THE commencement of the year 1863 brought the not unwelcome announcement to the Army of the Potomac that General Burnside had been relieved from the command, and General Hooker appointed in his stead. The disastrous failure at Fredericksburg, and the rather absurd attempt which will be known in history as the “mud march,” had not increased the confidence of the army in Burnside’s ability, and it was with feelings of satisfaction that the soldiers heard the order promulgated which relieved him and appointed his successor. Notwithstanding some grave defects in the character and habits of General Hooker, as a soldier he had enlisted the confidence and won the affections of the men. The plucky qualities which had given to him the name of “Fighting Joe,” seemed to be an assurance of that activity and energy that were so necessary to the successful ending of the contest, while his kindly nature, and his genial, social temperament, won the love and good wishes of all who came in contact with him. In appearance, when in command, he represented the dashing, chivalrous soldier, of whom we had read in history and fiction, inspiring confidence and awakening our enthusiasm. As he rode along the line, while reviewing the 5th Corps, mounted upon a snow-white steed, horse and rider seemingly but one, erect in all the pride of command, his hair nearly white, contrasting strongly with his ruddy complexion, he looked the perfect ideal of a dashing, gallant, brave commander. We soon learned that his skill in organization fully equalled his bravery upon the battle-field, and the results were apparent in the improved discipline and morale of the troops. To his administration must be given the credit of the introduction of the corps badges, which proved of great value in the succeeding days of the war.

It would be useless, tiresome perhaps, to describe the regular routine performed by the 32d during the days and weeks that succeeded. Suffice it to say, that it consisted principally of picket and guard duty, with details for road building, and the constant drill and discipline so necessary to prepare the soldier for the more severe labors of the march, and the sterner duties of the battle-field. With the warmer weather of the spring came orders which told us that the campaign was soon to begin; baggage must be forwarded to Washington, clothing must be furnished, deficiencies in ordnance supplied; these, together with orders for the return of men on leave and detached service, informed the soldier as clearly as if it had been promulgated in positive terms, that active duties were to commence, that a battle was soon to be fought. On the 8th of April, President Lincoln reviewed the army, and the sight of a hundred thousand men prepared for review was indeed impressive. General Hooker was excusable, perhaps, in speaking of his command at this time as “the finest army on the planet.” It certainly was never in better condition. On the 27th of April we left our camp—the Regiment under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Stephenson—without a thought that we should ever return to it again. Starting at noon, we marched to Hartwood Church, about eight miles, reaching it at nightfall; the next morning, moving towards Kelley’s Ford on the Rappahannock, near which we bivouacked for the night; taking up the line of march at daybreak, we crossed the Rappahannock on a pontoon bridge, coming to Ely’s Ford on the Rapidan, late in the afternoon of the 29th. The water at this ford was quite deep, reaching nearly to the armpits, and running rapidly. Most of the men stripped themselves of their clothing and waded through, holding their muskets, knapsacks, and clothing above their heads, while others dashed in without any preparation. Occasionally a luckless wight would lose his footing in the swift-running stream, and float down with the current, to be caught by the cavalry men who were stationed below for that purpose. Regiment after regiment as they arrived, dashed through the waters, and a more stirring scene can hardly be imagined. All along the banks of the river were men by hundreds, and thousands—on one side making preparation for fording—on the other replacing their clothing and repairing damages, while the water was crowded with soldiers who filled the air with shouts, laughter, and song. As the darkness came on, the numerous fires which the soldiers had made for the purpose of drying their clothing, threw a strong light over a picture of life and beauty, such as can only be witnessed in the experience of army life. That night we rested on the south side of the Rapidan. The morning of the 30th of April found us on the march, and in a few hours we struck that region, which, but for the war, would scarcely have been known outside of its own limits—now to be remembered by generations yet to come, as the locality where were fought some of the bloodiest battles known in history—the Wilderness.

Some description of the territory may not come amiss to those who have grown up since the bloody scenes of the war for the Union were enacted there. It comprises a tract of land probably more than twenty miles in circumference; a nearly unbroken expanse of forest and thicket. A large portion is covered with a dense growth of low, scrub oaks, briars, and shrubs, with occasionally a spot where the trees have attained to more lofty proportions. For miles you can travel without a change, seeing only the loathsome snake as it glides across your path, and uncheered by the voices of the birds, for the songsters of the day find no home in its thickets, only the lonely night-bird inhabiting its gloomy depths. Everything about it is wild and desolate. The sun hardly penetrates through its gloom, and the traveller, oppressed with its loneliness and desolation, hurries through that he may reach the more genial spots beyond, and feel the cheering rays of God’s sunshine.

Near one border of this region, at the junction of roads that lead from Fredericksburg and United States Ford, is Chancellorsville; not a town, not a village, but simply a tract of cleared land surrounding one brick house, said to have been erected for a private residence, but used at the commencement of the war as a roadside tavern. Through the forest we marched to Chancellorsville, near which we bivouacked for the night.

May 1st, 1863, our Regiment led the division which marched not south-east in the direction of the plank road, but by a road which led east and northeast, in the direction of Bank’s Ford. Artillery and picket firing had been heard for some time, but we were in thick woods. Covered by flankers and skirmishers we moved on sometimes very rapidly, until within less than four miles of Fredericksburg. The day was fine and with the exception of some cavalry pickets, we saw no enemy, but there was a sound of heavy firing on our right in the direction of the plank road, and as we advanced it seemed to become more distant and almost exactly in our rear.

By the excitement apparent among General Griffin’s staff it was evident that things were not going right, and at last the order was given to face about, and we took the back track at a killing pace. As we neared Chancellorsville again, there was some pretty sharp artillery and infantry skirmishing going on just ahead, and as night drew on we were halted in the road in line of battle facing south, with skirmishers in front.

It seems that the regular division of our corps had been roughly handled and driven back, thus separating us from the army, and we were kept all that night marching and counter-marching about the country. It was a bright moonlight night, but dusky in the woods. There were long waits, but not enough for sleep, and it was long after daylight when we got out of the forest and came upon the 3d division of our corps, and found ourselves welcomed as men who had been lost but were found.

On the morning of May 2d we were posted on the extreme left of the army and ordered to build breastworks. The axe and the spade were soon busily at work, and before night a formidable barrier had been erected against any attack. About sunset there was some slight skirmishing, and the men stood in line awaiting an attack, but none came. All was still as night; not a sound was heard except the low murmuring of voices. Even the dropping fire of the pickets had ceased, when suddenly on our right there burst on the air the sound of a volley of musketry accompanied by the wild rebel yell that was so familiar to the soldier of the Union. From the first it seemed to come towards us like a torrent, constant and resistless. The men stood, musket in hand, peering into the gloom, every nerve strung, ready to meet the attack, but it did not reach us, and ceased suddenly at last. This was the famous flank attack by Stonewall Jackson upon the 11th Corps under General Howard, which was ended thus abruptly by the death of the rebel commander. On the morning of the 3d we relieved and changed positions with the 11th Corps. Our new position was just at the right of Chancellorsville house, by the side of the road; before us a cleared plain probably two hundred yards wide, beyond which was a forest. Again we were ordered to throw up earthworks, and the men were busily at work all day. Our brigade was formed in two lines, the 32d being a part of the front line, where it remained until the army fell back.

About noon on the 4th our brigade received orders to advance across the plain into the woods. That morning a fire had swept through the woods, burning the accumulated leaves, the deposit of years, and in addition to the heat of the day, we suffered from the hot ashes that arose under our footsteps in clouds.

The purpose of this advance was to feel out the enemy and draw his fire, but not to bring on an engagement, the object being to ascertain whether he was still in force on our front. The movement was executed in gallant style. The enemy received us with a hot fire of musketry and artillery, the greater portion of which fortunately went over our heads. We were at once ordered to retire and did so, under a tremendous shower of shot and shell, nearly all of which passed above us.

We remember with pride the precision with which the brigade returned across the field, as coolly as if passing in review, rather than under the fire of the enemy, a movement which elicited the hearty cheers of the division. The most excited individual was a non-commissioned officer who, being lightly hit by a piece of shell as we entered our earthworks, maddened by the stinging pain, turned and shook his fist at the invisible foe, abusing him most lustily, amidst the laughter of his companions. Our advance demonstrated that the enemy was still there, and in a short time they made their appearance in masses issuing from the edge of the wood, but they were received with a fire of artillery that sent them reeling back to their defences, leaving great numbers of dead and wounded on the field.

The morning of the 5th came in with a cold, heavy rain, making our position that day anything but pleasant, but we did not move. As soon as darkness came on, the batteries began to withdraw, then we could hear the tramp of regiment after regiment as they moved away, and we soon learned that the army was retiring across the Rappahannock. Still no orders came for us, and we began to realize that again our division was to cover the retreat, and be the last withdrawn. The ground was soaked with water, we could neither sit nor lie down, but crouching under the little shelter tents, which afforded some protection from the drenching rain, we waited for our turn to come.

It was nearly morning when we started, and sunrise when, after wading through mud and water often knee deep, we reached United States Ford. The engineers were in position there ready to take up the pontoons. Striking swiftly across the country, hungry, tired, and disheartened, we re-occupied before noon our old quarters at Stoneman’s and the grand movement of General Hooker upon Richmond was ended. The loss of the 32d was only one killed and four wounded.