Karl Bacon (16 page)

“The Johnnies are coming,” they said, “lots of ‘em. Won’t be a minute, they’ll be here.”

“Here they come, boys, get ready!” yelled Sergeant Morrison. We raised our muskets and aimed into the darkness. Several nervous fingers discharged their weapons at nothing; their owners frantically set about the business of reloading. “Hold your fire, men,” cried Morrison. “Hold your fire!”

And then the Rebels charged out of the woods in front and also against our right flank. General French had not taken care of our flank as he had promised. We were instead exposed to the full fury of the Rebel onslaught from that quarter as well as from the front. The enemy line came within sight of our works and we delivered a heavy volley. Their line wavered, halted, then surged forward again. The Fourteenth held its ground for a short time, but the savage assault from the front and right decided the issue.

“Fourteenth, fall back,” cried Major Ellis. “Look sharp and help the wounded!” We regretted having to leave our breastwork, for with our leaving, the Rebels would be granted instant protection from many of our shots, but we did as ordered and withdrew to a safer place, and we did so in fine order. There was no panic, no running for the rear, and no casting off of burdens. Rather, in spite of the heavy fire, we recovered all of our wounded comrades, over thirty in all, and helped each to safety.
The Sharps companies were magnificent as a rear guard, firing at the Rebels from behind trees and any other available cover whenever the Johnnies tried to pursue us. However, the Sharps boys had not been detailed to look after General Hays, and the Rebels captured him, evidence to all that he was certainly not one to lead from the rear.

Colonel Carroll’s First Brigade came forward, made up of several regiments from Indiana, New Jersey, Ohio, and West Virginia. They called us “Yellow Yanks” as we passed through their line, and “Connecticut cowards,” and even “Nutmeg no-goods,” insults that made my ears burn. Surely the Fourteenth had done all it could under the circumstances, but was my day to be just a few shots followed by hasty retreat? Was my day so soon done, the fight left to others to carry on? Was victory within our grasp—victory I would have no part in or claim to?

I reversed my course and joined Carroll’s men. Many brothers of the Fourteenth and some of Berry’s men reached similar decisions and also turned to join the counterattack. Many others, including Jim Adams and one of our corporals, continued toward the rear. Some were not seen for several days.

Carroll’s men were fighters, a tough lot of men known as “The Granite Brigade.” They stopped the Rebel advance in its tracks and started to drive them back. Every time the enemy tried to make a stand, Carroll’s men stopped for a few minutes to allow everyone to reload and reorganize. Then they launched a furious charge that forced the Rebels back again. The Johnnies gave ground stubbornly and often we fought them from one tree trunk to the next. Sarge’s cadence rang in my ears, and I fell into the routine that I had learned so long ago. Load, aim, fire — load, aim, fire—load, aim, fire.

A shabby man in gray with a black slouch hat cocked to one side stepped from behind a tree and aimed his rifle at me. A puff of smoke, a sharp report, the slap of his bullet striking the tree
just inches from my head. I squeezed the trigger of my Springfield. A large red stain blossomed on the man’s yellow shirt. “Ah, mother,” the man said. Still gripping his rifle with his left hand, his right flew to cover the stain. The man dropped to his knees. Dark red blood seeped between his fingers. He swayed once to the right, then righted himself, then pitched face forward to the ground.

I surged forward with the rest of the men, loading and firing as fast as I could. Soon we came within sight of the breastworks we had abandoned earlier. The Rebels fought us stubbornly from the reverse side but finally gave up and retreated back into the very same woods they had emerged from a couple of hours before.

Colonel Carroll sent forward a strong picket line, but the Rebels had withdrawn farther back into the woods. While the fighting continued loud and hot to the south of the Plank Road off to the left, our front quieted. Carroll’s men improved and strengthened the works we had built the previous day. Coffee fires were lit, and we adopted an attitude of comfortable watchfulness.

“You Connecticut boys, why did you run?” The Ohio corporal voiced the accusation of an entire brigade.

“We didn’t run,” I answered. “At least, not most of us. We were ordered to retreat. We were at the end of the line, and General French didn’t cover our flank. That’s where the Johnnies hit us. We fell back in good order and brought all of our wounded off with us.”

The corporal said, “We’re Second Corps, and the Second doesn’t run. But a bunch of your boys did run. I saw it, and so did all these men here. Your friends are probably still running now, maybe all the way back to Connecticut.”

It seemed that this corporal wanted to engage in more than just an exchange of words, but I would not fall prey to his taunts.
I stuck out my hand. “My name’s Palmer, Michael Palmer, from Naugatuck, Connecticut. Pleased to meet you, Corporal.” The Ohio man looked blankly at my hand for a second or two before he took it in his own.

“Mills, Teddy Mills,” he mumbled, “Fourth Ohio. You do shoot well—I noticed that. Whose brigade you with?”

“Hays, General William Hays, but the Rebs captured him, so I don’t know who commands us now.”

“You boys had it rough?”

“At first we did. There was no hope of holding against the Johnnies, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Fredericksburg. Say, you men were in Kimball’s Brigade? You boys were the first line up to that wall.”

Mills’s face darkened. “Yeah, we were,” he said quietly. “I lost a good friend there.”

“Andrews’s brigade was the second line, and we were the third—a terrible day for everyone. We lost too many good soldiers. I lost a friend at Fredericksburg too, and my closest friend died at Falmouth, just three weeks ago today.” I paused for a few seconds to steady my voice before continuing. “You fellows showed up none too soon today.”

“Yeah, our boys have been spoiling for a good fight ever since we were wasted against that wall. We proved our worth today. We whipped them Johnnies today, and we’ll whip them tomorrow. All we need is a fair chance, and I reckon that’s up to the generals.”

And thou shalt grope at noonday,
as the blind gropeth in darkness,
and thou shalt not prosper in thy ways:
and thou shalt be only oppressed and spoiled evermore,
and no man shall save thee.
DEUTERONOMY 28:29

I
T CAME UP THE LINE FROM THE SOUTH, A CHORUS OF HUSHED
whispers sweeping toward us like a swarm of angry bees. “Hooker’s dead! Killed by a Rebel shell.” Each man turned and passed this dreadful news on to the next.

The roar of the cannonading had been constant, and every veteran infantryman could tell that the Federal artillery was not getting the best of it. The firing to the south of our line had gradually shifted eastward, toward the rear of our position, closer and closer to the Chancellorsville crossroad, as our guns withdrew under a heavy Confederate onslaught.

“General Couch must be in command of the whole army now,” Teddy Mills said. “I think he’s the senior corps commander.”

“He is,” I said. “Who’s got the corps, then? Hancock?”

“Probably—hope it’s not French.”

“Do you think Couch is the man for the job?” I asked. “Do you think he can command the whole army?”

“Probably not, but who else is there?”

“That’s the question. And Lincoln had better find an answer for it if we’re ever to win this war. Who is that general of generals who can beat Bobby Lee at his own game?”

A rider galloped up, dismounted, and spoke briefly and excitedly to Colonel Carroll for a few moments, then galloped back the way he had come.

“Men,” the colonel called out, “I’ve just been informed that we’re being withdrawn from this advanced position. The army will form a new line back near the Bullock farm where we will prepare to meet the enemy again. These orders have come from General Hooker himself. He has not been killed, only slightly injured, just a knock on the head. He remains in command of this army. Prepare to move out.”

“I helped build these works and I fought to take them back from the Rebs,” I said to Mills. “We won this ground—and now we’re just supposed to walk away and give it all up?”

Yet that is what we did. We simply walked away and left those fine breastworks and that blood-bought ground to the Confederates, not understanding why we were yielding without a fight, but the army never issued explanations along with its orders.

Carroll’s brigade withdrew to the northeast, and soon we emerged from the woods into the fields around the Bullock farm. Six corps of Federal infantry, about 70,000 troops in all, were assembling in the vicinity, and pandemonium ruled as units of every type tried to organize and maneuver to their newly assigned positions, all the while dodging the incessant rain of shot and shell from Rebel guns.

Captain Davis of Company I, the ranking officer of the Fourteenth
on that part of the field, gathered the forty-odd men of the regiment together. We bade our comrades in Carroll’s command a fond farewell and set off to find the rest of the regiment. At the Bullock farm we found, much to our dismay, that our knapsacks were gone, as were the guards who had been posted to watch over them. There was no sign of anyone from our regiment or any indication of where they might be. Captain Davis inquired of some fellows in the Fifth Corps regarding the whereabouts of the Second Corps. They directed us some distance to the east where the Second Corps was taking up its position along the Mineral Springs Road.

We trekked about a mile and a half through untold thousands of men likewise roving in search of their lost comrades and detoured around other untold thousands of men trying to throw up works to establish a defensive perimeter, until we finally were reunited with what remained of the Fourteenth Connecticut. Only about one hundred men, including our number, were present and available for duty. As for our knapsacks, while we were off saving the army from ruin, Rebel skirmishers had overrun the field the previous evening, driven off the guards, and plundered our packs. Once again, we were without shelter tents and blankets and food. At first I was not terribly displeased about losing the days-old food, but the rations in my haversack would not last another day, and there was no prospect of getting more food anytime soon. My writing things were also gone, and I would have to visit the sutler once again and pay his high prices if I was going to continue writing my journal or letters home. But the cruelest blow of all was the realization that the Rebels had also stolen my Bible with the only photograph I had of Jessie Anne and Sarah and Edward. I imagined those rogues looking at that photograph, my photograph, not with love or admiration or respect or even curiosity, but with malevolence, perhaps slurring Jessie Anne’s beauty, or worse.

By early afternoon that Sunday much of the fighting had stopped. The artillery of both armies kept up their work, and at times it got quite hot for us, but we moved back into the trees that bordered the road. Later in the afternoon, the shelling diminished greatly and we set about strengthening our line. Many, many trees were felled and dragged to the edge of the tree line, where long lines of stout breastworks were built. The Rebels left us alone, and we worked without stopping throughout the evening, finally falling into exhausted sleep sometime after the midnight hour.

A stalemate developed as both armies sat facing each other, separated by a half mile of ground upon which no man dared tread for fear of being quickly fired upon from both sides. General Hooker seemed content to remain where he was for the time being, and that was all right with us. The fighting on Sunday had been done with two of our six corps of infantry, the Third and the Twelfth, and part of our Second Corps. Now, all six corps were behind stout fortifications. They were rested; their muskets were loaded and ready; the artillery was in place. All waited for the fight to be renewed. The army was prepared for anything the Rebels might attempt. It was as if we were sending up a collective Sabbath’s evening prayer:
Lord, let them attack with morning light,
so secure were we in our works and so confident in our ability to hand them a crushing defeat.

But General Lee was not an obliging fellow. Monday morning was actually quite peaceful. Long periods of stillness were broken only by the occasional crackle of musketry from the pickets and a stray shell or two. Wagons were drawn up to our rear; we were issued another three days’ rations and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. The coffee tasted especially fine and fresh that morning.

Captain Davis walked among the regiment and picked out several men to accompany him on a “fishing expedition,” as
he called it, per order of Major Ellis. He asked Sergeant Hirst from Company D to serve as his sergeant and then called out the names of several others who had joined in the fighting with Carroll’s brigade. Captain Davis didn’t know my name, but he recognized me.

“Are you in Company C, Private?” he asked as I saluted.

“Sir, yes, sir,” I answered.

“What’s your name?”

“Sir, Palmer, sir.”

“Well, Palmer, you did well yesterday, and I have a job for you. It will mean a lot of marching today, but it will also get you away from here for several hours.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Do you think you can recognize all of the men from Company C?” Captain Davis asked.

“Sir, we were twenty-three when we crossed the river. I know them all, sir.”

“Good. Come with me.” Captain Davis led the squad away from the rest of the regiment and explained our mission. “Every regiment has been ordered to send out detachments to round up stragglers and deserters. We will make a circuit around the entire army, looking for able-bodied men from the Fourteenth. We have a lot of ground to cover and our men could be anywhere. Some may have joined up with other units, like some of us did yesterday. Others may have headed back toward the river fords, thinking the army is in full retreat. Those we find will be given a single opportunity to join us and return to the lines. Nothing more than a stern reprimand will be given to those who come willingly. If any man resists, he will be placed under arrest and tried by general court martial for desertion. Understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Remember, we’re looking for your brothers from the Fourteenth Connecticut. They may not have been looking to desert
at all; they may just have become lost and confused in the heat of battle. Until proven otherwise, we will treat them decently and fairly.”

The new Federal line was shaped like a large letter
U
with both arms of the
U
anchored on the Rappahannock to the north and the curved portion around the Bullock farmstead. The Second Corps was at the lower part of the eastern or right arm of the
U.
We started our march by going south through the remainder of the Second Corps. According to Captain Davis’s instructions, we spread out and searched for our missing comrades, asking many, especially those gathered behind the lines, if they had seen any stragglers from the Fourteenth. Around the curved portion at the base of the
U
we passed through Sickle’s Third Corps and entered the lines of Meade’s Fifth Corps as we started up the left arm of the U. Meade’s line was built along the east bank of a creek and appeared so strong as to be nearly impregnable. Continuing parallel to the creek, we next came upon Reynolds’s First Corps, whose entrenchments also were stoutly constructed and stretched to the Rappahannock River. Still having found none of the men we sought, we turned eastward and followed the bank of the river until we reached the pontoon bridges at U.S. Ford.

Captain Davis inquired of the engineers at the bridge. They had seen some men with the telltale blue trefoil and the brass
14
on their caps crossing to the northern bank on Sunday, but none today. We about-faced, and Captain Davis led the squad down the same dark road we had trodden the week before. Clusters of men had gathered here and there, some making for the ford, some making coffee, others just sitting beside the road, taking their ease. Late in the afternoon, we rounded a bend in the road. Cries went up from our group, as a half dozen of our fellows were found relaxing under a large oak tree. Sergeant Morrison
and Jim Adams were among them. When challenged by Captain Davis, all six sheepishly stood at attention, took up their arms, and joined us once again. Jim fell in beside me.

“What happened to you, Jim?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, with a hint of awkwardness in his voice, “we were told to retreat, and so we did as we were told. We lost track of Major Ellis and the other officers, so we just fell back through the woods until we hit the road; then we followed the road back toward the bridges. Sergeant Morrison figured the army was whipped again and that the best place to rejoin the regiment would be along the road here.”

“The best or the safest?” I asked, looking squarely at him.

“Safest too, I guess,” was all Jim could mumble.

“Jim, I want to go home. This war killed my best friend and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of living in squalor. I’m sick of eating poor food, and I’m sick of being filthy, and I’m sick of digging cooties, and I’m sick and tired of squatting behind trees to relieve myself. Most of all, I think, I’m sick of retreating rather than fighting. I miss my wife and children—that’s an ache that won’t go away until I see them again. It would be so easy just to walk away and head north. But I belong here. I signed up for three years or the duration and I mean to hold up my part of the bargain, no matter how bad it gets.”

“But the Johnnies were on our flank and we were ordered to retreat,” Jim said, “and I was just obeying Sergeant’s orders.”

“Yes, the Johnnies had our flank, but only one man was killed, and we surely could have given a better account of ourselves. So when Carroll’s men came up, I thought, ‘Why should these men fight while I sit by and drink coffee? Wasn’t it just as much my duty to fight as it was theirs?’ So I turned around and joined up with them, as did many of our boys, and together we beat the Rebels back beyond our works where the fight started,
and there are now many fewer Rebels to deal with because we did so.”

“From your telling of it,” Jim said quietly, “our few guns wouldn’t have made any difference.”

“That’s not the point, Jim!” Heads turned at my raised voice. “I dearly wish this war would end, but if we don’t stand and fight, it cannot end, or else it will end badly for us. Only by standing and fighting the Rebels tooth and nail can we win so we can return home to our loved ones. This is our fight. We cannot leave it to others. We must stand and do our duty.”

We walked in silence for a time. Here and there others of our wayward men were gathered up, sometimes singly or in twos and threes. The squad turned left and followed another road toward the east side of the army. A large logging party was busily at work felling trees, to clear a new road to the bridges at U.S. Ford, they said. Soon we came upon units from Slocum’s Twelfth Corps, and farther down the right arm of the defensive
U,
we passed through regiments belonging to Howard’s Eleventh Corps. Of all the men in the army, these were easily in the foulest temper, eager to have another chance at the enemy. Heavily accented phrases of fractured English told of the shame they bore as the cause of the army’s current distress. They wished for nothing more than to prove their true worth and be accepted into the ranks of the Army of the Potomac.

The sun was sinking behind the western hills as our circuit of the army was completed and we arrived back where we had started in the Second Corps. Our fishing expedition had netted two dozen or more stragglers and, true to his word, Major Ellis restored each man to full duty, after giving each a thorough dressing down in front of the regiment. Supper was cooked in the gathering darkness, and the men settled down to get as much sleep as they could. Tomorrow, the enemy would surely attack, trying to finish the job of throwing us back across the river. But
we were ready for them; we would rout them utterly, and then it was on to Richmond to finish this bloody work.

And so it came as a great shock to the entire army the next morning when, instead of receiving orders to prepare for battle, General Hooker ordered a withdrawal to the north side of the Rappahannock. The withdrawal would commence with nightfall and was to be completed by daybreak in order to hide the movements from the Confederates. Heavy fog enshrouded the entire area that morning, and when the fog finally lifted, it gave way to heavy, thick clouds. A high state of vigilance was maintained in case Bobby Lee decided to press an attack, but no attack came. As we settled down to what was to be the last supper of our failed spring campaign, it began to rain heavily. Indeed, this rain was torrential, for within minutes, our entrenchments were turned to mud pits and our campfires to hissing steam.