Fort McHenry in 1862-1863—General Morris—Colonel Peter A. Porter—Harper's Ferry—Halltown Trip to Johnson's Island—Lieutenant-General Pemberton and other Confederate Officers—Ohio Copperheads—Incident of York, Pa. Copperheads—Dramatic incident on July 4th, 1863, at Fort McHenry.

In the winter of '62-'63 our Regiment was removed to Fort McHenry, where Confederate prisoners of war were detained. General W.W. Morris, an old regular, commanded the Brigade (Headquarters were there) and Colonel Peter A. Porter (whose monument is at Goat Island, Niagara Falls) commanded the Post. We were carrying there about one thousand Confederate and political prisoners. A large percentage of them were commissioned officers.

Early in '63 our Regiment was ordered to the front by way of Harper's Ferry. When we arrived at the Ferry I was the first officer detailed for a two-days' turn of picket duty on Bolivar Heights.

Harper's Ferry is situated at the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers. The Potomac cuts through the Blue Ridge Mountains there. The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal runs along the north bank of the Potomac, rugged mountains enclose it, presenting an alpine appearance. Here the "John Brown raid" began. It was formerly the location of one of the great national arsenals. When encamped there in '63 the Regiment was in tents on Camp Hill; the officers were quartered in a building which had been the home of the officers of the arsenal.

Our Regiment, nominally a heavy artillery regiment, was thoroughly schooled in the heavy tactics and also as light or field artillery and infantry; able or qualified to be used in either arm of the service with equal facility. The order to proceed to the front was hailed with delight, duty in the field being a panacea for garrison bickerings.

Later the regiment was moved to Halltown, encamped on the Miller farm, and threw out pickets. I was on first detail there. I learned how to get a fair sleep on top of a "herring-bone" rail fence. My proclivity for "prying into things" manifested itself there. An attack was expected, so our regiment slept on arms, anxiously waiting; it became tedious. I asked permission to reconnoitre alone, and was permitted. In the dark I sneaked out about a mile, and listened; three or four cavalrymen came whirling down the road as if riding for life; they roused the regiment. They were blood stained, but upon examination the blood was found to have come from one of their own horses. Such scares and mistakes were frequent, especially with fresh troops. I was in a dilemma to get back into line without being shot, but it was accomplished. The regiment was ordered back to Baltimore for garrison duty.

I was detailed to convey prisoners away many times. Once I took ninety odd Confederate officers to Johnson's Island, Sandusky, Ohio. Among them was Lieutenant General Pemberton, who had commanded at Vicksburg, and who had, on July 4th, surrendered Vicksburg with thirty-seven thousand men, fifteen general officers and sixty thousand stand of arms. I was surprised at the great number of "Copperheads" we met in crossing Ohio. My exhibition of Confederate prisoners was treated as a first-class circus; it "drew" the "Copperheads" and they flocked to the stations along the route to express sympathy and admiration. What was a "Copperhead"? I will try to tell you: he stood, relatively, as the Tories to the Revolution. They were composed of several elements; some wore so greedy of gain they wanted no war that might interfere with their finances; some were too cowardly; some were too partisan politically, really thinking their fealty was due to those who were fighting against an administration nominally representing an opposing political party; all of them forming a mass to be influenced by conspirators who were pursuing an intelligent purpose to destroy the Union; just such material as was needed by Vallandigham, Seymour, Andrews, Morgan and Lee to help their projects of further disruption. What became of them? They sank out of sight when the Confederate cause was lost. Naturally they were scorned by the men who had fought for the Union. As time goes on, they and their work is being forgotten. Future historians may be more kind to them than we who suffered because of them, but it is not likely that the descendants of any Copperhead will claim public honors for their anti-Union forbears.

I am reminded of an incident that was told widely through the armies: When Lee's army reached York, Pa., on the way to Gettysburg, these Copperheads went out to meet the Confederates, and assure them "how they had always loved them." The Confederates wanted tangible proof of this love; they demanded that one hundred thousand dollars in gold be paid at once; else the town of York would be burned. Now, wasn't that unkind! but lovers must ever be ready to prove, you know.

On our way home we had a railroad smash at Mifflin, Pa. I was curled up, asleep in my seat, but received only a scratch on my forehead. I crawled out of a window and helped recover bodies from the wreckage.

Fort McHenry is an historic spot. The scene described in our "Star Spangled Banner" was dedicated to it. It was its ramparts Key referred to in his first verse. In 1812 the fort was garrisoned by one thousand men under Major Armisted, to guard Baltimore from an attack by sea. September 13th, 1814, the British admiral, with sixteen heavy war vessels, opened bombardment upon the fort. Its guns failed to reach the fleet till some of the vessels approached nearer. He met so warm a reception that they withdrew, badly damaged. A force of one thousand men landed to surprise the fort in the rear, but they were repulsed. At midnight the firing ceased. Next day the fleet withdrew and Baltimore was safe. During the bombardment Francis Scott Key, a prisoner on board the British fleet, wrote the "Star Spangled Banner."

I shall never forget July 4th, 1863. The crucial battle of the war, Gettysburg, was being fought. Meade had just succeeded Hooker in command of the army. Anxiously the wisdom of the change was being watched by every soldier. It was my fortune to be detailed as officer of the guard at Fort McHenry that day. Guardmount is always an inspiring exercise, for then troops are carefully inspected and instructed before entry on their tour of duty. Fort McHenry is an ideally beautiful spot, situated on the point of a peninsula formed by the confluence of the north and south forks of the Patapsco river. The spot is loved by every American. A picture, a combination of events, produced the most strikingly emotional effect upon me. We were formed on the exact ground overlooked by Key when he wrote:

I was trying to examine arms. Our Post Band, the 2d Artillery Band, one of the grandest in the service, was playing that soul lifting piece. The north fork of the Patapsco was filled with transports, carrying bronzed veterans (I think the 19th Corps), who were hurrying to Gettysburg, and these boys were yelling for twice their number; cheers upon cheers. On the balcony of one of our prison buildings was a prisoner of war, a lineal descendant of Francis Scott Key, overlooking the scene. And I thought of our flag over yonder to the northwest, forty miles away at Gettysburg. Yesterday and day before we had listened, straining our ears to hear the guns. Was our flag still there? Had our boys with Meade stood fast against the lion of the Confederacy, or had the Stars and Bars been flaunted victorious upon the battle ground? God knows how our hearts were strained in those hours. And when I heard the cheers of our soldiers upon the transports and thought of Francis Scott Key and how he had watched to see if Old Glory still waved, my eyes were blinded with tears. I had to suspend my inspection to dry them. I was not alone affected; there were many. Such tears one need not be ashamed of; they are not evidence of weakness. An army of men inspired by such emotions would be best to avoid.

I shall never forget the relief which came to our anxiety the next morning (July 5th), Gettysburg was ours. Lee was started back to Virginia. Vicksburg, too, was ours. Indeed, crucial was the day, July 4th, 1863. Every one of our ninety millions of united Americans should ever give thanks for the events of that day.