Chapter II: By J. M. Martin

We Embark for the Peninsula--Yorktown--Camping in the Mud--Peach
Orchard--Artillery Practice--Battle of Williamsburg.

On the 17th of March the regiment embarked and steamed down the Potomac, past Mount Vernon, of hallowed memories, on its way to Fortress Monroe, whither the army was being transferred to enter upon the historic and ill-fated Peninsular campaign. Upon arrival it went into camp near the ancient, but then recently burned town of Hampton, crumbling brick walls and charred chimneys being the only remaining monuments to mark the site of the once pleasant village, the beginning, to us, of the scenes of the war's "rude desolations," while protruding from the placid waters of the bay were to be seen the masts of the "Cumberland," that but a few days before had gone down with flag flying before the onset of the ram "Merrimac," while over by the Ripraps peacefully floated low on the waters the little "Monitor" that David-like, had single-handed put to flight this Goliath of the rebellion, that had defied our navy; a veritable "tub on a plank."

On the morning of April 4 the grand advance was begun. Across the narrow neck of land that divided the waters of the Chesapeake and James, the magnificent hosts of the Army of the Potomac, stretching from shore to shore, moved forward to the fortified post of the enemy at Yorktown. Battlefields, like history, repeat themselves. It is said the plains of Esdraelon have been the theater of a greater number of conflicts at arms than any other known portion of the globe, so here at Yorktown, where the Sons of Virginia, Pennsylvania and others of the thirteen colonies humbled the British under Cornwallis in 1781, and whose lines of entrenchments were yet visible, were again to meet in 1862, the sons of these sires of revolutionary fame, in martial combat, not shoulder to shoulder, as then, but in opposing phalanx. The line of advance of the 57th was by the main road leading from Hampton to Yorktown by way of Little and Big Bethel, the latter place being the scene of General B. F. Butler's unfortunate night venture of 1861.

The afternoon of the second day's march brought the advance of the army in front of the enemy's formidable works around Yorktown and along the Warwick river. For the space of nearly a mile, immediately in front of the town, the country was open, scarcely a tree or a shrub impeding the view of the fortifications, whose embrasures bristled with heavy ordnance. With drums beating and colors flying we marched boldly along the way and filing off into the open fields deliberately proceeded to pitch our tents and make our camp in the very jaws, as it were, of these frowning batteries. Whether it was a fear of bringing on a general engagement, or amazement at our audacity that kept the Confederates quiet behind their earth-works we did not then know, but subsequent events proved the former to be the cause. Not until the day following did they manifest a disposition to disturb our repose, and then only by a solitary shot that plunged into one of our company's streets, burying itself deep in the soft earth. This shot was sufficient, however, to admonish us of the fact that they had a perfect range of our camp, and could, of they chose, make it exceedingly uncomfortable for us. As a result we very deliberately withdrew, without the loss of a tent or knapsack, back to the main line in the woods, though not wholly beyond the range of their guns.

Once in our established camp there began a month of as arduous duty as untried soldiers were ever called to perform. Digging trenches, constructing earthworks, and picket duty, kept us constantly engaged, and to add to our discomfort the weather was extremely unpleasant; frequent rains wetting us to the skin and rendering the earth about the consistency of a mortar bed. Of this time Surgeon Lyman writes: "Here for three weeks the men walked in mud, slept in mud and drank water from holes scooped out of the mud. The combined remonstrances of the medical officers of the brigade, 'that a month's continuance in that place would deprive the government of the services of one-half of its members,' were met by the silencing reply, 'It is a military necessity.' The result showed that our fears were well founded. The malaria of the marshes and swamps of Yorktown, with the excessive labor performed in the trenches and on picket duty, debilitated our men for months, sending dozens of them to their graves, and rendering hundreds unfit for service, and many for life."

Here we had our first experience with the wild garlic, which grew spontaneously in the uncultivated fields and after a day or two's pasturing rendered the flesh of the beeves unpalatable, the taste of the garlic remaining long in the mouth after the act of mastication. Here, too, the regiment had its baptismal of blood, in the known to us, though never historically christened, "Battle of the Peach Orchard."

On the afternoon of April 11 the 63d Pennsylvania Volunteers, while on picket duty in the woods to the left of the Yorktown road, was attacked by the enemy. The 57th was ordered to its assistance and advancing at double quick, formed in line of battle, moving over the open field in face of a hot fire and quickly putting to flight the columns of the enemy, driving them back to the protection of their heavy batteries. In this short but exciting engagement, the regiment lost by wounds two men, Samuel Merven, of Company E, and John Cochran, of Company F. Cochran subsequently died from the effects of his wound and Merven was discharged. In this engagement, insignificant as it was, compared with its after battles, the regiment exhibited great coolness and gave token of its ability and readiness for future duty and service.

An incident occurred about this date, while the regiment was on picket duty, that is worthy of passing notice. Lieutenant Wagner, of the topographic engineers, was engaged in making drawings of the Confederate works. He had placed a camp table in an exposed position and spread his drafting material upon it. The white paper made an excellent target for the enemy's gunners. One of their shots struck the table and fatally wounded the lieutenant. A few moments after he rode along the rear of our lines, his shattered and bleeding arm dangling at his side. This shot is referred to, after these many years, by General Longstreet in his recent work, as one of two of the most remarkable shots, for accuracy of aim, of the war. He says:

"An equally good one (shot) was made by a Confederate at Yorktown. An officer of the topographical engineers walked into the open in front of our lines, fixed his plane table and seated himself to make a map of the Confederate works. A non-commissioned officer, without orders, adjusted his gun, carefully aimed it, and fired. At the report of the gun all eyes were turned to see the occasion of it, and then to observe the object, when the shell was seen to explode as if in the hands of the officer. It had been dropped squarely upon the drawing table and Lieutenant Wagner was mortally wounded."--Gen. Longstreet, in "From Manassas to Appomattox."

This shot appears, by a note to the text written by Capt. A. B. Moore, of Richmond, Va., to have been fired by Corporal Holzbudon, of the 2d company, Richmond Howitzers, from a ten-pound parrott gun.

Another incident more immediately connected with the regiment, worthy of a place in its history as an exhibition of accurate firing, occurred here. On the left of our regimental picket line was stationed a section of a field battery whose duty was to shell the enemy's works and prevent their annoying our lines. For some time Colonel Campbell watched with manifest disgust the green cannoneers blazing away at random, and with evidently little effect. At length stepping to one of the guns the colonel said:

"Boys, let me sight this gun for you." Running his eye along the sights and giving the elevating screw a turn, he said:

"Now, let her go!"

In an instant the death-dealing missile was speeding on its way, entered the enclosure and exploded amid the startled gunners of the enemy.

"There, boys, that's the way to shoot. Don't waste your powder!" said the colonel, as he turned and walked away, an expression of satisfaction wreathing his florid face.

By the 3d of May all things were in readiness to open our batteries of big guns on the Confederate fortifications and all were in excited expectation of the bombardment and possible storming of the enemy's works on the following day, but the morning light of the 4th revealed the enemy's strong works abandoned and empty. In the night, Johnson, who had superseded Magruder in command, like the Arab had "folded his tent and silently stolen away." The 105th Pennsylvania were the first to enter the abandoned works. The news of the evacuation of the works and retreat of the Confederates spread rapidly from regiment to regiment, and our bloodless victory, but not without the loss of many a brave boy, was celebrated with wild shouts and cheers. The cavalry followed closely on the heels of the retreating enemy, but the infantry did not take up the line of march until later in the day; Fighting Joe Hooker's division following first, with Kearny close in his rear. As we marched through the Confederate works, stakes planted upright in the ground with red danger signals attached gave warning that near them were planted torpedoes, placed there for the injury of the unwary by the enemy.

A story was told at the time that the planting of these torpedoes was revealed to Lieut. R. P. Crawford, of Company E, of the 57th, then serving as aid on General Jameson's staff, by a Confederate deserter. That the 105th Pennsylvania, being about to enter the abandoned works, this Confederate stepped out from the shelter of a building, and, throwing up his hands as an indication that he desired to surrender, came forward and revealed to Lieutenant Crawford, who chanced to be present, the secret danger that threatened them if they attempted to enter the works without caution. Thus forewarned of their danger, a squad of prisoners, under compulsion, were made to search out, and locate these concealed missiles, thereby preventing possible loss of life and woundings.

During the afternoon of the 4th the regiment marched with the division about four miles on the main road to Williamsburg and bivouacked for the night. By dark rain began to fall and continued throughout the night and the day following. The early morning of the 5th found us on the march again. The rain had thoroughly soaked the light clay soil and the preceding ammunition trains and batteries had worked the soft clay roads into deep ruts and numerous mud holes. To take to the fields and roadsides did not better much the marching, the unsodded fields being little better than quagmires, in which the men floundered to the knees.

All the forenoon there was now and then cannonading to our front with occasional rattle of musketry, indicative of skirmishing, but by two or three o'clock there came the long swelling roar of infantry firing, giving evidence that our advance had overtaken the enemy and they were making a stubborn stand. The atmospheric conditions were such that from these sounds the battle appeared to be but a mile or two in our advance, and at every turn of the way we expected to see the blue line of smoke and snuff the odors of burning powder, while in fact the engagement was five or six miles distant. Reaching a point about two miles from the battlefield the regiment was ordered to unsling knapsacks, doff blankets and overcoats and march at quick step to the front. As we neared the field, panting from our exertion, we passed a brass band standing by the roadside. General Heintzelman, observing them as he passed, exclaimed in that nasal twang so familiar to all:

"Play, boys, play! Play Hail Columbia! Play Yankee Doodle! Play anything! Play like h--l!"

It is needless to add that the band promptly obeyed and the strains of the national quickstep put a new spring in our weary limbs, revived our flagging spirits and with a rousing cheer we pressed forward. Arriving on the field the regiment was deployed in line of battle in the woods to the right of the road, but darkness was settling over the field, the firing soon ceased and we were not engaged. The night following was extremely disagreeable. The rain continued to fall, and drenched to the skin we lay on our arms all night without fire, blankets or rations. By morning the lowering clouds were gone, and so also were the Johnnies, leaving their dead unburied and their wounded to our tender care. Many private houses of the ancient town, all of the churches and that venerable seat of learning, from whose halls came many of the nation's most eminent statesmen and patriots, William and Mary College, were turned into hospitals, where friend and foe were gathered from the field of conflict, housed, and cared for by our surgeons and nurses with undiscriminating attention.

An incident that well illustrates the reckless daring of General Kearny, and which ultimately lost him to our cause, as well as the influence of such acts upon others, occurred during this engagement. During the battle, General Kearny, accompanied by General Jameson, rode out to the front, and on an open piece of ground, in full view of the contending forces, the two sat there observing the progress of the battle, apparently oblivious of the fact that they were exposing themselves as targets to the enemy's sharpshooters. Past them the minie balls were zipping, while the air was redolent with the "ting" of musket balls and buck-shot. At length, satisfied with their observations, they coolly turned their horses about and rode to the rear. The day following, General Jameson was approached by one of his aides who had witnessed the act, who said to him:

"General, don't you think the risk you and General Kearny exposed yourselves to yesterday was unjustifiable?"

"I certainly do," the general candidly replied.

"Then why did you take the risk?" the aide queried.

"Captain," said the general, gravely, "If I had been conscious that I would have been hit the next minute I would not have turned my horse's head. Why, what would Kearny have thought of me!"

After the battle the regiment camped immediately west of town. Of course the commands that had borne the brunt of the battle were lionized, as were also those officers who had acted a conspicuous part. On this field General Hancock received his chief sobriquet, "The Superb," which clung to him throughout life. Regimental ranks, after a hard day's fighting, often were very much broken, the losses not always being catalogued as of the killed and wounded; roll calls exhibiting many names marked "missing," or "absent without leave." These absentees invariably reported fearful losses in their commands. While in camp at Williamsburg a strapping big fellow with turbaned head, blue jacket profusely decorated with gold lace, and baggy red trousers, wandered into our midst.

"Hello! What regiment?" one of the boys inquired.

"---- regiment."

"But what state?"

"New York, of course."

"In the fight?"

"Yep. All cut to pieces. I'm the only one left!"