Chapter XX: Part I: p. 696

Gibbon, the nearest support to Meade, was nearly half a mile distant.[16] That officer was wounded while the fight was hottest, but of the part which he was performing he says:--

[Footnote 16: See map accompanying General Franklin's reply
to Report of Committee on Conduct of the War.]

"As soon as the enemy's guns slackened fire, I saw General
Meade's troops moving forward into action, and I at once sent
orders to my leading brigade to advance and engage the enemy.
Shortly afterwards I ordered up another brigade to support the
first. The fire was very heavy from the enemy's infantry, and I
ordered up the Third Brigade and formed it in column on the right
of my line, and directed them to take the position with the
bayonet, having previously given that order to the leading
brigade. But the general commanding that brigade told me that the
noise and confusion was such that it was impossible to get the
men to charge, or to get them to hear any order to charge. The
Third Brigade--my last brigade--went in and took the position
with the bayonet, and captured a considerable number of
prisoners. During the fighting of the infantry I was establishing
the batteries which belonged to my division in position to assist
in the assault. I had just received the report of the success of
this Third Brigade, when shortly after I saw a regiment of Rebel
infantry come out on the left of my line between myself and
General Meade. I rode up towards a battery that was on their
left, and directed them to open fire upon that regiment. I was
riding back towards the right of my line, when I was wounded, and
left the field about half past two o'clock in the afternoon, I
think."[17]

[Footnote 17: Testimony, Conduct of the War, Part I. p. 715.]

It will be seen by Franklin's despatches that Meade had broken the line before Gibbon was engaged. At 1.15 P. M. he telegraphed to Burnside, "Meade is assaulting the hill." Ten minutes later, at 1.25 P. M., "_Reynolds will push Gibbon in if necessary._" At 1.40 P. M., "Meade has carried a portion of the enemy's position in the woods. We have three hundred prisoners. Gibbon has advanced to Meade's right."

It was in this advance to the railroad, when Gibbon came in collision with Pender's and Thomas's brigades, that Gibbon was wounded.

While this was going on in front, the Second and Third Brigades of Meade were enveloping Gregg's brigade of South Carolinians, which had been hurried up to retrieve the disaster to the line. There was a short but bloody contest. Three hundred South Carolinians fell in that struggle, including their commander, General Gregg, who was mortally wounded.

It was a critical moment with Stonewall Jackson. The whole of Ewell's division, under the command of General Early, was brought up to regain the ground. Lawton's brigade came first upon the Pennsylvanians, followed by Hayes's, Trimble's, and Field's brigades, with Early's own, commanded by Colonel Walker.

Had Newton, Howe, Brooks, Sickles, and Birney been near at hand, or had Gibbon been pushed promptly and effectively to Meade's support, the record of that bloody day would have been far different from what it is. But they were not there. They had not even been ordered to advance!

Unable to withstand the onset of the whole of Jackson's force (with the exception of a portion of Taliferro's reserves), Meade was obliged to fall back, and give up the position won by such heroic valor. As his troops went to the rear, they met Ward's brigade of Birney's division advancing. The Rebels were in full pursuit. Birney wheeled his batteries into position, and opened with canister, and the Rebels fled to the shelter of the woods.

The divisions of Howe and Newton and Sickles were slightly engaged later in the day, but only in repulsing a second advance of the Rebels. The attack which Meade had opened so gallantly, and which was attended with such good success, had failed. Less than ten thousand men had broken the enemy's line, and opened the way to victory. Of the sixty thousand men at Franklin's disposal not more than sixteen or eighteen thousand were engaged during the day,[18] and of those not more than eight thousand at any one time.

[Footnote 18: Testimony of Meade and other officers, Conduct
of the War.]

General Franklin, in vindicating himself from censure for not attacking with a larger force and more vigorously, falls back on the clause in Burnside's order, "to attack with one division at least, and to keep it well supported." It would have been better if Burnside had given explicit instructions. There must be some latitude allowed to subordinates, but there are very few men who, without particular instructions, can enter fully into the plans and intentions of the commander-in-chief. Franklin was constitutionally sluggish in his movements. The attack on the left required boldness, energy, and perseverance. Sumner was the man for the place. Burnside was peculiarly unfortunate in the selection of commanders to carry out the particular features of his plan; but Sumner having been first to arrive at Falmouth, and having taken position, it was not easy to make the change.

While the battle was raging on the left I rode over the plain. The cavalry under General Bayard was drawn up in rear of the grove surrounding the fine old Bernard mansion. General Bayard was sitting at the foot of a tree, waiting for orders, and watching the advancing columns of Meade and Gibbon. There was a group of officers around General Franklin. Howe's and Newton's divisions were lying down to avoid the Rebel shells, hurled from the heights beyond the railroad. All of Franklin's guns were in play. The earth shook with the deep concussion. Suddenly the Rebel batteries opened with redoubled fury. A shot went over my head, a second fell in front of my horse, and ploughed a furrow in the ground; a third exploded at my right, a fourth went singing along the line of a regiment lying prostrate on the earth. McCartney's, Williston's, Hexamer's, Amsden's, Cooper's, Ransom's, and a dozen other batteries were replying. Meade was driving up the hill. Wounded men were creeping, crawling, and hobbling towards the hospital. Some, slightly wounded, were uttering fearful groans, while others, made of sterner stuff, though torn and mangled, bore their pains without a murmur.

A soldier, with his arms around the necks of two of his comrades, was being brought in. "O dear! O Lord! my foot is torn all to pieces!" he cried.

There was a hole in the toe of his boot where the ball had entered.

"It has gone clear through to the heel, and smashed all the bones. O dear! O dear! I shall have to have it cut off!" he cried, moaning piteously as his comrades laid him upon the ground to rest.

"Better cut off your boot before your foot swells."

"Yes,--do so."

I slipped my knife through the leather, and took the boot from his foot. The ball had passed through his stocking. There was but a drop or two of blood visible. I cut off the stocking, and the bullet was lying between his toes, having barely broken the skin.

"I reckon I sha'n't help lug you any farther," said one of the men who had borne him.

"Wal, if I had known that it wasn't any worse than that I wouldn't have had my boot cut off," said the soldier.

Returning to the Bernard mansion, I saw a commotion among the cavalry, and learned that their commander was mortally wounded. He had been struck by a solid shot while sitting by the tree; and they were bearing him to the hospital. He was a brave and gallant officer.

THE ATTACK ON THE RIGHT.

But while this was transpiring on the left there was a terrible sacrifice of life at the foot of Maryee's Hill. Soon after noon French's and Hancock's divisions of the Second Corps, with Sturgis's division of the Ninth, advanced over the open field in rear of the town to attack the heights. Officers walked along the lines giving the last words. "Advance and drive them out with the bayonet!" were the orders.

The fifteen thousand in a compact body move to the edge of the plateau. The hills are aflame. All of Longstreet's guns are thundering. Shells burst in the ranks. The Rebel skirmishers, concealed in the houses and behind fences, fire a volley and fall back to the main line.

Onward move the divisions. We who behold them from the rear, although we know that death stands ready to reap an abundant harvest, feel the blood rushing with quickened flow through our veins, when we see how gallantly they move forward, firing no shot in return.

Now a sheet of flame bursts from the sunken road, and another from half-way up the slope, and yet another from the top of the hill. Hundreds fall; but still on, nearer to the hill rolls the wave. Still, still it flows on; but we can see that it is losing its power, and, though advancing, it will be broken. It begins to break. It is no longer a wave, but scattered remnants, thrown back like rifts of foam. A portion of Sturgis's division reaches the hollow in front of the hill and settles into it.

The Eleventh New Hampshire, commanded by Colonel Harriman, is in the front line. They are new troops, and this is their first battle; but they fight so gallantly that they win the admiration of their general.

"See!" said Sturgis to an old regiment which quailed before the fire. "See the Eleventh New Hampshire! a new regiment, standing like posts driven into the ground."

Hancock and French, unable to find any shelter, are driven back upon the town. The attack and repulse have not occupied fifteen minutes.

It is a sad sight, that field thickly strewn with dying and dead men. But in battle there is no time for the wringing of hands over disaster. The bloody work must go on.

Sturgis is in the hollow, so near the hill that the Rebel batteries on the crest cannot be depressed sufficiently to drive him out. He is within close musket-shot of Cobb's brigade, lying behind the stone-wall at the base of the hill. Sturgis's men lie down, load and fire deliberately, watching their opportunity to pick off the gunners on the hill. In vain are all the efforts of Longstreet to dislodge them. Solid shot, shells, canister, and shrapnel are thrown towards the hollow, but without avail. A solitary oak-tree near is torn and broken by the artillery fire, and pitted with musket-balls, and the ground is furrowed with the deadly missiles; but the men keep their position through the weary hours. The division is composed of two brigades,--Nagles's, containing the Sixth and Ninth New Hampshire, Seventh Rhode Island, Forty-Eighth Pennsylvania, and Second Maryland; and Ferrero's, containing the Twenty-First and Thirty-Fifth Massachusetts, Eleventh New Hampshire. Fifty-First Pennsylvania, and Fifty-First New York.

A second attempt is made upon the hill. Humphrey's division, composed of Tyler's and Briggs's brigade of Pennsylvanians, nearly all new troops, leads the advance, followed closely by Morrell's division of veterans. The lines move steadily over the field, under cover of the batteries which have been brought up and planted in the streets. Sturgis pours a constant stream of fire upon the sunken road. Thus aided, they reach the base of the hill in front of Maryee's, deliver a few volleys, and then with thinned ranks retire once more to the shelter of the ridge.

The day is waning. Franklin has failed. He telegraphs that it is too late to make another attack on the left. Not so does Sumner think on the right. He is a brave old man, fearless in battle, counting human life of little value if victory can be won by its sacrifice. He walks to and fro by the Lacey House like a chained lion. Burnside will not let him cross the river. Time has ploughed deep furrows on his face. His hair is white as the driven snow. He is grim and gruff; his voice is deep, and he has rough words for those who falter in duty; but he has a tender heart. He dotes upon his son, and calls him "Sammy" familiarly. He cannot bear to have him gone long from his side, but yet is ready to send him into the thickest of the fight. He cannot see the day lost without another struggle, and orders a third attack.

Humphrey, Morrell, Getty, Sykes, and Howard, or portions of their divisions, are brought up. The troops have been under arms from early daylight. They have had no food. All day they have been exposed to the fire of the Rebel batteries, and have lost heavily. Brooks's division of the Sixth Corps moves up Deep Run to engage in the last attack. All the batteries on both sides of the river are once more brought into action. Getty moves up Hazel Run to take the Rebels in flank, who are protected by the sunken road at the base of the hill.

THE LAST ATTACK.

It is sunset. The troops move out once more upon the open plain, and cross the field with a cheer. The ground beneath them is already crimson with the blood of their fallen comrades. They reach the base of the hill. Longstreet brings down all his reserves. The hillside, the plain, the crest of the ridge, the groves and thickets, the second range of hills beyond Maryee's, the hollow, the sunken road, are bright flashes. Two hundred cannon strike out fierce defiance,--forty thousand muskets and rifles flame!

The Rebels are driven from the stone-walls, and the sunken road, and the rifle-pit midway the hill. The blue wave mounts all but to the top of the crest. It threatens to overwhelm the Rebel batteries. But we who watch it behold its power decreasing. Men begin to come down the hill singly and in squads, and at length in masses. The third and last attempt has failed. The divisions return, leaving the plain and the hillside strown with thousands of brave men who have fallen in the ineffectual struggle.

There was no fighting on Sunday, the 14th, but General Burnside was preparing to make another attack. He had eighteen of his old regiments in the Ninth Corps, who would go wherever he sent them. He thought that they would carry the heights.

"I hope," said General Sumner, "that you will desist from an attack. I do not know of any general officer who approves it, and I think it will prove disastrous to the army."

The advice was followed, and it was then decided to withdraw the army.

The wind on Tuesday night blew a gale from the southwest. Hay and straw were laid upon the bridges to deaden the sound of the artillery wheels. It began to rain before morning; and the Rebels, little dreaming of what was taking place, remained in their quarters.

Before daylight the whole army had recrossed the river, and the bridges were taken up. Great were their amazement and wonder when the Rebels looked down from the heights and saw the Union army once more on the northern bank, beyond the reach of their guns.

General Burnside lost about ten thousand men, while the loss of the Rebels was about five thousand. The defeat was disheartening to the army. But though repulsed, the soldiers felt that they were not beaten; they had failed because General Burnside's plans had not been heartily entered into by some of the officers. But the patriotic flame burned as brightly as ever, and they had no thought of giving up the contest.