Crossin' into Maryland

[Glorybound]

Portion of a rebel soldier's description of his entering the state of Maryland in early September 1862.

"In an hour after the passage of the Potomac the command continued the march through the rich fields of Maryland. The country people lined the roads, gazing in open eyed wonder upon the long lines of infantry, that filled the road for miles, and as far as the eye could reach, was the glitter of the swaying points of the bayonets. It was the first ragged Rebels they had ever seen, and though they did not act either as friends or foes, still they gave liberally, and every haversack was full that day at least. No houses were entered -- no damage was done, and the farmers in the vicinity must have drawn a long breath as they saw how safe their property was in the very midst of the army.

On the 10th the Seventeenth defiled through the long avenue of Frederick City, and we were rather disappointed at our reception, which was decidedly cool. This wasn't what we expected. It is true the streets were generally well filled with citizens, and the balconies and porches too, but there was positively no enthusiasm, no cheers, no waving handkerchief and flags -- instead a deathlike silence -- some houses were closed tight, as if some public calamity had taken place; there were many friendly people in the windows and doors, but they seemed afraid to make any manifestation of their feelings -- only smiling covertly."

The following intercepted letter, from a Union lady in Frederick to a friend in Baltimore, thus speaks of the passage of our army.

Frederick City, Maryland, September 13th, 1862.​

I wish, my dearest Minnie, you could have witnessed the transit of the Rebel army through our streets a day or two ago. Their coming was unheralded by any pomp and pageant whatever. No bursts of martial music greeted your ear, no thundering sound of canon, no brilliant staff, no glittering cortege dashed through the streets, instead came three long dirty columns, that kept on in an unceasing flow. I could scarcely believe my eyes; was this body of men moving so smoothly along, with no order, their guns carried in every fashion, no two dressed alike, their officers hardly distinguishable from the privates -- were these, I asked myself in amazement, were these dirty, lank, ugly specimens of humanity, with shocks of hair sticking through the holes in their hats, and the dust thick on their dirty faces, the men that had coped and encountered successfully, and driven back again and again our splendid legions with their fine discipline, their martial show and colour, their solid battalions keeping such perfect time to the inspiring bands of music? I must confess, Minnie, that I felt humiliated at the thought that this horde of ragamuffins could set our grand army of the Union at defiance. Why it seems as if a single regiment of our gallant boys in blue could drive that dirty crew in the river without any trouble. And then, too, I wish you could see how they behaved -- a crowd of boys on a holiday don't seem happier. They are on the broad grin all the time. Oh! they are so dirty! I don't think the Potomac river could wash them clean; and ragged! -- there is not a scarecrow in the cornfields that would not scorn to exchange clothes with them; and so tattered! -- there isn't a decently dressed soldier in their whole army. I saw some strikingly handsome faces though; or, rather, they would have been so if they could have had a good scrubbing. They were very polite, I must confess, and always asked for a drink of water, or anything else, and never think of coming inside of a door without an invitation. many of them were bare footed. Indeed I felt sorry for the poor, misguided wretches, for some were limping along so painfully, trying hard to keep with their comrades. But I most stop. I send this by Robert, and hope it will reach you safely. Write to me as soon as the route is open. * * * * * *

Kate​

.​

http://www.civilwarhome.com/highprivate1.htm


Stop for now.

Respectfully,
Leland


​

​

 

[M E Wolf]

Dear GloryBound;

Great post.

This is what I found on the issue, perhaps add to the weight of the letter--

A Guide-Index to the Official Records Of The Union And Confederate Armies, 1861-1865
Volume II:Main Eastern Theater of Operations
MARYLAND
Frederick [City], atlas 136:E-7.
-----evacuation by Union forces Sept. 6, 1862, 107:U136.
-----skirmish near, Sept. 10 [8?], 1862 (Maryland Campaign), 27:Ev157. Not entered in battle lists (a) (b) (c). NOTE:This entry is either misdated or entirely erroneous. The fact that there is no corresponding entry in battle list (c) indicates that recognition was given this skirmish only in the final stages of editing the reports of the Maryland Campaign. No basis for recognition has been found except possibly the reference at 27:535 under the date Sept. 10 to a reconnaissance toward Frederick from Maryland Heights. The report of this reconnaissance at 27:545 indicates that it captured a number of the enemy on Sept. 8 about a mile and a half from Frederick. See also 27:586, 723, 725, 738. This operation is not otherwise recognized. Union cavalry did not approach Frederick from the direction of Washington until Sept. 12 (27:209, 815), but several unrecognized and poorly documented cavalry reconnaissances eastward from Maryland Heights seem to have been made on Sept. 7 and 8 (27:534, 535).
-----skirmishes Sept. 12, 1862 (Maryland Campaign), 27:Ev157, In1140 (Frederick City); 28:In760. Disregard index reference in Serial 27 to report of McClellan and see also 27:42.
-----skirmish June 21, 1863 (Gettysburg Campaign), 43:Ev3; 44:In1048; 45:In1150. See specifically in 44:26 and cp. 44:203; 45:253, 260, 261; Moore, 7:15 (diary of events). Not entered in battle lists (a) (b).
-----skirmish July 7, 1864 (Early's Raid on Washington, Etc.), 70:Ev170, In802; 71:In633. See also 90:1020.
-----skirmish July 8, 1864 (Early's Raid on Washington, Etc.), 70:Ev170, In802; 71:In633; atlas 94:3. See also 90:1020.
----skirmish July 11 [10], 1864 (Early's Raid on Washington, Etc.), 70:Ev170. Union troops engaged per battle lists (a) 21st N.Y. Cav. (b) same, Cos. A, C. NOTE:This entry was based on the corresponding entry in battle list (a), which was derived from a more or less uniform notation in records of events on the return and various co. muster rolls of the 21st N.Y. Cav. The only pertinent casualty notation on the rolls of Cos. A and C is one relating to a man taken prisoner at Frederick on July 10. This place and date of capture are confirmed by Confederate prisoner of war records. Hearsay reports at 71:186, 248, 256 concur in indicating that Union cavalry occupied Frederick on July 10, against resistance according to the last two referenced. See also 70:183, 204; 90:1021.

Battle of Sharpsburg, happened on September 19th, 1862.

From the Union Medical records, there was a huge and active hospital at Frederick, Maryland.

Just some thoughts.

Respectfully submitted for consideration,
M. E. Wolf

 

[Glorybound]

Infestation in Maryland

Crossin' into Maryland: A southern private's account of his participation and experiences marching with General Lee in the General's first invasion of the North, September, 1862. (continued)

http://www.civilwarhome.com/highprivate1.htm

"Another day's march brought us to Hagerstown, where the corn fields and orchards furnished our meals. The situation, in a sanitary point, of our army was deplorable. Hardly a soldier had a whole pair of shoes. Many were absolutely barefooted, and refused to go to the rear. The ambulances were filled with the footsore and sick. Not a man among all the troops had had a change of underclothing since the army left Gordonsville, a month ago, and the consequence was that they were dirty, tattered and infested with vermin; and now I will devote a great many lines to this subject, which the fastidious had better skip.

I am writing of the lights and shadows of a soldier's life, and the two twin evils of vermin and the camp itch were important institutions. They followed Johnny Reb everywhere, staid by him, refused to leave, resisted every effort of force, opposed ever attempt at compromises, and they tarried with him until he doffed the gray uniform for a citizen's suit. Then only did both disappear and vanish out of sight and mind.

These insects, which in camp parlance were called graybacks, first made their appearance in the winter of 1861. At first the soldier was mortified and almost felt disgraced at discovering one of these insects on his person; their crawling made his flesh creep, and energetic efforts were made to hide the secret and eliminate the cause. At first the soldiers used to steal out companionless and alone, and hide in the woods and bushes, with as much secretness and caution as if he was going to commit some fearful crime. Once hid from the eyes of men, he would pursue and murder the crawling insects with a vengeful pleasure, thinking that now he would have peace and comfort of mind, ad be able to hold up his head once more before his fellow men. On his stealthly way back he would be sure to run in on a dozen solitary individuals who tried to look unconcerned, as if indeed they were in the habit of retiring in the dim recesses of the forest for private meditation.

The satisfaction he felt would not last long, in a day or two his body would be infested again, and then, desperate, he would try every expedient -- all to no purpose, it was simply impossible to exterminate them. The men would boil their clothes for hours, in a hissing, bubbling cauldron, dry and put them on, and next day these confounded things would be at work as lively as ever. Even at Fort Warren where underclothing was so plentiful that each man had an entire change for every day in the week, it was found that these pests skirmished around as usual, though where they came from and how they arrived were mysteries never solved. The salamander graybacks had more lives than a cat, and bred and propagated faster than a roe- herring. Once lodged in the seams of the clothing they remained until time mouldered the garments. You might scald, scour, scrub, cleanse, rub, purify, leave them in seathing liquid, or bury the raiment in the ground, but it was wasted labor, for the insects seem to enjoy the process and increased and multiplied under it. On this march particularly, when the troops had no change of clean clothes for weeks, the soldiers were literally infested with them, many used to place their under raiment, during the night, in the bottom of some stream and put a large stone to keep them down; in the morning they would hastily dry them and get a temporary relief. Every evening in Maryland, when the army halted and bivouaced for the night, hundreds of the soldiers could be seen, sitting on the roads or fields, half denuded with their clothes in their laps busily cracking, between the two thumbnails, these creeping nuisances -- a hundred full- fledged fathers of families was not considered an unusual number in one haul. To have a daily examination and execution was a habit just as regularly and naturally indulged in as washing our face and hands."


Respectfully,
Leland

 

[Glorybound]

Hagerstown

[]http://www.civilwarhome.com/highprivate1.htm[/B]


" In our march along the turnpike, there was not left a ear of corn, or a green apple, in the bordering fields; the soldiery made especially of cooking these vegetables, eating them raw, roasted, boiled, and all mixed in a kind of soup, filling themselves full, but still longing for the meat and bread diet. The actions of the citizens of Hagerstown showed in vivid contrast to Frederick City, for not only were the men and women outspoken in their sympathy for the Southern cause, but they threw wide open their hospitable doors and filled their houses with the soldiers, feeding the hungry, and clothing the naked, as well as their limited means allowed. I saw a citizen in that place absolutely take the shoes off of his feet, in, the streets, and give them to a limping barefooted soldier.

On the morrow, instead of advancing northward the order came to right about face, and march back on the same road we advanced up the evening before; back the brigade retraced its steps, and about 4 o'clock that evening, on the 14th, took position in a cornfield on a sloping hill. A savage attack came from the enemy on our left to break the line, but was repulsed; the musketry firing and cannonading was for a short time very severe; no determined infantry charge was made upon our brigade, though several Yankee batteries shelled the line, and a feeble attack made, which was easily checked, for the regiment was in place behind a fence. The Seventeenth only lost about half a dozen wounded."

 

[Glorybound]

M.E. Wolf, thanks for your addition from the OR's. It seems that Lee's boys had a rather unfriendly welcome in Frederick, but not the case in Hagerstown. It's strange that the attitudes would be so different from the citizens of those two towns, in the same state.

Your post has the battle of Antietam Creek (Sharpsburg) occurring on the 19th, but I believe it was the 17th.

Respectfully,
Leland

 

[Michael19103]

Not only two towns in the same state, but fairly close together, similar size.... And if someone told me that one was more Unionist than the other and asked me to guess which, I'd expect Hagerstown to be more Unionist: while Hagerstown itself is in a valley, you're getting out of the Piedmont area and into the ridge-and-valley region; I'd expect the area, culturally speaking, to be similar to the part of Virginia (just a few miles from Hagerstown) that was so Unionist it seceded from the state, and to adjacent areas of Pennsylvania.
I'm wondering whether what we're seeing is a matter of individual soldiers' perceptions, rather than reality. Anyone have any insights?

 

[ole]

I'm wondering whether what we're seeing is a matter of individual soldiers' perceptions, rather than reality. Anyone have any insights?

I'll echo the question, Michael; I'd have thought Hagerstown would be much more unionist than Frederick.

Maybe the lack of Federals in the area made it wiser for the citizens to put away their US flags?

ole

 

[Michael19103]

On the other hand, Frederick was Unionist enough that Governor Hicks moved the Legislature up there (on the pretext of Union troops passing through Annapolis after the route through Baltimore stopped working) when he was trying to keep Maryland in the Union; Catton describes Maryland as secessionist around the bay but "straight Pennsylvania west of Baltimore."
Frederick was also, perhaps apocryphally, home to Barbara Frietchie (sp?).

 

[Glorybound]

http://www.civilwarhome.com/highprivate1.htm



" That night, or rather at early dawn of the 15th, the brigade marched towards Sharpsburg; the men had not a mouthful to eat, and squads from the different companies obtained permission to forage for themselves and comrades. I was on one of these details; leaving the road and striking across the fields, we entered into a yard in the centre of which stood a fine brick mansion; we knocked at the door -- there was no response, and then after waiting awhile we entered and found to our astonishment that it was deserted. The inmates had fled in anticipation of a battle -- the fighting at Boonsboro a few hours before had evidently frightened them away. Not an article had been carried off -- the parlor door was open -- there stood the piano, the pictures depended from the wall, the curtains hung as gracefully as if some hand has just arranged its fold; we entered the dining room -- there rested the cat on the windowsill -- everything seemed so natural, it was difficult to realize that the hostess would not enter and welcome us in a few moments.

We had no time to linger, the cannon sounded their warning note; besides, we had come to get something to eat, and not to make any voyage of discovery. So finding nothing in the pantry, nor in the kitchen, we went to the spring and filled our canteens with water, then to the dairy at the foot of the hill, and discovered several buckets and cans of milk which had been placed there last night by some visible means; we filled our canteens with the lacteal fluid, and noticing the loft, a room over the dairy, we climbed up. found it a perfect storeroom. Several barrels were on stands, and on investigating the contents of one, it was found to be cider, and then the canteens were emptied of milk and filled with the juice of the apple. Then an exclamation from one of the party brought us over to him, and he showed us a barrel of apple brandy. That cider in the canteens was soon poured on the floor, and the apple jack took its place. An animated discussion took place. The whole squad, except the sergeant, wanted to carry the barrel and leave everything else behind, but then came the difficulty about obeying orders. The discussion waxed high, and to end the matter the sergeant stove in the head of the barrel with the butt of his musket, and the precious liquid that would have made glad, for a time at least, the whole brigade, poured in a useless stream upon the floor.

In the room was half a dozen tubs of apple butter, which we confiscated for the use of our comrades, and carried it off with us. Starting towards the reflected steel, that flashed in the sunlight like a beacon to the mariner, showing us where our troops were marching, we hurried after and soon caught up with them. I will drop for a second the character of a veracious chronicler, and not mention how many lips were glued long and lovingly to the mouths of those canteens. The owner's health was honestly drunk, however, none asking or caring whether he was Yank or Reb."
Source: Southern Historical Society Papers, Vol. X. Richmond, Va., Oct. And Nov., 1882. Nos 10-11

 

[Glorybound]

A High Private's Account of the Battle of Sharpsburg
By
Alexander Hunter

http://www.civilwarhome.com/highprivate2.htm​

" Late in the evening the column halted near Sharpsburg, a little village nestling at the bottom of the hills, a simple country hamlet, that none outside, save perhaps a postmaster, ever heard of before, and yet which in one day awoke to find itself famous, and the hills the locality where Rip Van Winkle lived his days. One could almost imagine he saw the shambling figure, followed by his dog, disappear up the far street, and from just such a casement Dame Gretchen must have fired her farewell shot at her lazy, good for nothing spouse.

The hamlet was deserted now -- more so probably that our Sweet Auburn, the loveliest village of the plain, ever was -- not a soul was to be seen, the setting sun tinged the windows with its glowing rays, and made more vivid the dark background of the high hills beyond. The setting sun, ah, many eyes, all unconscious, looked their last upon the glowing incandescence as they stood on the crest watching the bright luminary going down.

"O, setting sun awhile delay,
Linger on sea and shore,
For thousand eyes now gaze on thee,
That shall not see thee more;
A thousand hearts beat proudly now,
Whose race like thine is o'er."


Leland
​

 

[Glorybound]

"The 17th of September found our command in a line in the rear of Sharpsburg; we are very tired with marching, exhausted with excitement, and savagely hungry. Had we been well fed, and with nothing to do, there were none who could not have lain at ease, and enjoyed the fine view -- so rich and gaudy in the autumn coloring -- with the fair garden country spreading out all around, looking its best in the sweet morning air. But sentiment could find no place in a man who had nothing but the memory of what he had eaten to fill his stomach, and as we felt our limp haversack, the sole absorbing thought crossed each man's mind -- where is our breakfast, or our dinner, or our supper coming from? The men began to grumble at being forced to fight on an empty stomach, and a long line of famine drawn faces and gaunt figures sat there in the ranks, chewing straws merely to keep their jaws from rusting and stiffening entirely. Just at this time a cow -- a foolish, innocent, confiding animal -- not knowing soldiers' ways, came grazing up to our lines; a dozen bullets crashed through her skull, and a score of knives were soon at work, in an incredibly short space of time, quicker indeed that you could skin a rabbit, the hide of the female bovine was pared and cut off, and a ravenous pack of wolves could not sooner have laid bare her bone than did these hungry soldiers. Everything was eaten, even her tail, that was but an hour ago calmly and easily switching the flies from her back.

Some soldier skinned it, burnt it over the fire, and picked it clean in a few minutes. There were no cooking utensils in the whole regiment, not a single skillet or frying pan, indeed our rations of green corn and apples left us but little need for those articles, but something must be done to cook the beef. The soldier is an inventive genius, he can prepare and dress anything, even to making "stone soup," which by the way happened thus:

A hungry looking, lank, angular specimen of the genus Reb, appeared at the farm house of a widow lady -- not far from Gordonsville, who was noted for her niggardliness and parsimony. So close indeed, and mean was she, that a placard was nailed on her gate with the inscription: "No soldiers fed or housed here."

Respectfully,
Leland

 

[Glorybound]

The Yankees were preparing for their battle. On the heights, some two thousand yards away, fresh batteries would take their position and open; ours would reply, and so, as the hours of the forenoon wore on, the war clamor grew greater, and soon on our left the splashes of musketry, and then the steady, rattling discharges showed the battle was fairly joined.

The old cry soon came to us, "Fall in!" and, soon a line, we advanced and took our place and waited with clenched teeth and fearless front for the attack.

Respectfully,
Leland

 

[Glorybound]

A High Private's Account of the Battle of Sharpsburg
By
Alexander Hunter​

http://www.civilwarhome.com/highprivate2.htm​

Our position was directly in front of the village of Sharpsburg, on a high hill, behind a new post and rail fence; the topography of the country and the configuration of the ground was peculiar, consisting of a succession of undulating hills and corresponding valleys. The elevation that we were on sunk rather abruptly to a deep bottom, and then rose suddenly, forming another hill, the crest of which was about sixty yards from the top of the eminence where we rested. Any attacking force would be invisible until they arrived on the top of the crest opposite, and in pistol shot distance, or what we call point blank musketry range.

On our front about a mile away was Antietam creek, spanned by a bridge. This was guarded by Toombs's Georgia brigade; which was only a skeleton command, being about one fifth of its full ranks.

Our army surrounded Sharpsburg in a semi circle, and we could lie there and hear and see the raging frenzied battle on our left. The reports of the cannon were incessant and deafening; at times it seemed as if a hundred guns would explode simultaneously, and then run off at intervals into splendid file firing. No language can describe its awful grandeur. The thousand continuous volleys of musketry mingle in a grand roar of a great cataract, and together merging, seemed as if the earth was being destroyed by violence, the canopy of the battle's fume, from this vast burning of gunpowder, rising above the battlefield in such thick clouds, that the sun looked down gloomy red in the sky, while the dust raised by the mass of men floated to the clouds.

Listen! the fight has commenced down at Antietam bridge, where Toombs lies with his Georgians. The Yankees have commenced to shell their front, which, we all know, is but a prelude to the deadlier charge of infantry.

The shells begin to sail over us as we lay close behind the fence, shrieking its wild song, a canzonet of carnage and death. These missiles howled like demons, and made us cower in the smallest possible space, and wish we had each a little red cap in the fairy tale, which, by putting on our heads, would make us invisible. But what is that infernal noise that makes the bravest duck their heads? That is a "Hotchkiss" shell. Thank goodness, it busted far in the rear. It is no more destructive than some other projectile, but there is a great deal in mere sound to work on men's fears, and the moral effect of the Hotchkiss is powerful.

The tremendous scream of this shell is caused by a ragged edge of lead which is left on the missile as it leaves the gun. In favorable position of light the phenomenon can sometimes be seen as you stand directly behind the gun of the clinging of the air to the ball. The missile seems to gather up the atmosphere and carry it along, as our globe carries its air through space. Men are frequently killed by the wind of a cannon ball. There is a law of Nature which causes the atmosphere to cling to the earth, or which presses upon it with a force on the surface of fifteen pounds to the square inch. Does the same law pertain to cannot balls in their flight?

The enemy are silent, but it is the calm that is but a prefix to a hurricane. It comes suddenly and musketry at the bridge breaks out fiercely; it rises and swells into a full compass; there is sharp work going on. In about an hour Toombs's brigade came rushing back, its lines broken, but its spirit and morale all right. It retreated to the village and was reformed and held in reserve to us.

We made ready and expected to see the victorious Yankees following hard upon the heels of the retreating Rebels, but to our astonishment an hour or two of absolute inaction followed; no advance nor demonstrations were made in our front, but on the left the battle was raging as fiercely as ever. What could it mean, we asked each other, but one could solve the question.

Leland

 

[Glorybound]

Continued...

"At last towards evening their shelling was renewed. A battery supporting the first brigade replied to it. Soon came the singing of the minnies overhead. There is a peculiar tuneful pitch in the flight of these little leaden balls; a musical ear can study the different tones as they skim through the space. A comrade lying next to me, an ameteur musician of no mean merit, spoke of this. Said he, "I caught the pitch of the minnie that just passed. It was a swell from E flat to F, and as it retrograded in the distance receded to D -- a very pretty change."

It was now getting late in the afternoon, and the men were becoming cramped from lying in their constrained position; some were moving up and down, some stretching themselves, for there was a cessation of firing in our front -- an interval of quiet. It was but a short time, for the guarded, stern, nervous voice of our officer, calling, "Quick, men, back to your posts!" sent every soldier into line. And then, as we waited each man looked along the line -- the slight, thin, frail line -- stretched out behind that crest of that crest to withstand the onset of solid ranks of blue, and felt his heart sink within him. Yet who could not but feel pride at such soldiers as these; they were the fleur de mille of the army. They had kept up in this campaign solely by an unquenchable pride and indomitable will. As dirty, as gaunt, as tattered as they looked, they were "gentlemen." One could say of them, as Marshal Villars had cried our with uncontrollable enthusiasm, as he witnessed the Scotch gentry fighting in the ranks under the Chevalier St. George at the battle of Malplaquet: "Pardi! un gentilhomme est toujours gentilhomme."

Yes, that thin string of tattered men, lying there with their bright rifles clasped tight in their hands, had marched onward, and onward, though their gaunt frames seemed as if they would sink at every step, they had followed their colors on the hot, dusty march, with fatigue relaxing their muscles, closing their eyes and deadening their wills, they had dragged themselves along to the battlefield with stone bruised feet; they had kept steadily on making their allotted march, famishing, and nearly naked, covered with dust, half devoured by vermin; they marched onward, still onward, through all the smoke of battle, through the torrid heat of a summer's sun; they had followed their flags through all of this with cheers like the songs of gods.

There was a grand patriotism, and abnegation of self, a sublime devotion to the cause they had espoused, displayed by these wearied, dust stained, ragged men, that will make the pages of American history shine with splendid lustre.

Our brigade was a mere outline of its former strength, not a sixth remaining. Our regiment, the Seventeenth, that once carried into battle eight hundred muskets, now stood on the crest, ready to die in a forlorn hope, with but forty-six muskets. My company, that often used to march in a grand review in two platoons of fifty men each, carried into Sharpsburg but two muskets (the writer and one other), commanded by Lieutenant Perry. Is it a wonder that we deliberately made up our minds to die on that hill, knowing what a force must be sent against us?

All at once, an eight gun battery, detecting our position, tried to shell us out, preparatory to their infantry advance, and the air around was filled by the bursting iron. Our battery of four guns took its place about twenty steps on our right, for our right flank was entirely undefended. They replied to the enemy. During the fire a shell burst not ten feet above where the Seventeenth lay, prone on their faces, and literally tore poor Appich, of Company E, to pieces, shattering his body terribly, and causing the blood to spatter over many who lay around him. A quiver of the form, and then it remained still. Another Hotchkiss came screeching where we lay, and exploded, two more men were borne to the rear; still the line never moved or uttered a sound. The shells split all around, and knocked up the dust until it sprinkled us so, that if it intended to keep the thing up, it threatened to bury the command alive.

Oh, those long minutes that we lay with closed eyes, expecting mutilation, and a shock of the plunging iron, with every breath we drew -- would it never end? But it kept up for fully fifteen minutes, and the men clenched their jaws tight and never moved; a line of corpses could not have been more stirless.

At last! at last! the firing totally ceases, then the battery with us limbered up and moved away, because, as they said, their ammunition was exhausted; but murmurs and curses loud and deep were heard from the brigade, who openly charged the battery with deserting them in the coming ordeal. It was in truth a desertion, for instead of throwing dreadful fire upon us, they should have laid low and waited until the infantry attack was made, then every shot would have told, every shell or solid shot a help -- but they moved away and left us.

An ominous silence followed premonitory of the deluge. The Seventeenth lay with the rest of the brigade, recumbent on the earth, behind the fence, with their rifles resting on the lower rails. The men's faces are pale, their features set, their hearts throbbing, their muscles strung like steel. The officers cry in low tones, "steady men! steady, they are coming Ready!"

The warming click of the hammers raised as the guns are cocked, run down the lines, a monetary solemn sound -- for when you hear that you know that the supreme moment has come."


Leland

 

[Glorybound]

http://www.civilwarhome.com/highprivate2.htm

The hill in our front shut out all view, but the advancing enemy were close on us, they were coming up the hill, he loud tones of their officers, the clanking of their equipments, and the steady tramp of the approaching host was easily distinguishable.

Then our Colonel said in a quiet calm tone, that was heard by all, "steady lads, steady! Seventeenth, don't fire until they get above the hill."

Each man sighted his rifle about two above the crest, and then, with his finger on the trigger, waited until an advancing form came between the bead and the clear sky behind.

The first thing we saw appear was the gilt eagle that surmounted the pole, them the top of the flag, next the flutter of the Stars and Stripes itself slowly mounting -- up it rose; then their hats came in sight; still rising, the faces emerged; next a range of curious eyes appeared, then such a hurrah as only the Yankee troops could give broke the stillness, and they surged towards us. "Keep cool, men -- don't fire yet," shouted Colonel Corse; and such was their perfect discipline that not a gun replied. But when the bayonets flashed above the hilltop the forty six-muskets exploded at once, and sent a leaden shower full in the breasts of the attacking force, not over sixty yards distant. It staggered them -- it was a murderous fire -- and many fell; some of them struck for the rear, but the majority sent a stunning volley at us, and but for that fence there would have been hardly a man left alive. The rails, the posts, were shattered by the balls; but still it was a deadly one -- fully one half of the Seventeenth lay in their tracks; the balance that is left load and fire again and again, and for about ten minutes the unequal struggle is kept up. The attacking force against the First brigade, as I learned, was a full brigade, three thousand strong, and against our little remnant is a full regiment. What hope is there? None. And yet for the space of a few rounds the combat is kept up, the combatants not over thirty yards apart. We stood up against this force more from a blind dogged obstinacy than anything else, and gave back fire for fire, shot for shot, and death for death. But it was a pin's point against Pelides' spear. Our Colonel falls wounded; every officer except five of the Seventeenth is shot down; of the forty-six muskets thirty-five are dead, dying or struck down; three, myself among them, are run over by the line in blue, and throw up our hands in token of surrender.

Two of them stopped to take our small squad in charge, and the rest of their line hurried forward towards the village. As we turned to leave we saw our whole brigade striking for the rear at a 2:40 gait. The South Carolina brigade on our left had given away, and the enemy swept on triumphantly, with nothing to bar his progress and save the village, the coveted prize, from falling into their hands; but Toombs' Georgia brigade, which had been driven from the Antietam bridge early in the forenoon, had reformed in our rear, and covered the hamlet.

When a farewell glance of the ground was taken there was a sad sight; there rested the line of the Seventeenth just as they had fallen.

The three prisoners were hurried to the rear, and on reaching the opposite crest found that our fire had been very destructive; each man had probably killed or wounded his man. On the ground surrounded by a group of officers and a surgeon was the Colonel of the regiment the had charged the Seventeenth. He appeared to be mortally hurt, and was deathly pale. Hurrying us back a few hundred yards on the top of a hill, out the reach of shot and shell, captured and capturers turned to look at the scene before them. As far as our eye could reach our forces seemed to be giving ground; and as line after line of the Yankee reserves pushed forward it looked dark for the Rebels -- it seemed to us as if Sharpsburg was to be our Waterloo.

A frightful struggle was now going on in the woods half a mile or so to our left. It appeared to us as if all the demons of hell had been unloosed -- all the dogs of war unleashed to prey upon and rend each other; long volleys of musketry vomited their furious discharges of pestilential lead; the atmosphere was crowed by the exploding shells; baleful fires gleamed through the foliage, as if myriads of fireflies were flitting through the boughs, and there was a fringe of vivid, sparkling flame spurting our along the skirt of the forest, while the concussion of the cannon seemed to make the hills tremble and totter.

But a change takes place in this panorama; a marvelous change, before our very eyes. One moment the lines of blue are steadily advancing everywhere and sweeping everything before them; another moment and all is altered. The disordered ranks of blue come rushing back in disorder, while the Rebels followed fast, and then bullet hitting around us caused guards and prisoners to decamp.

What was the import of this?

None could tell, but still the reflux tide bore us back with it. At last a prisoner, a wounded Rebel officer, was being supported back to the rear, and we asked him, and the reply came back; "Stonewall Jackson has just gotten back from Harper's Ferry, those troops fighting the Yankees now are A.P. Hill's division."


Leland

 

[Glorybound]

http://www.civilwarhome.com/highprivate2.htm


" Well, we felt all right, if Old Stonewall was up, none need care about the result.

Still forward came the wave of gray, still backward receeded the billows of blue, heralded by warning hiss of the bullets, the sparking of the rifle flashes, the purplish vapor settling like a veil over the lines, the mingled hurrahs and wild yells, and the bass accompaniment over to our left of the hoarse cannonading. Back we went stopping on top of every rise of the ground to watch the battle. It was nearly night, the last gleam of the sun's rays struck upon the glass windows of the houses of the little village of Sharpsburg, and made them shine like fire, brighter, more vivid, than even the flames bursting from one house that had been set on fire by an exploding shell.

At last the bridge is reached -- the stone bridge that crossed Antietam creek -- the key point of the Federal position, the weak point in their line, the spot so anxiously watched by McClellan, for he sent repeated dispatches to Burnside late that evening, as A.P. Hill bore back the advancing tide -- his order was: "Hold on to the bridge at all hazard; if the bridge is lost all is lost."

Here was the point Toombs' Georgians made such a gallant defence of the river early in the forenoon, and the dead lay thick all around.

But the battle in our front ceased suddenly, though on other parts of the field it still kept up. As we approached the bridge we were astonished to see so many troops -- not a man under ten thousand said my comrade -- and they were all fresh troops. Certainly, there was no danger of Burnside losing the bridge, with all those splendid soldiers ready to defend it. Had those men advanced early in the day, instead of being held back, it would have been a black day for the South, and the Yankees would have gained a glorious victory, for we had no reserves, and A.P. Hill was miles away in the morning.

The ground all about the bridge was covered with the dead and wounded, for the Yankees had established a sort of field hospital here, and the desperately hurt in the immediate front were left at this point. And, besides, a fierce struggle had occurred between Toombs and Burnside's corps, and though short it was sharp and bloody. The dead were many. A group of four figures in blue lay together just as they had fallen -- all killed by the explosion of a single shell. One of the Georgians lay on his face with his body almost in two parts, looking as if he had been run over by a train of cars; a solid shot had struck him in the centre of the body. Another of Toombs's brigade was shot just as he was taking aim; one eye was still open, while the other was closed, and one arm was extended in a position of holding his rifle; which lay beside him on the ground. Death had been sudden, instantaneous and painless. The gun had been fired; a spasmodic contraction of the fingers had probably pressed the trigger and set loose the prisoned missile.

Night came at last, stopping the carnage of the dreadful day, and the tender, pitiful stars shone in the vast dome above and looked down upon the scene of desolation and death. The firing had ceased, and only the sound of the groans, unheard before, of the stricken, the maimed, the dying, and a murmuring breeze stealing across the hills in plaintive sympathy.

We were carried on the other side of the steam and placed among our other prisoners taken in the battle -- representatives from every command in our army -- numbering some five hundred, with about a dozen officers. A guard being placed around us, every man's freed spirit was soon soaring away wherever his fancy led him, and slumber for a time held all in her silken chain."

The End

Source: Southern Historical Society Papers Volume XI. Richmond, Va., January, 1883. No. 1
This page last updated 11/26/06

 

[Glorybound]

The first thing we saw appear was the gilt eagle that surmounted the pole, them the top of the flag, next the flutter of the Stars and Stripes itself slowly mounting -- up it rose; then their hats came in sight; still rising, the faces emerged; next a range of curious eyes appeared, then such a hurrah as only the Yankee troops could give broke the stillness, and they surged towards us. "Keep cool, men -- don't fire yet," shouted Colonel Corse; and such was their perfect discipline that not a gun replied. But when the bayonets flashed above the hilltop the forty six-muskets exploded at once, and sent a leaden shower full in the breasts of the attacking force, not over sixty yards distant. It staggered them -- it was a murderous fire -- and many fell; some of them struck for the rear, but the majority sent a stunning volley at us, and but for that fence there would have been hardly a man left alive. The rails, the posts, were shattered by the balls; but still it was a deadly one -- fully one half of the Seventeenth lay in their tracks; the balance that is left load and fire again and again, and for about ten minutes the unequal struggle is kept up. The attacking force against the First brigade, as I learned, was a full brigade, three thousand strong, and against our little remnant is a full regiment. What hope is there? None. And yet for the space of a few rounds the combat is kept up, the combatants not over thirty yards apart. We stood up against this force more from a blind dogged obstinacy than anything else, and gave back fire for fire, shot for shot, and death for death. But it was a pin's point against Pelides' spear. Our Colonel falls wounded; every officer except five of the Seventeenth is shot down; of the forty-six muskets thirty-five are dead, dying or struck down; three, myself among them, are run over by the line in blue, and throw up our hands in token of surrender.

The above paragraph, more than any other in this diary, is where "the rubber meets the road" for me. You can find similar stories by soldiers, almost verbatim, at times, in every major clash, and many minor clashes in that war. The words above, came from a Confederate, but easily could have been spoken by a yankee as well. "The moment of truth", so to speak. "Seeing the elephant", for those whose dreams or nightmares of their first battle were now a deadly reality. How did they do it? What made them stay in formation, waiting...and waiting, for that moment when the gilded eagle becomes the flag - becomes the flag on the pole - becomes the faces, the grim determined faces - becomes the full blue or gray uniforms, and the muskets? The moment for which they had trained, forever it must have seemed. How would I do in that situation? How would you do?

Bless them all, both sides. They were courageous men and boys, scared - scared of being killed or hideously, painfully wounded - scared of losing their nerve and running away in full view of their comrades. They were brought there to that moment in time, to that field of battle, through different personal journeys, where time stopped. They were and would be, before the first volley was fired - the volley that would rattle them to their core, and forever stay in their memories, dead or alive... all of them, Americans.


Respectfully,
Leland

 

[ole]

Wow, Leland! Just......WOW!

ole

 

[101combatvet]

Thanks so much for posting this information and the source website.

 

[Glorybound]

Thanks so much for posting this information and the source website.

You're more than welcome 101. I happen to live very near your base at Ft. Campbell. Nice to see you on the board.

Sir Ole, thank you for your compliment. Much appreciated.

Respectfully,
Leland