Karl Bacon (15 page)

As we had done during the Mud March in January, the men of the Fourteenth remained in camp and watched as the rest of the army filed past. The Eleventh Corps marched very well, easily identifiable by the crescent moon badges they sported on their caps. Their route took them only a short distance north of our camp, but they marched almost without a sound. We did not hear them pass by and neither did the Johnnies across the river. The Twelfth Corps under General Slocum and the Fifth Corps under General Meade followed the Eleventh, also without disturbing
the peace. Fully half the army now marched west in an effort to outflank General Lee.

Day passed into night and we continued to wait. Tuesday, April 28
^th
, dawned warm with the promise of rain. Still we waited, all the while casting anxious eyes skyward.

The Fourteenth Connecticut Volunteers finally fell into line at about four o’clock in the afternoon, just as a steady but gentle spring rain began to fall. It was not enough to turn the roads into quagmires again, but more than enough to soak us to the skin and thoroughly dampen our already too-heavy knapsacks and blankets. Westward we marched toward Warrenton, then south toward the river, the same route we used whenever we went out for picket duty. After several miles of marching, the gloom of twilight darkened into night and a halt was called. The men dropped in their tracks and camped that night near Bank’s Ford. Of course no fires were allowed and therefore no coffee. Rations were eaten cold.

Wednesday dawned cloudy and warm. We broke camp early, without the usual succor of morning coffee. Burdened once again with our heavy packs, we marched to the west, away from the ford, parallel to the northern bank of the Rappahannock. The road was very rough and our bodies strained with every step. In places the road was so poor we were forced to make repairs so that our wagon trains could use the road later without hindrance. Progress was slow, but our officers assured us that we were doing important work and that we were on schedule to meet up with the rest of the army. While we worked with spades and shovels and saws and axes, we were allowed to set our packs aside, exchanging one burden for another. We filled in ruts and sinkholes; we felled trees and used the trunks and limbs and smaller branches to fill in places where muddy streams had washed the roadbed away. Our winter-weakened
muscles screamed in protest, but on we went until the daylight failed. Then we slept exhausted beside the road.

Thursday morning we continued alongside the river to a place called United States Ford. The brigade halted just before starting across and General Hays rode to the front to address us.

“Officers and men of the Second Brigade, we are about to cross the Rappahannock River into Rebel territory. I have a dispatch from Major General Thomas J. Hooker, Commanding, United States Army of the Potomac:

“‘To all officers and enlisted men of the United States Army of the Potomac: It is with heartfelt satisfaction the commanding general announces to the army that the operations of the last three days have determined that our enemy must either ingloriously fly or come out from behind his defenses and give us battle on our own ground, where certain destruction awaits him. The operations of the Fifth, Eleventh, and Twelfth Corps have been a succession of splendid achievements.’”

A few men in the ranks greeted this announcement with loud cheering, but most responded with quiet “Humphs!” or resigned shrugs of the shoulders. Another grand design was being played out and we were the pawns on the chessboard. Each man within earshot understood that whatever was about to transpire, the dreadful assaults upon the heights at Fredericksburg would not be repeated. This time, things would be different. Bobby Lee could no longer hide behind a rock wall. But we also understood that our prospects for success rested less in our own skills in battle and more in our officers and their ability, or lack thereof, to lead us to victory. General Hays turned and paraded his horse across the pontoon bridge, then waited on the southern bank while the brigade passed in review before him.

As we marched on into the land of the enemy, thick woods closed in on either side of the road. Trees overhung the road, sometimes completely shutting us off from the bright sky above.
Thick underbrush made it impossible to see more than a few yards into the woods on either side. It was dark and it was warm and it was humid. The air was thick with the strange and pungent odors of deep woods and decay. It was all too easy for me to imagine a fiendish Rebel behind every tree, just waiting for his opportunity to gun me down. I think every man sensed that we were marching into the dark unknown, and no man knew if he would ever march back out.

“What is this place?” someone asked in a hoarse whisper.

“This must be the Wilderness,” another answered, equally hoarse. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard they call it around here — so close you can hardly see your hand in front of your face at noontime.”

We followed that dark road for about five miles. As the sun sank lower in the sky and nighttime approached, the darkness became almost total. It was all one could do just to follow the steps of the man in front, trusting that the steps of all those who had gone before were sure and true. We finally emerged from the woods and turned off the road into a large clearing near a crossroad. A farmhouse stood on one corner of the crossroad, owned by a man named Bullock.

“Where are we, Sergeant?” I asked Sergeant Morrison. Sergeant Holt had fallen seriously ill during the winter and been granted a medical discharge. Morrison, a man whose capacity to lead I viewed as suspect, had been promoted in Holt’s stead.

“Well, Captain said if we just go down this road a little more, we’ll hit the turnpike into Fredericksburg about six miles west at a place called Chancellorsville. It’s just a little place, just a crossroad and an inn, nothing worth fighting over.”

Our persecutors are swifter than the eagles of the heaven: they
pursued us upon the mountains, they laid wait for us in the
wilderness.
LAMENTATIONS 4:19

A
FTER A PEACEFUL NIGHT, I AWAKENED TO A LANDSCAPE
closely shrouded in fog, hued throughout in muted shades of gray. No orders came down, so my companions and I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and savored the first real coffee we had been allowed since departing the camp at Falmouth. The Second Corps was serving as a reserve force for the rest of the army, ready to march wherever it was needed most when the fighting began in earnest. The day brightened as warm spring sunshine began to penetrate the fog.

“Second Brigade, fall in!” echoed throughout Bullock’s field. “Rifles and battle kit only! Leave your packs in the west corner of the field. A guard will be posted.” I tucked my Bible inside my jacket pocket and stacked my knapsack along with the others as instructed.

General Hays led the brigade as we marched the short
distance to Chancellorsville. Sergeant Morrison had been precise in his description of the place. The only structure of any consequence was a large brick inn at a crossroad formed by the north-south road from the ford that we were marching on and the Plank Road that ran from the western wilderness east into Fredericksburg. It was called the Plank Road because it was paved all over with wooden planks, so that, while other roads were impassible sloughs during wet weather, as every man in the Army of the Potomac knew well, the Plank Road remained firm, even under the weight of loaded wagons, and travel was eased considerably.

The Chancellor Inn was to the right side of the road on which we marched. Much of the Second Corps milled about preparing for battle. Batteries of artillery were drawn up, placed in position, and dug in. Our brigade moved a short distance off to the left of the road into some woods where we formed a line of battle.

General Hays seemed to be everywhere. He carefully positioned the four regiments of the brigade and supervised the positioning of each of the companies within each regiment so that we might have as strong a defensive position as the terrain would allow. The general made a few final adjustments here and there and then ordered us to build a barricade against the enemy. No sooner had we begun this task, than the rattle of musket fire reached our ears.

Bobby Lee had finally discovered what Joe Hooker was up to. The firing was some distance off, in front and to the right, but it certainly added a sense of urgency to our labors. The men foraged for every piece of fallen timber they could find. Branches, pine boughs, and small logs were stacked to form a low breastwork. The name “breastwork” implies that the barrier should be about chest high, but ours only rose to hip level. On the near side of the barrier, bayonets stabbed at the earth to loosen the
soil, and mess plates scooped up the life-saving dirt to fill gaps between the wooden members. Grunts and profanities filled the air, perspiration streamed from every man, but we dared not pause in our preparations until General Hays was satisfied.

The firing toward our front grew louder. Enemy troops marching westward from Fredericksburg under the command of General Stonewall Jackson had found the roads blocked by Federal infantry. Jackson attacked the Twelfth Corps under General Slocum and the Fifth Corps under General Sykes. Hour by hour, the roar of battle waxed and waned as the battle went back and forth, but then the din grew progressively louder as our boys were driven back toward Chancellorsville during the afternoon.

Federal troops continued to flow into Chancellorsville from the north. A perimeter was established around the Chancellor Inn to the east, where we were placed, and to the south and to the west, where the new Eleventh Corps was dug in. Fortifications were thrown up, more artillery was positioned, and a strongly defended line was made ready to receive the Rebel assault that everyone said was imminent. In the unlikely event that disaster befell our army and a route of escape was required, other units guarded the roads back to the river fords to the north.

After sundown the fighting to our front gradually diminished. The Fifth and Twelfth Corps disengaged from the enemy and marched back within the defensive perimeter around Chancellorsville. Our brigade remained in place throughout the night, manning the works and shivering through the chilly night, ever alert for any sign of the Rebels. Relieved by another brigade at dawn, we left our stout breastworks to the new men and marched back to our camp at the farm along with the rest of the Second Corps.

We recovered our knapsacks, built campfires, cooked breakfast, and made coffee. Then we sat and waited for orders. Musketry flared now and again, but there was no heavy fighting, so
we remained at the Bullock farm throughout that Saturday. As the sun began to sink into the trees at the edge of Bullock’s field, I took out my Bible and began to read from the prophet Daniel.

Suddenly there arose, from some distance away and to our rear, the sound of heavy fighting. We soon discovered the reason there had not been any heavy fighting during the day: Stonewall Jackson had used that time to march 30,000 of his men from our eastern flank all the way around our army to strike the western flank where the untested Eleventh Corps was.

As it turned out, the men of the Eleventh were better at running than fighting. Their officers had done a poor job of positioning them, and the units of the corps were strung out for a couple of miles along the turnpike that ran through the western wilderness. The enemy was known to be miles to the east, east of Chancellorsville where we were, so the men of the Eleventh Corps calmly and peacefully enjoyed their sojourn in the woods, oblivious to their peril. And so, when Jackson’s veterans struck the unwary troops of the Eleventh Corps, they were entirely unprepared, and it was no contest. Almost to a man, the corps broke and ran. The few that tried to resist were immediately shot down or quickly captured.

A swarm of men in blue erupted out of the western woods and made haste in our direction. Their officers screamed orders, often with threats and curses, in an effort to restore order. A few of them shot several of the fleeing men in the back with their revolvers. But the tide did not show any sign of slowing. In fact, many of the cursing and threatening officers now joined in the headlong rush for the rear, as Rebel shells and musket balls nipped at their heels. It would take swift and decisive action to check this panicked flight.

“Second Brigade, at the ready!” General Hays screamed as he raced by on his charger. “Stack packs! Load muskets! Fix
bayonets! Form line of battle along the eastern tree line and prepare to receive a charge!”

I threw my Bible into my knapsack and, along with every other man in the brigade, rushed across the field. We threw our knapsacks in a large pile and ran where our officers told us, to the edge of the tree line on the eastern side of the crossroad clearing about half a mile north of Chancellorsville. We faced the sound of battle and nervously waited for the Rebels to emerge from the western tree line. Shells from enemy guns arced over the trees and exploded in the field, driving the blue tide along with even greater fury.

Then a small band of courageous fellows stepped out in front of our line in a last-ditch effort to stem the flood of fleeing men that continued to stream through our lines, in places overrunning us as effectively as a determined enemy could. That brave small band was not armed with muskets or pistols, nor were they armed with brilliant oratory to persuade their wayward brethren with force of words. Rather, their weapons were made of brass — trumpets, trombones, euphonium, and tuba, with a pair of drummers trailing behind. Yes indeed, our regimental band, now debuting under the direction of young Charlie Merrills and only about a dozen or so strong in all, marched out between the lines and struck up “The Star Spangled Banner.” The band played for about twenty minutes, during which time they never flinched, even though they were showered several times by shell fragments. All who saw it stood in amazement, privileged to witness what was surely one of the most courageous demonstrations of gallantry during the war. Thankfully, none of our players was killed, nor even seriously injured, and when they had finished, each man was welcomed warmly back into the line with claps on the back and many a “well done!”

But, sad to say, the heartening strains of our national anthem had little effect upon the troops of the Eleventh Corps. They
continued to flow back through our line by the hundreds and thousands, unstoppable as a flood from a breached dam. I later learned that some ran so far that the Rebels on the eastern side of our army captured them.

“Second Brigade to arms!” cried General Hays. “Form on the road! Columns of four! By company!”

We quickly formed as ordered and started down the road toward Chancellorsville at the double-quick. General Hooker had established his headquarters at the inn. As we passed by, he was on the veranda waving his arms wildly, shouting orders and pointing emphatically at the western forest. Utter chaos swirled about the inn, and here and there, small groups of officers in blue tried valiantly to restore order and mount a defense of the ground. Men cheered us heartily as we pushed past them, but it was like trying to swim upstream against a raging river, since ours was the only column headed toward the enemy.

“Make way!” we cried, “make way!” as we ran down the center of the Plank Road, forcing those in flight to part before us. The Second Corps would save the army while others ran. A quarter of a mile down the narrow tree-shrouded road that led into the Wilderness, the brigade turned to the right and marched into the woods. The Fourteenth Connecticut, leading the column, marched farthest into those dense woods. General Hays came and adjusted our line several times. Then we quickly dug in and built breastworks again, knowing that the Rebels were not far off and could attack at any moment. As we faced the enemy, our regiment was at the right end of the line held by our brigade. No troops, friend or foe, could be seen anywhere farther to the right.

Presently General Hays reappeared. “Major Ellis, I see your boys have put up a fine-looking barricade. There is another brigade in front of you, from Berry’s Division of the Third Corps. You will support them. Is this the end of the line?”

“Yes, sir, General, it is,” our commander replied.

“That’s not good. Send a detail out to the right. There are supposed to be other units out there. See if you can make contact with them. This flank cannot remain exposed like this.”

“Yes, sir, at once,” answered Major Ellis, as the general turned and rode back down the line. Major Ellis summoned Lieutenant Lucas and gave the young man a few brief orders. A few minutes later, Lieutenant Lucas and a small band of men disappeared into the woods on foot.

Every man within earshot instantly knew the peril he was in, for a line of battle in the midst of dense forest without any protection on the flank was the equivalent of rising up and shouting to the enemy, “Over here! Over here! Here’s a good place to attack.”

Fighting erupted off to the left somewhere. Shouts went up and down the line. “Are they coming? Are the Rebs coming?”

“No, not yet. The firing is off to the south, probably south of the road.”

We remained on edge nonetheless, listening for any sound that might betray the presence of the enemy, the snap of a twig, a sudden flight of birds. After some time, Lieutenant Lucas’s squad returned and reported to Major Ellis and to General Hays. The men had not found any other Federals off to the right. The Fourteenth was at the end of the line.

“Lieutenant, ride back to General French’s headquarters,” ordered General Hays. “Report to him what you have just told me. We need to protect this flank. We need at least two more brigades here, or we’re in great peril. Tell him that—those exact words. Ride fast, Lieutenant, ride fast!”

With a crisp “yes, sir” and an even crisper salute, Lieutenant Lucas mounted his horse and galloped away. General Hays, obviously distressed, talked with Major Ellis quietly for some time.

About an hour later, Lieutenant Lucas returned. “General Hays, sir,” he began, “Major General French sends his compliments and thanks for your part in stopping the advance of the enemy. He says that you need not worry about the right flank here. He says that he is well aware of the situation and that he will address it personally.”

“When can we expect help to arrive?” the general asked.

“He didn’t say, sir.”

General Hays cursed. “I still don’t like it. We need support on that right flank
now!
There must be no delay. Major, I believe the rest of our line is sound enough, and as we are in the most danger here, I will remain with your regiment until such time as the promised help comes up in support or we are attacked elsewhere.”

“Very well, General,” said Ellis. “Those are Jackson’s men over there, aren’t they, sir?”

“Yes, I think so, Major. Why do you ask?”

“Well, sir, they say Jackson’s a devout Christian man and since tomorrow is Sunday, do you think he’ll attack us on the Sabbath?”

“I’ve known Thomas Jackson since West Point. The fact that tomorrow’s Sunday may prompt him to attack. He thinks it’s a work of utmost necessity to drive us from Virginia, and whenever there’s an opportunity, be it on a Sabbath or any other day, he’ll see it as Divine Providence and seize upon it. Jackson will attack and leave the results to his God. Expect a heavy fight as soon as there is light enough to see.”

It began just as General Hays said it would. Jackson’s men attacked at dawn. At first, there was just a smattering of shots deep in the woods to our front; then it swelled quickly to a constant rattle, and above the din of battle, a chorus of shouts and screams emanated
from the dark forest in front of us. The sound of the firing grew louder in waves, a sure sign that Berry’s men were having a tough go of it and were being driven back toward us.

The first men to come into view were indeed Berry’s men. They were withdrawing with a fair degree of decorum, walking toward the rear, not running. Most of these men fell back through our line in good order, faces to the enemy, maintaining both their dignity and their possessions, but when they saw our breastwork and how prepared we were for defense, some of Berry’s men fell into line beside us.