Battle of Sharpsburg, Continued

When the army marched through Frederick City it was fine weather, and the poet Whittier has told of Barbara Frietchie and Stonewall Jackson—a stirring poem in winning lines, but quite without fact at bottom. But that matters not in the least. The lines are good and we can well afford to throw in with all the hard words and abuse of those days, the poet's ideas about our Stonewall.

The country through which we marched was beautiful, rich, and fertile, but we were constantly hungry. There were two lines of Whittier's unquestionably true:

In all parts of the army straggling was principally caused by want of food. The commissariat had about broken down and the troops had recourse to anything.

The fields were full of ripened corn, of which too much was eaten. Parched and salted it would help a little, but eaten as it was, bad attacks of diarrhoea followed and such sickness became serious.

On the night before the battle we were getting some sleep under thick trees when a stampede of horses nearly trampled us. It was a very surprising thing that happened to the Jeff Davis Legion. The regiment was well lined and picketed in front, part of the officers and men asleep, guards and pickets on good watch, and everything deadly quiet and still, the night went on.

Suddenly something seemed to pass through the animals like a quiver of motion, a faint sound as of a sign, and then the wildest scene ensued. The horses for no reason that could be found had become stampeded, in the greatest panic and excitement. They broke away from their picket ropes, and droves of different sizes, some few, some many, were thundering along over the country and about the army in wild confusion. Fortunately, they drew to our rear, and the troopers were all night and part of the next day recovering them. Duncan has well described to me this extraordinary stampede, the like of which did not occur during the four years' war.

The morning of September 17 opened with battle before us, presaged by the booming of cannon already beginning their noisy work.

Longstreet held the right center, the other wing being trusted to Jackson, Hood, Richard H. Anderson, McLaws, and other divisions. The fall of Harper's Ferry had released the attacking forces and enabled Jackson and part of his command to join Lee, but only after great exhaustion and fatal straggling. The enemy called this battle Antietam, from the little stream that traverses the field. We gave it the name of Sharpsburg, the village that nestled in the hills by the turnpike some little distance back of Antietam. It was a dreadful day of fighting. Beginning early, we were at it until nightfall. Outnumbered three to one, it seemed that at almost any time a strong effort by McClellan would drive us back, but that effort was not made. A third of his fine army did not fire a rifle.

In the early afternoon Lee, Longstreet, and D. H. Hill ascended a little acclivity near the turnpike to make some observations. All others—staff and orderlies—were kept back under the brow of the hill to avoid drawing fire on the three generals. In truth, they did look conspicuous on the crest, silhouetted against the bright skies, and the shot of course came, a little wide, but the second was from a good gunner. This shot struck the front legs of Hill's horse, cutting them sharp off at the knees. The poor beast did not fall immediately, and made no sound, but put his nose into the grass, nibbling at it seemingly.

The small general in a high-cantled saddle could not get his leg over in the position of the horse until Longstreet helped him down. There is occasional talk of groans and shrieks of horses when wounded. I have seen many badly hurt, but cannot recall an instance in which the animal made any noise. This "gunning" has recently been associated with another incident on the field, with which it has really no connection. It was rather later in the day that we came on two of Miller's Washington Artillery guns that had been doing splendid work, but were now silent.

The gunners had fallen by their places, which were temporarily without cannoneers. Longstreet was with us. Fairfax, Goree, Manning, Walton, myself, and perhaps some others took our horses' bridles as we leaped from them to the guns. The position was most important and it would never do for those "barkers" to be dumb, even for a minute; so at it we went, the improvised gunners, and were afterwards cheered by being told we did it well and could always get a gunner's berth when we might want it. I had the rammer, No. 1, I think it is in the drill. Our fire was really strong and effective, until some reliefs from the Washington Artillery came up "ventre À terre," and with hearty shouts took their guns in hand. The enemy opened a severe fire on us, but fortunately none of our party was hurt. We mounted again with cheerful grins at our sudden adventure, and Longstreet, much pleased, turned his attention to other imperiled points.

Now, some fellow writing recently says it was McClellan's own hands that fired at Hill's horse in the morning; and that, in revenge, Longstreet seeing his position in the afternoon, guessed it must be McClellan and his staff and dispersed them with his own hands on the guns. An awful lot of lies circulate nowadays about the Civil War, and it is so long ago there is hardly anybody to contradict them.

Longstreet, whose eyes were everywhere, had noticed a regiment well advanced that had been fighting steadily for hours. It had gathered a few rails and stones for a chance protection to its brave fellows, all the time keeping up a good steady fire on the force in front of them, whose ranks looked so thick as to make one wonder they did not walk over our poor little regiment. Longstreet never failed to encourage good work; he praised freely and liberally where he thought it due, constantly recommending meritorious young officers for promotion. There was no illiberality about him, and the officers knew it and tried for his notice. "Major Sorrel," he said, "go down to that regiment with my compliments to the colonel. Say he has fought splendidly and must keep it up. We are hard pressed and if he loses his position there is nothing left behind him; his men have made noble sacrifices, but are to do still more."

It was Col. John R. Cooke, commanding a North Carolina regiment, that received this message. There were many dead along his lines and some severely wounded who could not be got away. My horse was wounded on the way to him, and the enemy's rifle firing was incessant, while from the saddle Longstreet's praises and encouragement were given this brave officer.

Profanity is justly considered objectionable. I do not approve of it, but there are times when it may be overlooked, and never did such words sound so sweet as when I looked into Cooke's eyes and heard him: "Major, thank General Longstreet for his good words, but say, by —— almighty, he needn't doubt me! We will stay here, by J. C., if we must all go to hell together! That —— thick line of the enemy has been fighting all day, but my regiment is still ready to lick this whole —— outfit. Start away, Major, quick, or you'll be getting hurt too, exposed as you are on that horse!" This is only a faint reproduction of the Colonel's gift of language, but it left me with no doubt that the position would stand until that gallant heart gave the word to leave it. He stuck there until ordered off at night. It was some time before I was able to send a report to Longstreet, the hour being about 5 p. m., but he had Cooke promoted immediately. I had scarcely drawn my hand from Cooke's when a shell burst over us and a fragment struck me senseless from my horse.