Battery L, 1st Artillery Regiment (Light) - George Breck Columns: Chapter 11: “The Roar Of Artillery Shook The Earth” Antietam, Sept. 10, 1862 – Sept. 22, 1862
1st Artillery Regiment (Light)
Battery L
George Breck Columns
Chapter XI:
Lee’s achievement during the Second Bull Run campaign was remarkable. “Less than a month earlier the main Union army had been only twenty miles from Richmond,” James McPherson has written. “With half as many troops as his two opponents (Pope and McClellan), Lee had shifted the scene to twenty miles from Washington, where the rebels seemed poised for the kill.” Lee was not about to rest on his laurels, however. He determined to cross the Potomac and invade the North. Much was at stake. An invasion of Maryland might bring that state into the Confederacy. At the very least, Lee’s ragged, hungry soldiers could feed themselves on the “fat farms” of Maryland and Pennsylvania, and spare Virginia’s farmland during the harvest. A successful campaign might induce European powers to recognize the Confederacy, might bolster Peace Democrats in upcoming Northern elections, might even lead to a peace settlement. (1)
Much was at stake for the Lincoln administration as well. Lincoln had concluded that the slavery issue could no longer be separated from the conflict. Slavery was a vital part of the southern war effort, freeing up that many more white soldiers for the Confederate armies. However, Lincoln was persuaded to postpone issuing his Emancipation Proclamation until it could be given added credibility by a Union victory.
Despite his misgivings, Lincoln pinned those hopes on McClellan. Pope’s soldiers were incorporated into McClellan’s Army of the Potomac. Morale skyrocketed as the news swept the ranks. But there was little time to lose. Within days, the Union soldiers were marching into Maryland in pursuit of Lee’s invading army.
Camp near Mechanicsville, Md.
Sept. 10, 1862
(Appeared Wednesday, Sept. 17, 1862)
Dear Union: -- “Good bye, old Virginia.” So said one of the boys of Reynolds’ Battery as on the morning of the 7th inst., between the hours of 4 and 5 o’clock, we ceased to tread the sacred soil of the above rebellious State, and began to cross the Potomac over Aqueduct Bridge into the District of Columbia. “Good bye,” was the echo from our own heart, as we thought of all we had experienced, the many scenes we had witnessed, and the thousand and one events that had occurred, as associated with our battery since we first disembarked from the cars at Harper’s Ferry, the 26th of May, up to the time that we were then leaving the “old Dominion.”
For nearly three months and a half we had been in the field, had performed a series of marches and countermarches, mostly through a mountainous country of hundreds of miles; had born hardships and privations of no small number and consideration, though relieved in many instances by agreeable features incident to camp life, had been in five engagements within the space of two weeks, two or three of them as hotly and sharply contested ones as the most courageous need ever desire to participate in, and we are now entering the city whence we had left a few months previous, menaced by the enemy and which, alas, we still found in the same bad condition, the enemy in front, thundering as in months gone by with artillery to gain admittance, and having become so bold as to cross the Potomac and invade the free states of our once united but now distracted and dissevered Union. We never thought if permitted to return to our Nation’s Capital, as a company, that it would be under circumstances of a more war-like nature than when we took our departure from it, with the confident expectation that we were going forth to triumphant victory, the precursor of a speedy and permanent peace over our whole land. Instead, however, of returning with the Stars and Stripes emblazoned with victory, and peace inscribed on our country’s flag, the war cloud, so small at first, was now larger and blacker than ever and the story of the “beleaguered capital” was again being read or told in every house throughout the north. No wonder that our thoughts were sad and we felt really disheartened, but then why despond with “God overhead” and with faith in the justness and holiness of our country’s cause, always darkest just before daybreak!
But time will not permit our indulgence in such reflections. Perhaps our friends are anxious to know when we left Upton Hill, where my last letter was written, and where, as remarked in that communication, we expected to remain for a few days to rest and recuperate. Our rest was of very brief duration; in fact, we had just been fortunate enough to obtain our baggage and camp equipage, pitch our tents, procure a good supply of rations, and get all ready to enjoy a little recreation, when orders came to move again. They came Saturday evening (Sept. 6). We were told that our destination was Leesboro, Maryland, and we must be ready to march immediately. Of course, this put a quietus on all prospects of dreaming away care and fatigue that night, but we didn’t take it very seriously at heart, for we had become perfectly inured to marching orders, no matter under what circumstances they might come. A little while found us all prepared to respond to orders. The night was beautiful, almost as bright as day. The moon was on duty and her beams were brilliantly reflective. We hadn’t proceeded but a few rods before the command came to halt, and halt we did for three, if not four long hours in the road, catching a little sleep the best we could, disposed in a manner entirely different from that accustomed to enjoy at home. Oh the romance of a soldier’s life! We did think, when first we entered the field, and indeed went so far as to say it in the columns of your paper, that there was a deal of the romantic associated with war, but we have learned a thing or two since then. We were green in the experiences of army life at that time. “Romance has been kicked out of the army,” so some newspaper correspondent has said, and it is not far from the truth, though we still insist that there is something of the real romantic in army marches and army encampments – not a bit of it in fighting however – when the former are made in propitious weather over nice roads, through a picturesque and diversified country, and during moonlight nights, and when the latter are in beautiful fields, or picturesque valleys, amidst streams and springs of pure water, with fresh air, and when come night, there are camp fires or lights, a thousand of them it may be, burning and glimmering, making the scene look like a fairy one.
But to come back to our march. A little after midnight, we started again, and about dawn we reached Aqueduct Bridge. We had passed Fort Corcoran and several new encampments, the latter reminding us when we first commenced soldiering and had nice white tents, placed in rows, “straight as a string,” and when we had good clean clothes, new jackets, new pants, new caps, etc. What a contrast between our new brethren in the field, and we “old veterans!” They were fresh in the service of their country, had seen and felt but little toil and hardship, dressed well, fared well, and lived in handsome houses, -- cotton to be sure, -- but handsome, nevertheless. We “old veterans,” as we prided ourselves, were sun-burned, toil-worn, weather-beaten, considerably ragged and dilapidated in personal appearance, slept on the ground or in the road, coverless or almost so, lived very frequently on what we could pick up, and were rough in looks, and apparently very poor in this world’s effects. It is quite amusing to hear our new recruits talk of their hardships and privations. For instance, they have been heard to tell of the deprivation they have suffered in the way of butter, soft bread, a good night’s rest, etc. But we need not say anything on this score, as we used to narrate such pitiable stories when we first “went for a soger.”
It being Sunday when we made our entrance into Washington, everything was very quiet. Our recollections of the Capital were all of a very muddy character, as all the time we spent in Washington in the winter of ’62 we spent in mud – mud of all depths. We saw nothing of the kind this Sunday morning. There was a little dust, but not enough to make it uncomfortable. It was a lovely morning, and as we wended our way up Pennsylvania Avenue, which now has a horse railroad – passing one public building after another, the property of Government, passing the White House, whose columns in front were draped in black, mourning the death of one who had once occupied it as President of the nation (2); passing the War Department, where more busy and solemn scenes had been enacted in the last fifteen months than ever before; passing the Treasury building, which was dispensing daily millions of dollars for the defence and salvation of our country – while thus wending our way on this quiet Sabbath morn, our thoughts went back to the time when all was peace and prosperity, when there was no tramp of armed men, and rattle and clangor of war carriages in the broad and beautiful avenue through which we were marching on our way to find and fight the enemy, who is trying to overthrow our Government and ruin our country; and then we thought, what of the future?
But I am forgetting that I am writing a letter descriptive of our march. The whole of General King’s division was with us, our battery marching in rear of Patrick’s brigade to which we are assigned for the present. Gen. Hatch was and is acting commander of the division, Gen. King being sick. King’s division was among the last of the old troops to leave the defences of Washington in pursuit of the rebel army. It has been in most all if not all of the late fights, and the ranks of the several brigades composing the division have been greatly reduced on the battle field. Patrick’s brigade, which three weeks ago numbered some 2,800 strong, now numbers about 1,400 only. It is made up of New York regiments entirely, the 20th, 21st, 22d, 23d, and 35th. (3)
Sunday noon (Sept. 7) we rested for a little while two or three miles north of Washington, near Pleasant Hospital. We visited the hospital thinking we might find some of our sick boys there, but did not. The name of the hospital describes its character, and all the hospitals in and about Washington are perfect in every particular. (4)
We observed several churches used for hospital purposes, and among the number the church of the Epiphany of the “high” Episcopal order, so high, we remember, that when we were encamped in Washington and went to church one Sunday with some of the company, we tried to gain admittance into the above place of worship. The cold shoulder was turned to us, however, and we were notified by looks and acts that we were not wanted in that sanctuary. It was of the secesh school, as well as the “high church” class, and Union soldiers were an eye sore to its pastor and members. We couldn’t help experiencing a feeling of no little gratification at seeing what a conversion “the church of the Epiphany” had undergone. It was no longer a school for teaching or countenancing treason and rebellion, though, alas! there were those within its walls who were nobly suffering as a consequence of trying to suppress and crush this treason and rebellion.
When we renewed our march on Sunday, it had become very hot and dusty; the road was filled with teams, and thousands of troops were pushing forward, -- where? was the question. – We passed several forts, and it seemed as if Washington was surrounded, as I suppose it is, by a chain of forts and fortifications. If ever the city is taken, it will be our own folly, or the folly of our Generals.
We were now in the State of Maryland. The complexion of the country is different from that of Virginia, and the farther we have advanced in it, the more apparent has this fact been. More beautiful houses, with finer and more ornaments, grounds, more cultivated fields and farms, and everything of a more civilized and tasty character than we saw or found in Virginia. A march of some ten miles found us near Leesboro, where we encamped till the next day, when we removed two miles further north and encamped in a very pleasant spot, where we expected to remain certainly for a day or two. The men were all exhausted, our horses were almost a rack of bones, and indeed the company needed recruiting in numbers and strength, and partially reorganizing. We had half a company only in point of numbers, and this had obliged the boys to do double duty. (5) Our case was reported to General Hatch, and a promise was made that our wants would be attended to. But scarcely before the lapse of twelve hours when marching orders again came, and we moved to Mechanicsville, or near it. Here we halted another twelve or eighteen hours, when we marched to Brookville.
A night’s rest was afforded us here, and yesterday we again took up our line of march for where we are at present – very near Lisbon, arriving here last night. Orders have just come to be ready and march again. We are constant and rapid travelers as you perceive, and I presume we shall be kept on the move until we find the enemy or till we “give out.” The latter is not impossible considering our condition, but we shall stick to it of course as long as we can. With few exceptions the health of our reduced company continues good, and the best of spirits prevail.
Capt. Reynolds is in hopes to be able to send one of the company to Rochester to recruit, but he has not been permitted to as yet. Some of the old companies or regiments are being replenished with recruits from the recent new levy. Ours may be. Where we are destined we can only surmise. We think we are on the way to Frederick. We have run across no rebels as yet, though it is reported they are in such strong force not twenty miles from here. Wonder if they really are. Their movements are strangely mysterious ( –) befogging, apparently, great as well as little minds. We feel as though we were in search of something visionary, but it may turn out something very real. We know that McClellan has a host of troops on this side of the Potomac, and our confidence in his wisdom and generalship warrants us to believe that there is work for us to do in Maryland, and perhaps very soon.
The secesh of this place are getting more than they bargained for when they besought Stonewall Jackson to come and “liberate” their oppressed State. Their farms and fields are being “liberated” of forage, fruit, grain and the like; they feign, we believe, would cry “enough.” It is sad, very sad, to see these beautiful farms devastated, and the Union men of Maryland have our deepest sympathies. They are protected, however, and their property, as far as possible.
Our baggage, which was missing when we last wrote, turned up at our old camp, Camp Barry. We thought it was destroyed in the rebel raids on Catlett Station or Manassas Junction. Our mail hasn’t “turned up,” however. Four weeks now since we had any, with two exceptions. General King’s, not Keys’, is our division, and letters and papers will be directed accordingly, care King’s division. I began this near Mechanicsville, but end it near Lisbon. G.B.
Those “strangely mysterious, befogging” movements of Lee’s army were suddenly clarified when McClellan benefited from perhaps the biggest break of the war. A copy of Lee’s marching orders, wrapped with three cigars, were inadvertently discarded, then discovered by Union troops. The copy disclosed that Lee had divided his smaller army into four parts on the other side of South Mountain, including three columns under Jackson sent to capture Harpers Ferry. McClellan, with 30,000 to 40,000 more soldiers, could gobble up the separate pieces of Lee’s army, one piece at a time – if he moved quickly. However, McClellan once again exhibited too little dash, and too much caution. Eighteen hours passed before his troops were actually in motion toward the passes in South Mountain. After pushing past Confederate defenders in sharp fighting at Turner’s and Crampton’s gaps on South Mountain, McClellan arrived on the banks of Antietam Creek opposite Sharpsburg on Sept. 15. Lee had only 15,000 men on the far bank to oppose McClellan’s 60,000. And yet McClellan, convinced he faced a much stronger force, spent the rest of that day and all the next, carefully bringing up more troops, scouting the terrain, aligning his forces – and giving Jackson’s men just enough time to come up from Harpers Ferry. (6)
Battlefield near Sharpsburg, Md.,
September 18th, 1862
(Appeared Friday, Sept. 26, 1862
Dear Union: Long before this reaches its destination you will have heard of the great battle of yesterday, near the place mentioned in the date of my letter. It will be known, probably, as the Battle of Sharpsburg, and known, too, as the greatest and most terrific battle ever fought, as yet, on the American soil. So it is pronounced by many here on the field who participated in the seven days’ battle before Richmond, and in other engagements connected with the rebellion, and by those who have witnessed the severest contests since the war commenced. What the number of killed and wounded may be I do not know, but it must be very great, and much greater on the Confederate side than on our own, as was evident on going over the battle field this morning. Many, nearly all of our own dead were buried, and the wounded had all been brought off, and so had the Confederate wounded with few exceptions; but their dead lay in files—in windrows – many rods long, and so closely that their bodies touched each other; and then, all over the field, wherever the battle was waged, scattered here and there, were the lifeless remains – terribly mangled in some instances by shot and shell – of the rebel force. In greater numbers they lay, I was told, in some woods held by the enemy, where were poured shot and canister from our guns and cannon in the most destructive manner.
Reynolds’ Battery was in the fight from its commencement till near its close, and at times was engaged in very hot work. Before narrating the part we took in the strife, we will inform our readers that we broke up camp at Lisbon, where my last was written, on Friday noon of last week (Sept. 12), and took up our line of march on the Baltimore and Frederick turnpike road, passing through Poplar Springs and Ridgeville, arriving at Newmarket quite late at night, where we encamped till the next morning. When we left Lisbon, we expected to march as far as Ridgeville only, but the rebels having evacuated Newmarket, we pushed on to that place, a distance of eleven or twelve miles from Lisbon.
At Ridgeville the Union flag was displayed, which created some enthusiastic cheers amongst our brigades, and at Newmarket there was a still greater display of the good old flag, and one or two buildings were illuminated. The fact of finding such a strong Union sentiment in these towns or villages so recently occupied by the rebels caused our soldiers to give many an energetic cheer on reaching them. A Union man in Newmarket informed me that where our battery encamped the night we were there a rebel battery was placed the night previous, and in the same field, which was his property, two or three thousand of Stewart’s Cavalry were quartered. The rebels had appropriated some twenty-five or thirty tons of his hay, paying him in part with Confederate scrip and the balance with nothing. They found but few sympathizers in Newmarket.
Saturday (Sept. 13) we marched to Frederick City, arriving there about six p.m., and encamped on a hill this side of Monocacy River – a position commanding a fine view of the whole city. Monocacy Bridge is a venerable curiosity. It was built in 1809. It is constructed entirely of stone, with four large arches, is about one thousand feet in length, and a view of this structure beneath it, from either bank of the river, is one of the grandest sights we almost ever saw in the way of bridge architecture. Its immensity is one of its most striking features. At the east end of the bridge is a stone tower, resembling somewhat in appearance of a Turkish mosque. Inscribed on it are the names of the builder of the bridge, the architect, the superintendent of the turnpike road at the time of the construction of the bridge, and several other inscriptions.
Sunday morning (Sept. 14) we marched through Frederick city amidst the waving of flags and the huzzas of the citizens, demonstrating very clearly the loyalty and patriotism of the place. Many of the ladies had Union badges attached to their dresses; boys and girls were decorated with miniature flags; old men looked exultant, and a perfect ovation was received by our troops. Across one of the streets were unfurled the Stars and Stripes, inscribed with the words of the old hero and patriot, Andrew Jackson, “The Union; it must be preserved.” Yes, and it shall be preserved, was the response of every soldier’s heart as he read the sentiment and witnessed the affection displayed for our country’s banner in the city of Frederick. Such demonstrations of patriotism, so unlooked for, had a marked effect in inspiring the Union troops, and they marched along up the steep hills and mountains with a firmer and more elastic step.
We reached Middleton about noon, and just before our arrival Gen. McClellan passed along the road with staff and cavalry escort. The enthusiasm displayed on seeing him was unbounded. We shall have something more to say on this point before closing this letter. During our march cannonading had been heard most of the way, and on reaching the top of Cahoctin mountain we saw the smoke of both Federal and rebel batteries on or near the slope of South Mountain. At Middleton we went into a field to rest a little while, but no sooner had we got unhitched than orders came to hitch again and move forward. We did so, taking our position in a small field on the right of the turnpike, South Mountain being about a mile in front of us. We did not unlimber, our services not being needed, or if needed, almost impossible to render any efficient service on account of the nature of the battle ground. A few pieces only of artillery could be served effectively, as no position could be obtained to plant more. The rebels were on top of the mountain in the woods, and artillery was principally used to ascertain, if possible, the position of the enemy.
About 3 o’clock in the afternoon our forces were drawn up in line of battle, under command of Gen. Hooker, and began to move simultaneously up the slope of the mountain from the right, left and centre. Correspondents have furnished a full account of the battle that ensued, and our battery not being engaged, I shall not attempt to give any description of it myself. Suffice it to say, that soldiers never fought more valiantly than did ours, and never under more, and in all the battles I have witnessed, and never under such disadvantageous circumstances. To attack an enemy many thousand strong, and apparently very securely and safely lodged in mountain fastnesses, to march up a very high and rugged mountain, exposed to the most deadly of fires, in a steady and unbroken line, to encounter the enemy, provided with a strong defence in munitions of war, covered by woods and concealed behind stone walls, and then fairly and squarely beat the enemy, drive him up to the top of the mountain and cause him to fly precipitately down the other side, capture a large number of prisoners, and hold possession of the whole battle ground, this certainly may be called a true and decided victory, and such was the result of the battle of South Mountain, or of Hagerstown Heights, as called by some. We have to mourn the loss of a brave General killed in that desperate engagement – Gen. (Jesse) Reno. The Pennsylvania Reserves and King’s Division fought nobly. They were determined to drive the rebels from the mountain at any cost of life, and so they did, and we are glad to say without a great sacrifice of life.
However, Gen. Hatch, commanding King’s division, was wounded during the fighting. Gen. Doubleday assumed command.
Sunday night, regiments and divisions passed us on the road to Hagerstown, including many of the new troops. Monday morning (Sept. 15) we saw the 108th N. Y. Regiment. The fineness and newness of the men’s clothes was considerably worn off, and they looked as if they had already seen some hard service. (7) Lieut. (William) Bloss entertained us for a while with some amusing accounts of the experiences the regiment had undergone since breaking up camp on the other side of the Potomac. A child must learn to walk before he can run, and to insist on his doing the latter first, and expect he will do it with the ease and grace of one who has had experience in running matches, is asking and expecting too much. But there is nothing like being “broken in,” and becoming accustomed to a thing.
We took up our line of march again Monday morning, but lay in the road all the forenoon, which was crowded with troops and wagons. The number of wagons in our army is immense, we were about to remark equal to the number of men, but not as bad as that. So much luggage and “stuff” must impede the progress of the army in many instances, when rapid marches have to be made. We passed through Boonsboro late Monday afternoon, and encamped near the town that night. At Boonesboro we saw a number of rebel prisoners, and a citizen told us that the Confederates had passed through there that forenoon in full retreat. Two or three companies of the 8th Illinois Cavalry chased about a hundred of Stewart’s Cavalry through the town and beyond it, making them run their horses as if for dear life. Some captures were made. This citizen also informed us that Jackson and Lee had utterly failed in getting recruits for their army in Maryland. Perhaps three or four hundred had joined the rebel ranks, and that was all. The towns and villages which they had invaded were mainly loyal, and in many cases the citizens had fled to Pennsylvania or adjoining settlements for fear they might be impressed into the rebel service. The statements of this gentleman were true, as borne out by facts since learned, and we know what a total failure Jackson has made coming into Maryland. Instead of obtaining thousands to join his rebel horde, he has lost them in killed and wounded on the field of battle, and his deluded army have had all their bright visions of plenty to eat and drink and wear, and a good time generally in our Northern States, dissipated like a dream. We may not be able to “bag” them, as fondly hoped and wished, before they make their escape from Maryland, but we have whipped and dispirited them terribly. Many of the rebel wounded and prisoners say if they are obliged to go back into Virginia again, they will desert the army.
Tuesday morning (Sept. 16) we moved on towards Sharpsburg, but on arriving at a little settlement called Cheapville, I believe, we found most of our army drawing up in line of battle, on a hill far in front of us, this side of a ravine or river. The rebels were throwing shells into our advanced forces, but a sharp and lively reply was elicited from some of our batteries which soon silenced the enemy’s. We were stationed in a field on the left of the road till the afternoon, when we moved forward a short distance, crossed the road to our right, marched up a hill and then advanced thro’ a piece of woods, crossed the river, and then went forward about two miles through grass, ploughed, and corn fields, and about 8 o’clock at night we took up our position near some woods, where the fighting commenced. During this forward movement of our battery, heavy cannonading was going on at intervals, with now and then some infantry firing. While marching up the road, Gen. McClellan, with staff, rode by us, and what do you suppose “little Mac” did. Why he saluted every driver individually, and every cannoneer, if marching singly, in the same way. And he did it with that pleasant smile of his, which has been so often remarked about. And this was done by Major General Geo. B. McClellan, who commands all the forces of the Potomac, who ranks over all other generals in our great army, excepting Gen. Halleck. Which of our other great generals ever did this, or is in the habit of doing this, while passing a company of artillery, roughly dressed and roughly looking from the effects of long marches, severe fighting “and hardships of many kinds?” Soldiers have written, and are writing constantly about the enthusiasm manifested at the sight of McClellan. It is all true, every word of it. We can’t describe it. It beats everything we ever witnessed, and it comes from the heart. McClellan has the hearts of the whole army, every one of them. What a cheering there was yesterday noon, near the close of the battle, as he rode along the lines of the different brigades and divisions! The soldiers were perfectly wild with ecstatic delight. Caps, blankets and coats went up in the air, and the men shouted and yelled, and some of them actually cried with joy, at the sight of their General. They know he is a patriot, and they know he is a soldier. They love him, they trust him, and they will follow him no matter where he leads. And I tell you it is no unworthy love, no unwarranted trust, no following after an inefficient, unskillful and ignorant General. McClellan is a General, a great General. It was exhibited in yesterday’s battle, and has been exhibited in all of his previous battles. He may have been and may be defeated, but it has been and will be, we believe, the result of circumstances over which McClellan has had or can have no control – circumstances superceding his power to manage. But perhaps more about Gen. McClellan in a future letter.
At different times last night there was a sharp rattle of musketry by our and the enemy’s pickets, who were almost on a line with each other, in some places so near together that our own pickets quarrelled with the enemy’s to see which side of a certain fence they should occupy. Very early this morning, I think I may say before daybreak or just at dawn, there was a loud volley of musketry, followed by another and another, which made infantry, cavalry and artillery spring to arms, and which proved to be the commencement of the day’s battle. It was begun by the Pennsylvania Reserves, under command of Gen. (Truman) Seymour. As they lay asleep, their arms stacked along the edge of the woods, a volley was fired upon them by the rebels, knocking down the guns, but creating no panic or confusion, for immediately the brave boys from the old Keystone State sprung up, seized their faithful weapons and went to work in good earnest, pouring volley after volley into the rebel ranks, and driving them back.
The desperate struggle had begun, and for ten or twelve hours it continued with unabated violence. Occasionally for a few minutes there would be a lull, but then the conflict would be resumed with renewed energy and greater desperation on the rebel side. The volleys of musketry seemed to be louder than ever, and the roar of artillery shook the earth. – All our previous battle scenes, observations and experiences were small compared to this. But it is not for me to enter upon a general description of the battle. More graphic and able pens than mine must do it, and have done it ere this. My acquaintance with the scenes, incidents, the various regiments, batteries, etc., associated with and engaged in the terrible conflict is necessarily very limited, as it was necessary for me to remain with our battery, which was in three or four different positions only, and at times considerably isolated from the main forces that were engaged. The line of battle extended, as far as I could judge, about a mile and a half, from a mile to three or four miles this side of the Potomac, and was waged in open fields, woods, on hills and over an extent of ground of hundreds of acres. The rebels, as is customary, fought as much under shelter as they possibly could, but they fought to kill.
When McClellan finally attacked at dawn on Sept. 17, he still had nearly twice as many men as Lee on the field, but committed them piecemeal. The Union attack began on the far right of the Union line when Hooker sent his First Corps towards a Dunkard Church. His soldiers had to cross the Miller Farm, through a corn field – THE corn field – that became the scene of some of the bloodiest, most savage fighting of the war. As the first federal brigade – including the 104th and 105th New York regiments from the Rochester-area -- streamed back through the corn in retreat, Battery L was ordered forward, through the North Wood, across a plowed field, and into the field just north of the cornfield to help bolster the Union line…
We opened with our battery on some high ground in the field where we encamped during the night, firing on a rebel battery about 150 (1,500?) yards opposite us, more or less concealed by woods. Their reply was directed to our left, principally, where our infantry were engaged, supported by other batteries. We fired for about an hour and a half, when one of Gen. Patrick’s aides, riding up, told Captain Reynolds that the General wanted us to come and support his brigade. We proceeded to do so, marching through a grove and across a ploughed into a grass field. On reaching here Gen. Hooker ordered us to file to the left and try and form in battery on the right of a piece of woods. It was at this time that our forces had been flanked by the enemy and driven back very nearly a mile, and the rebels were charging on them in a corn field not many yards in front of us.
When we went to take a position, (James) Thompson’s battery (8), attached to Gen. (Abram) Duryea’s brigade, was engaged in pouring canister into the rebel ranks, then advancing and forcing our troops to retire; it was planted on the brow of a small hill, just this side of the corn field, and we had been ordered to go in with our battery on their left if the ground would admit. It would not admit of our doing so, and an officer rode up and remarked that it would be folly to attempt it. The balls were then flying about us, and onward was coming the enemy. Thompson’s battery continued to fire round after round, but at the loss, either killed or wounded, of nearly every cannoneer, who were being picked off by the rebel sharpshooters. Almost every horse was killed and the pieces were obliged to be left, but were afterwards recovered.
The 105th N. Y. regiment were falling back in a hurry and Gen. Duryea, who was on foot, was trying to rally them in line again. It appeared doubtful for awhile, but it was finally accomplished.
We remained at a rest, our guns limbered, anxious to get to firing if possible, but it was madness to undertake it, unless we wished to lose our pieces, horses, and very probably our lives. We therefore retired with the infantry, they falling back gradually. The cause of their repulse, I have been informed, was owing to new regiments ordered forward for their relief, but they could not or did not stand the destructive fire of the rebels, and so broke and ran, running through the old regiments, and for a time creating a kind of stampede. Matters looked dubious enough about now, and the tide of battle seemed to be going hotly and greatly against us. The rebels were yelling at the top of their voice, confident that the day was theirs. We had lost all the ground that we had gained, and could it be recovered? Patrick’s brigade had borne a noble part in charging upon and driving the enemy, and not until they were out of ammunition did they fall back. And there they checked the advance of the rebel horde, and with the assistance of a battery kept it [at] bay until reinforcements came up. The rebels did not remain long victorious. Fresh regiments of troops came to the rescue, and now the clear and distinct hurrah could be heard, which we knew came from our men, so greatly in contrast was it with the savage yell of the rebels. The hurrah assured us that our troops were recovering their lost ground. The enemy was being driven back.
We were ordered into the field again and opened fire on a battery on the right of the grass field above mentioned. The rebel battery was throwing shot and shell in our midst very lively, and it was a question whether we should be able to silence it. Our ammunition was fast becoming exhausted, our horses not being able to draw a full supply. We would fire what we had and accomplish what we could. The result was favorable. We put a stop to the firing of the hostile battery and have since learned that we damaged it greatly, not, however, without two of our men being wounded. Corporal Peter Proseus from Palmyra, while in the act of pointing and ranging his piece, was struck in both legs by the explosion of a shell. One leg received a terrible flesh wound and the other was broken. He fell, and on going up to him he remarked, “Keep on firing. Never mind me, and be sure you give it to them.” Noble man – a hero, indeed. There he lay with both legs – one mangled and the other broken – and both, it appeared, must be amputated, but not a murmur escaped his lips. On the contrary, he would not have his gun cease firing on his account, and laughingly said, “I guess I am not hurt so badly after all.” He was carried from the field and it is thought both legs will be saved. We saw him this morning and he was in the best of spirits.
Cornelius Roda from Rochester was wounded slightly in the shoulder in this engagement. When the retreat took place and the rifle and musket balls were flying in our midst so profusely three of our men were wounded, one quite seriously. Myron Annis from Scottsville was wounded in the breast and hand by a ball, the ball lodging in the palm of his hand. He was doing very well from last accounts. Levi Sharp, from Penfield, was slightly wounded in the head. Frederick Deits from Scottsville was slightly wounded near his side. Captain Reynolds had a narrow escape. A fragment of a shell passed under his arm, slightly grazing it. (9)
We had six horses killed and wounded, and one wheel disabled.
Our last engagement was in the ploughed field, with a section of another battery, where our guns were served very efficiently. We got out of ammunition, but finding a limber in the field that had been abandoned we went to it and emptied its contents, consisting of about twenty shell and some canister, which we fired.
About noon the rattle of musketry, which had been incessant since daylight, and the loud peals of artillery, ceased. The victory was ours. There was cannonading commenced by the rebels not along after, but our batteries silenced it a short time.
The fighting surged back and forth through the corn field and the nearby West Wood much of the morning, as each side attacked and counterattacked. The piecemeal nature of the Union attacks allowed Lee to shift soldiers from his center and right to plug gaps in his line.
When the fighting sputtered out on the right end of the Union line, the corn field was flattened, and carpeted with bodies. The battle shifted to the center, where Union forces succeeded in capturing a sunken lane that had been converted into a strongpoint by Rebel infantry. Had McClellan committed his reserves at this point, he could have pierced the Confederate center, which was maintained by a thin line of artillery. But he hesitated, convinced Lee was gathering a large force to counterattack. The opportunity passed.
By afternoon, Ambrose Burnside’s forces finally succeeded in crossing Antietam Creek at the far left of the Union line and approached Sharpsburg itself in the third and final phase of the battle. At the last moment, Jackson’s last division from Harpers Ferry, commanded by Gen. A.P. Hill, arrived on the field after a grueling march and attacked Burnside’s men. Many of Hill’s soldiers were dressed in federal uniforms they had captured, confusing and bewildering the Union soldiers. Burnside’s attack was stopped. The battle was over; Lee’s army was still intact. Lee kept his army on the battlefield one more day, then began his retreat.
The carnage had been awful. Nine of our Generals had been killed and wounded. The nation will mourn deeply the loss of that venerable and experienced general, Gen. (Joseph K.F.) Mansfield. (10) Every general in the field seemed to be foremost in the battle, leading and cheering on their respective commands. They appeared to be regardless, though not reckless, of all danger. And the men! Most splendidly and heroically did they perform their duty. Every regiment in Patrick’s brigade captured a rebel flag!
But again, I have written too long a letter, and a very unsatisfactory one, it seems, to your correspondent. Many items have been omitted which, I think, are of interest, but time and space will not admit mentioning them at present. I have watched a spare moment here and there amidst the pressure of business matters to write, and writing a letter for public perusal under such circumstances or in such a manner isn’t at all satisfactory.
It is very quiet to-day. Occasionally the firing of a gun can be heard. Our dead are being buried, and our wounded have been taken to the various hospitals about the field. Nearly one-third of the wounded are Confederates. The rebel dead lie all over on the battle ground. What the number of killed and wounded is I am unable to state. (11) Many of our regiments were badly cut up, and the rebel ranks were mowed down in swaths. How many more terrible battles like this must there be before the war will end? Another one is expected to-day or to-morrow.
Bad news from Harper’s Ferry. It mars the victories and success of the Union arms in the State of Maryland. (12)
Yesterday was the anniversary of the organization of Reynolds’ Battery. The 17th of September, 1861, and the 17th of September, 1862, are two days that we can never forget. The first was a remarkable event in our life as we put our name down on the enlistment roll, and the second certainly not less so. G.B.
Friday, Sept. 19.
The rebels are gone, have skedaddled across the river. They stole a march on our army last night. Maryland is again free. The traitor Lee will not issue any more of his insulting and treasonable proclamations in this State. A pity we could not have “bagged” Jackson and his horde before he made his escape. The whole army have advanced. We are now encamped in the woods the rebels occupied yesterday. They left all their dead unburied. A horrible, horrible sight we witnessed on reaching the rebel lines, in the vicinity of which, or on this side our forces were not allowed to pass yesterday. We saw hundreds of dead bodies lying in rows and in piles, and scattered all over, looking the picture of all that is sickening, harrowing, horrible. O what a terrible sight! Some of the rebel wounded were left on the field. Many of the dead had on Federal uniforms. The woods bear marks of the destructive work of our shells. Great limbs of trees are torn off, and a house near the woods is literally riddled by balls. We found a large iron cannon left behind, and everything indicates a speedy flight of the rebels. We rest to-night to go forward again early to-morrow morning.
In Camp near Sharpsburg, Md.
Sept. 22.
(Appeared Saturday, Sept. 27, 1862)
Dear Union: -- We wish to tell our readers what a pleasant, happy day Reynolds’ Battery was favored with yesterday. Not since we have been in our country’s service has there been a day fraught with more real enjoyment to the members of our company, including officers and men, than was the bright and beautiful Sunday of Sept. 21. It was a day of rest, of quietness, of joy, and to many not only of a temporal but of a spiritual, sacred character. It was the Sabbath, and we knew and felt it to be so from the observances of the day. For many previous Sundays we had been engaged in marching or fighting or amidst the noise and bustle of camp, and it was hard to determine whether they were sacred or secular days. One has to keep quite a strict track of the week to know when Sunday comes around. But not so yesterday. God’s praise and worship was celebrated in our camp by General Patrick’s brigade, to which the company is attached, and of course we were invited to be present and participate in the exercises. They took place here in these beautiful woods where we are encamped, and have been since last Friday afternoon. The exercises were of a deeply interesting and solemnly impressive character. Indeed, it was the remark of some that never in their lives, certainly not since their connection with the army, had they attended religious services which possessed more interest and greater solemnity than those held here yesterday. They were conducted by three regimental chaplains, the Rev. Mr. Robie of the New York 21st being the speaker. Their prayers and remarks were touchingly beautiful and eloquent, peculiarly appropriate to the soldier who has been engaged in the deadly strife and terrible carnage of the battle field, and who escaped unhurt from the many perils which surrounded him, and who may again be summoned at any moment to other contests where he will be exposed to the shafts of death and to all the dangers attending such contests. Thankfulness and trust in God were the speaker’s themes, and his words refreshed and inspirited the heart.
But there was another speaker who addressed the brigade besides the Reverend gentleman, and it was the brave and skillful general who has command of the brigade and who has led it most gallantly into action and brought it safely from the field – though with diminished numbers than when it entered – many a time. Gen. Patrick may not be known to many as a Christian General as well as an experienced and distinguished one, but so he is, and he is known among his men by the sobriquet, “Parson Patrick.” (13) In appearance he is stern, rigid, determined, and, perhaps, I may say, rather cold and repelling in looks, almost unapproachable it would seem, but not so in reality. This sternness and determination of character does not interfere with his kind and excellent qualities of heart, and tho’ plain and decided in speech and action, never mincing matters, he is not inconsiderate or unmindful of what is just and proper. In military matters he is a strict and thorough disciplinarian, exacting obedience to military rules and observances, and tolerating nothing in violation of them. He is an army officer and is well known to many of the citizens of Rochester. In previous letters I have spoken of the high discipline and fine character of Gen. Patrick’s brigade. Discipline so apparently harsh and sometimes even inhuman under some circumstances, has made his command what it is.
Gen. Patrick in his remarks yesterday confined himself principally to the subject of profanity, and spoke in the plainest terms of the great guilt and wickedness of the vice. His remarks were pointed, and he told his men that he had heard with inexpressible anguish many of them profane the sacred name of God even when on the battle field, with death surrounding them on every side, and some of them were, while battling with the enemy, struck by the iron missile of death and fell with curses on their lips, their souls appearing before the tribunal of the most High against whom these curses had been uttered. In a solemn, most eloquent, and affecting manner, drawing the tears from many an eye, Gen. Patrick alluded to such, who, in their great guilt, had been summoned to the bar of God and were now no longer in the ranks. He thanked his men most heartily for standing by him so nobly in time of battle, and fearlessly combating the foe and doing their duty as soldiers, but he begged of them not to profane the sacred name of Jehovah. Most sincerely do we hope and trust that the warnings and entreaties of the heroic and Christian General will be heeded by those who listened to him. The vice or practice of profanity in our army is awful. It is the leading vice, and it seems to be growing worse and worse.
General Patrick alluded to the deep religious character and sentiment that prevails among our enemies. He said that in Fredericksburg this was particularly the case, and was greatly in contrast with our own army, and our civil, political and military leaders. Whatever might be thought and said of the leaders of the rebellion, of its chief, Jeff Davis, there was one thing that they had not failed to do since the commencement of the great rebellion, namely, to recognize publicly their dependence on the Lord of Hosts and the God of Battles for success in their cause, unholy as it might be, and their gratitude to him whenever they obtained a triumph of their arms. – Whatever the motives might be in this matter, the fact is an established one, and the speaker said he trembled at times for his country and its cause when he reflected how little trust was felt or expressed by those high in authority for the Divine Sovereign and Ruler of the Universe; how greatly ignored, apparently at least. It is a terrible sin, he remarked, to forget the God of Nations in this dark and perilous hour of our land, and vain is the help of man, the strength and number of our armies, the vast resources of our country, of everything we may have, great and formidable, to combat the enemy with, unless God is with us, to bless and deliver our nation. – The Almighty will be inquired of and to ignore His authority and disposition of events is certainly to bring upon ourselves His severest judgments.
But I did not intend to quote at such length the sentiments expressed by Gen. Patrick, and yet, coming as they do from one of the bravest and best generals in our army, they are deserving serious consideration.
Now, we hain’t told our readers what contributed to make yesterday, besides the quiet and religious observance of the day, such a happy day to our company. The long missing mail arrived, and there was a jubilee over its arrival, rest assured. Five long weeks and no letters or papers from home, with one or two exceptions. No wonder there was joy when news from home was received, which had been so long delayed. A large bag full of letters and papers was distributed to the company; some of the members receiving their pockets full, and certainly their hearts full. We know of one happy individual who was the favored recipient of about a dozen private communications, and of papers enough to cover Corinthian Hall almost; and we know of another happy fellow in the company who received not less than nineteen communications – not all “coarse hand” either; and you better believe he had a “feast of reason and a flow of soul.” The mail was found at Harper’s Ferry, or rather this side of Maryland Heights. The rebels were in possession of Bolivar Heights. The pontoon bridge they built was destroyed by them. Winchester, it is reported, is to be made a “base of supplies” by the rebels. Surely it does’nt look improbable. We hav’nt forgotten the beautiful fields of wheat and grain we saw in the Shenandoah Valley when we were traveling through that “Egypt of the South.” The fields were partially green then, the crops unharvested, smiling and waving with a luxuriance that would satisfy the most covetous husbandman. Now those same fields of wheat have been harvested, and those fields of corn are fast ripening to feed whom? Stonewall Jackson told the citizens in the Shenandoah Valley that he would be back in their midst not long after his expulsion from that county, to reap and enjoy the products of their land. Is’nt he about making good his words?
Where the different forces of our army are, that were fighting in this vicinity less than a week ago, I do not know, excepting the whereabouts of the most of Hooker’s corps, now commanded by General (George) Meade. Gen. Kings’ division, now reduced to a brigade, or very nearly in point of numbers, is encamped in the same woods where we are. It is at present commanded by Gen. Doubleday, Gen. Hatch having been wounded in the battle of South Mountain. Gen. King has been relieved from command at his own request, in consequence of the ill state of his health, being subject to apoplexy.
One of our boys – Webster Eaton, from Brighton – picked up a Confederate flag, quite a large one, on the battle field of South Mountain and was in hopes that he might retain it as a relic of the war. All trophies captured or found, however, belonging to the enemy were ordered to be delivered to the commanding generals and thence sent to Washington. Eaton gave his up, but on it is pinned a piece of paper with his name, how and where he took the flag, etc.
Our battery has been reduced to a four gun battery on account of the diminished number of men we have, having men enough only, to man four pieces. Col. (Charles S.) Wainwright, who commands the 1st N.Y. Artillery Regiment – succeeding Col. Bailey who was killed before Richmond – says that as soon as the battery is filled up the pieces will be returned to us. We regret to lose one section, having come out of every contest in which we have been engaged without losing a gun or having one dismounted. We shall no longer be known among the “boys” – for a while at any rate – as “big ring,” a title given by Lt. Bower when he was with us.
Col. Wainwright is Chief of Artillery in Gen. Hooker’s corps. Adjutant Wm. Rumsey is with him. (14)
We have heard no cannonading in this vicinity since last Saturday (Sept. 20), when there was heavy firing going on in the direction of Shepardstown, or Shepardsville, south of us, near the river. We have been informed that Gen. Porter attempted to cross the river, but was repulsed. (15)
It was reported Saturday that three or four thousand rebel cavalry made a raid on Williamsport. During and after the late great battle of Sharpsburg, large numbers of Confederates surrendered themselves voluntarily into our hands. In the hottest of the engagement there were some thirty who laid down their arms and crossed over to our lines.
The pockets and haversacks of the rebel dead and wounded were found in many instances bountifully supplied with provisions – biscuit, meat, etc. This confirms the statement of many Marylanders, who said that the Confederates bought or stole barrels of flour and had it made into bread.
All the reports about the raggedness, squalidness, starving condition and forlorn appearance of the rebel army are literally true. It is an army of rags and divers colors, but their leaders seem to glory in the fact. And yet, we who are fed so well – the rations are oftentimes very short and exceedingly hard, however – but it is’nt the fault of no supplies, though it may be of Government in furnishing them – clothed so well and fare so well physically, we, the American soldiers, fighting for the dear old flag and for principles on which our Government rests, are no match for these ragged, tattered, half-starved, bare-footed rebels. Did I say we are no match? My comrades in arms wouldn’t thank me for saying that. Of course I can’t believe it, or don’t want to, but what is the matter? Why are we way back here, on the east bank of the Potomac? It is’nt the private soldiers’ fault. Heaven knows. He is a match, “Yankee” though he be, for any man of the Southern chivalry and nobility, but to prove his equality, “imbecility and treason” musn’t be allowed to step in between.
One of the members of the company, Corporal Melville Buell, who was reported missing, has been heard from. A letter was received by Capt. Reynolds the other day from Corporal Buell, in which he says that he was taken prisoner at the battle of Bull Run and conveyed to Richmond. While there, he come across three other members of the company who were left in the Hospital at Little Washington, when we took up our line of march from that place several weeks ago under the auspices of Major General John Pope. Their names are William Conner, of Rochester, and Charles Carpenter and Oliver Jones of Palmyra. They were paroled, and are now at Annapolis. Augustus Mozier, reported missing, was taken prisoner, paroled and sent to Harper’s Ferry. Probably he has been paroled again, and may now have an opportunity of fighting the Indians in the Northwest, as I understand the prisoners paroled at Harper’s Ferry are to be sent immediately to Minnesota.
Corporal Buell writes no particulars of his capture or imprisonment, promising to give them at some future time.
The company is pretty well represented now, in various sections of our country.
We are enjoying quite a rest. Three days we have been in camp, with “nobody to molest or make us afraid.” Our tents are pitched and everybody is either reading or writing.
Orders came this morning to report ourselves at Harper’s Ferry, but they were countermanded. Our dreams of quietness can’t last much longer. G.B.
Transcribed And Donated By Bob MarcotteTranscribed And Donated By Bob Marcotte
Robert E. Marcotte
Rochester, N.Y.
February 2005