Gettysburg Aftermath

The invasion of Pennsylvania had many features of interest to our army. The country itself contrasted greatly with our own. It was rolling in plenty, high cultivation was apparent on all sides, and the ripening wheat stood tall and golden. General Lee's orders caused it to be well protected, and there was not much looting. The people seemed a queer lot. Hostile looks and imprecations were constantly leveled at the good-natured Southerners footing it amid such new scenes. The cherries were ripe and the trees bending with delicious fruit. I recall one especial tree near Chambersburg that seemed beyond all others to tempt me. Sitting quietly in saddle, branch after branch was gently drawn down to the rider's thirsty lips almost to repletion, and good is the recollection even to this present day. The roads were magnificent in our eyes—metaled macadams, bearing the heaviest loads, and well drained and graded. The animals were nearly all for farm use, great lumbering, powerful horses, capable of enormous draughts on those hard roads, but quite impossible to do anything out of a heavy walk. We thought to renew some of our quartermaster's and cavalry mounts from this source and a few horses were got across the river. They proved useless and were soon abandoned. As we marched, the people were drawn to the roadside arrayed in their Sunday best, gazing viciously at the invaders. All work in town and country had stopped. Chambersburg being quite a town, was subject to requisition, which did not, I think, yield much.

We "persuaded," however, the principal shopkeepers to keep open, and they displayed some of their wares, doubtless old or unsalable stuff that they could not hide. Everything was strictly paid for in our national currency—Confederate bills!

I did get something, however. Our good commissary, Major Moses, managed to secure (by payment, of course) a bolt of excellent velveteen, wearing quite as well as corduroy. Indeed, he got some of the latter also, and sent the plunder to our headquarters, where the stuff went around sufficiently to give me a coat and trousers, which did good service, I think, till the end of things. He also managed to get a few felt hats, and deserved more, for he was grumbling furiously at the ill success of his important requisition for cash, stores, and army supplies; also for the sound rating and liberal abuse he had taken from the irate females in furious rage at his work.

Lee and Longstreet were bivouacked near by in a beautiful grove of large trees not far from town. They both had many visits from citizens, generally with some trumped-up complaint as a means of seeing the two celebrated soldiers.

The women of the country were a hard-featured lot. The population, principally Pennsylvania Dutch, are an ignorant offshoot of a certain class of Germans long settled there.

Many can speak no English. A hard-working, thrifty class, with, it seems, no thought but for their big horses and barns, huge road-wagons like ships at sea, and the weekly baking, and apple-butter. This last appeared to be their staple food. On the morning of the 3d, already mentioned, waking in my fence-corner, I took thought of breakfast and sent my man to an abandoned farm-house near by. The terrible shell and musketry fire of the previous day had driven off the owners hurriedly, for safety. But here was food galore. My soldier came back loaded with loaves of well-baked bread and jars of apple-butter—a week's baking of the bread, and the abominable butter once a year, I suppose. It did for once or so when very hungry, but I don't call it a nice breakfast anywhere.

The drain of war had not here shown itself—none of the men out of this populous region seemed to have gone to the front. There was no need. The Government, the State, counties, towns, and villages were all paying great bounties for the substitutes. The drafted man was serving at home, and there was joy at so much money among the foreign mercenaries brought over by the rich Northern and Eastern States, and among the ever-present and agile bounty-jumpers, who were indeed making their golden harvest.

Our British friend, Colonel Freemantle, was bound to see everything. During one of the hottest hours of fire he climbed a tree with great agility, and notwithstanding I bawled to him to come down, there he stuck with his binoculars. He was a very small, slight man, wiry, and much enduring. I don't believe he changed his clothing or boots while with us, and I never saw him use a note-book or any scrap of paper as an aid to memory, and yet his book puts down things with much accuracy.

In this great campaign and battle the numbers and casualties and lists may be fairly accepted as follows: Col. W. H. Taylor's figures as to strength—Army of the Potomac, of all arms, 105,000; Army of Northern Virginia, of all arms, 63,000 or say 50,000 infantry, 8,000 cavalry, 5,000 artillery.

His figures are about right as to the Army of Northern Virginia. They would be verified by those of our own corps.

Confederate losses, 2,292 killed; 12,709 wounded; 5,150 missing.

It was about this time that Lieut. F. W. Dawson, C. S. Artillery, reported to our corps for duty. A few words of the career of this young man may not be without interest. He was an Englishman of university education, able and capable. He had come to see hard service. Colonel Manning, chief of ordnance, wanting some assistance at that time, I assigned Dawson to do duty with the ordnance train. He was thoroughly competent, and made himself indispensable to Manning, whose taste took him more to adventures in the field. Dawson was made captain and also acquitted himself well under fire. With return of peace I lost sight of him until a year or two later he turned up as the able and aggressive editor and part proprietor of a leading newspaper of Charleston, South Carolina, and had reason to call for my help in a dangerous crisis. He was strongly on the respectable white side in the dark days of reconstruction, was bold and unflinching, showed extraordinary abilities, made many friends, married, and was assassinated at the very height of an adventurous career.

This is curious in the way of happenings. It has been mentioned that the soldier who passed the night at Fredericksburg with me inside the enemy's lines was Private Jesse Beall. It has not been said, though, that my staff comrade and friend, Manning, had been desperately assailed, stabbed almost to death, by a fellow-student at the Georgia Military Institute. Manning recovered after long care, spoke only once, even to me, of what had happened, and then with a curious tension of feature. Another time we were riding together across fallow fields near camp, when a soldier came out, saluting us, and asked to speak with Colonel Manning. On rejoining me, Manning's face was set and deathly pale. "Sorrel," he said, "that was the man who came so near murdering me. I had sworn to kill him on sight, and it was all I could do to stop myself while he stood by my horse. But he had a tale, and I believed him. It was remorse and horror of his deed. He humbly begged my forgiveness. Nothing else would content him, and I yielded to the man's suffering and evident sincerity. I gave him my hand in parting, but never do I wish to see him again." It was Jesse Beall, Manning's assailant, and my man of the batteau. He was afterwards killed in battle.

On a hot day's march across the river, General Lee, Longstreet, and their people had made a short midday halt in a little rising grove by the roadside, where we found a spring to wash down our soldier's fare. It was the hottest of July days, and the troops were moving by in long column, listlessly, and suffering from the heat. Soon I saw one of the men leave the ranks and approach General Lee. Some one tried to stop him, but the General kindly encouraged his coming forward. He was a stout, well-built soldier, equal to any work, but sweating awfully. "What is it you want?" said Lee. "Please, General, I don't want much, but it's powerful wet marching this weather. I can't see for the water in my eyes. I came aside to this old hill to get a rag or something to wipe the sweat out of my eyes." "Will this do?" said the General, handkerchief in hand. "Yes, my Lordy, that indeed!" broke out the soldier. "Well, then take it with you, and back quick to ranks; no straggling this march, you know, my man."

Lee's talk and manner with the soldier were inimitable in their encouraging kindness. It is only a single little example of what he was with them.

At Gettysburg, on the 3d, I lost another dear personal friend, Captain John C. Fraser, of Georgia, commanding a battery of artillery. He was working it most effectively in action when struck down. Only a few days before he made me a visit, and noticing his very bad hat, I sent him off rejoicing in one of the felts Major Moses had given us. Then it pillowed his shattered head.