with only brief intermission for dinner. It rained during the day, and became very cold toward evening. Night found us near a stream; I do not know whether it was the Meherrin River or a tributary of that stream. If the latter, it must have been near its junction with the river. The town of Bellefield is on the Meherrin. We tore up the road to that town. The town was held by a force of rebel infantry, and also artillery to the number of seven or eight guns.
A dismal storm of snow and sleet came on in the evening, and we could only anticipate a night of discomfort. Not long after dark we were ordered to fall in, with only arms and ammunition. The intention was to surprise the rebel force at Bellefield, or, at least, this was the belief of the men. If so, the project was abandoned. We crossed the stream, and tore up some more track, and returned. At this time the only man lost by the regiment during the raid was killed.
As we overturned a stretch of rail, as before described, he was caught under it as it fell. In the darkness and confusion no one noticed the accident but myself; and such was the noise and shouting, it was some time before I could make it known. As soon as possible we lifted the rails and drew him out. His chest was crushed by the great weight, and he scarcely breathed after he was extricated.
We spent the night standing around the fires. Sleep was impossible. The freezing mud was ankle deep, and, as the sleety storm swept by, it encased the outer world in an icy covering. Muffled in rubber blankets, crouched around the fires, to get what warmth and comfort they could, as the driving wind whirled the flames this way and that, the soldiers waited for the return of day.The next morning the return march began. Flankers were kept out on each side of the column, to guard against surprise, and to prevent men from straggling out from the column, as it was known that rebel cavalry was hanging on our flank and rear, ready to inflict whatever damage they could. There was an occasional dash on our rear; but this was easily repulsed, and the day passed without special incident.
We camped that night in woods, two days' march from Petersburg. The storm still continued, but not so severe as during the previous night. I was fortunate enough to secure a piece of board, by means of which I provided myself comfortable lodging for the night. That board was torn from the side of a church near by. It was none the worse for that. Perhaps that church never before did any service in the cause of loyalty and the Union. That night it kept some Union soldiers off the wet ground. The next morning the march was resumed. Before we had gone far, we made a discovery that was enough to bring the blush of shame to the face of any civilized man. Some of our men, who had fallen behind in the march out, had been inhumanly butchered. I suppose the citizens, with their usual stupidity, thought we would never return, and no day of reckoning would come; and, finding these men in their power, murdered them with a cold-blooded brutality only equaled by the most degraded savages. Some were found riddled with bullets and stripped of their clothing; some had their throats cut, besides gunshot wounds. My first information was from Mike Coleman, who told me, with a look of horror in his face, of the blood-curdling sight he had just witnessed.
This discovery had a peculiar effect upon the soldiers. Even those who were usually undemonstrative gave vent to their feelings in hearty curses on the rebellion, and every thing connected with it. The wish was freely expressed that Lee might intercept us, and bring on the final battle between civilization and barbarism. Up to this time there had been no destruction of private property, except a mill, which had been burned as a war measure, and a house, from which a cavalryman had been treacherously shot; but now, either with or without orders, the men began to burn and destroy every thing within their reach. Even the fences were fired when it could be done. Not a single able-bodied man could be seen along the route; they had fled from the wrath to come.
The One Hundred and Ninetieth was on the flank most of the day. About the middle of the afternoon, we reached a group of houses and outbuildings, which might almost be called a village. Here the head of the column halted, and the flankers drew in near the road. A large dwelling-house stood on the left of the road, the side on which we were. The buildings on the other side of the road were already in flames, and men were preparing to fire the dwelling-house. An old man was looking out of a little out-door kitchen. He was leaning on his staff, trembling with age, cold, and terror. A woman, bearing in her arms a babe but a few months old, came out of the house. Her pale face and quiet bearing, as she walked hurriedly away from the door, touched the gentler nature in the soldiers' hearts, that was now dominated by the tiger, which the sight of blood unjustly shed had aroused. Sympathy was marked on every face. Not an unkind word was spoken; but the house must burn. This general distress must teach the lesson that even war has its limit of barbarity.
That evening we recrossed the Notaway River, and camped about a quarter of a mile beyond, where we camped the first night out. Here we were joined by troops that had been sent down from Petersburg for that purpose.
A large house, perhaps a tavern, stood near the road, nearly opposite the site of our former camp. We had not been long in camp till we saw this house, and the buildings connected with it, wrapped in flames. From the fact that the place was not fired at once, we supposed it would be spared. The case was thus explained: When the men first came to the house, they were informed, on inquiry, that there was no man about. The woman who seemed to be the mistress of the house, claimed to be a widow. Investigation revealed a Springfield rifle and the uniform of a murdered soldier concealed about the premises. This was sufficient. The house was fired; and, as the flames spread, a man ran out from some place of concealment, and tried to escape. He received the mercy he had given.
During the night the sky cleared, and by morning the ground was frozen. You would suppose that the soldiers suffered from the cold. Most of them slept as comfortably as you would at home, on such a night, covered over with your quilts and blankets. How was it done? Every man wore an overcoat, carried one wool blanket, a rubber blanket, and at least one piece of canvas tent, five feet square. We "bunked" at least two together, sometimes three. This gave two or three heavy wool blankets, as many rubber blankets, besides the shelter tents. If the ground was wet, we put a rubber blanket and a piece of tent under us; otherwise, only one of these, and the rest over us. Then, with a fire on one side, and a log on the other, there was no trouble about getting a good night's sleep. Such were our sleeping arrangements this cold night.
The march of the following day was very trying, because of the roughness of the ground and the extreme cold. In the evening we arrived in the vicinity of Petersburg, and took our place on the left of our lines, rather toward the rear. The loss of the Union forces during this raid was about one hundred, killed and wounded.
