The battle was opened at daylight by a fierce charge of the enemy on the Sixth corps, and soon it raged along the whole line. The volleys of musketry echoed and reechoed through the forests like peals of thunder, and the battle surged to and fro, now one party charging, and now the other, the interval between the two armies being fought over in many places as many as five times, leaving the ground covered with dead and wounded. Those of the wounded able to crawl, reached one or the other line, but the groans of others, who could not move, lent an additional horror to the terrible scene whenever there was a lull in the battle. At ten o"clock the roar of battle ceased, and from that time until five P.M., it was comparatively quiet in front of the Sixth corps, but from the left where Hanc.o.c.k"s corps and Getty"s braves were n.o.bly battling, the war of musketry was incessant. There, Hanc.o.c.k had formed his troops in several lines of battle, and advanced them upon the plank road.
Getty"s troops, their ranks having been so terribly shattered the day before, were allowed to form in the rear. The attack was commenced, but presently the enemy came down in terrible fury upon Hanc.o.c.k"s lines. One after another was swept away, leaving no Union troops in front of Getty.
Now the exulting rebels came with stunning force against the Sixth corps men. They had prepared breastworks of logs and decayed wood, and against these light defenses the rebels charged, but only to meet with a deadly repulse. Again and again the charge was renewed, and as often the brave men who had seen nearly three thousand of their comrades fall on the day before, sent the confederates back from the road. At length, the divisions on the right and left of Getty having fallen back to the Brock road, the division was forced to fall back to the road also, but only after exhibiting a steadiness and valor rarely equaled by any troops.
The road was held, in spite of every effort of the enemy to take it; but the n.o.ble soldier and patriotic gentleman, General Wadsworth, lost his life while striving to rally his division to hold the ground against the confederates.
Although the storm of battle had abated in our front, the rebels had stationed sharpshooters in the trees and other advantageous positions, who kept up an incessant and annoying fire, and now and then a sh.e.l.l from a rebel battery would drop into our ranks. By these, the corps lost many men.
Until the evening of the 6th, our Third brigade of the Second division, and the New Jersey brigade of the First division of the Sixth corps, had occupied the right of the line of battle along the base of our slope of the ravine. Other portions of the First division, and the Third division, occupying a position in our rear, on the summit of the slope, had been engaged during the day in throwing up earthworks. At 5 P.M., the two advance brigades received orders to fall back to the cover of these breastworks.
For thirty hours the Sixth corps, stripped of three brigades of its veteran troops, weary from fighting and fasting, had been patiently waiting for the relief promised it long ago, and steadily holding its ground until half of the advance brigades and almost half of the corps was destroyed.
Thirty hours before, General Sedgwick had sent word that the rebels were trying to turn our flank, and begged that support might be sent; but no support had come. These breastworks had been prepared to give the exhausted corps a little protection, that they might, by falling back to their cover, occupy a stronger and less exposed position.
Soon after five o"clock, the brigades commenced falling back to these works. The rebels discovered the movement, and thought it was a retreat.
They were evidently already prepared for a desperate a.s.sault upon our flank; and now that there seemed a retreat, there was no longer any hesitation. Cheer after cheer arose from the rebel ranks, and, in fifteen minutes after, their yells were mingled with terrific volleys of musketry, as they poured in overwhelming numbers upon our flanks.
A brief description of the position will explain the nature of the movement, which lost to the Sixth corps the position it had held for a day and a half.
When the brigades which had occupied the base of the slope fell back to the breastworks, the line of battle was arranged thus: on the extreme right was the Third division--a division but a few days before joined to the corps--a division composed mostly of new troops who had never before faced an enemy, and none of them had ever had any connection with the already historic fame of that glorious corps. Next on the left was the First division, and joining this division on the left was our own Third brigade of the Second division.
The a.s.sault of the rebels fell upon the green troops of the Third division, who, seized with consternation, fled in confusion without attempting resistance. General Seymour whose gallant conduct up to this time had won for him the admiration of all, made desperate attempts to rally his panic-stricken brigade and refused to go to the rear with them. While thus striving vainly to restore order to his shattered command, rushing to the front and attempting by his own manner to inspire courage in his men, he was surrounded by the enemy and captured.
He had but just returned from the rebel prisons where he had been since the unfortunate battle of Ol.u.s.tee.
The hasty flight of the Third division opened the flank and rear of the First division to the charge of the rebels, who now rushed on with redoubled fury and with demoniac yells, carrying everything before them.
The First division fell back, but not in the disorder and confusion of the other. General Shaler, with a large part of his brigade, which held that part of the line joining the Third division, was captured while vainly striving to resist the onset of the rebel forces.
The regiments of our Third brigade were forced from the rifle pits, leaving the Seventy-seventh regiment and a part of the Forty-third alone contending the ground, exposed to a galling fire on front, flank and rear. The gallant regiments remained in the breastworks, pouring their fire into the enemy"s ranks until ordered to withdraw, to save themselves from capture.
The right wing, if not the whole army, was now in danger. It was at such times that the great spirit of the n.o.ble Sedgwick rose to the control of events. It seemed to require adversity to bring out all the grand qualities of his nature. We had witnessed his imperturbable bravery and determination on the retreat to Banks" Ford, his unsurpa.s.sed heroism at Antietam, when he kept the field after he was thrice wounded, was familiar to the nation, and now we were to see another manifestation of his indomitable courage.
Rushing here and there, regardless of personal safety, he faced the disordered ma.s.s of fugitives of the Third division, and with threats and entreaties prevailed upon them to halt; then turning to the veterans of the First division, he shouted to them to remember the honor of the old Sixth corps. That was an irresistible appeal, and the ranks of the First division and of our Third brigade were formed along the turnpike, which was at right angles to our former position. The corps now charged upon the exultant foe, and forced them back until our breastworks were recaptured; but our flank was too much exposed, and again the enemy charged upon our front and flank, forcing the corps to wheel back to the turnpike, where it had first rallied.
General Sedgwick now ordered another charge, and bravely the men rushed forward, ready to obey any order from the revered lips of "_Uncle John_." The enemy was again forced back, and again the corps occupied the breastworks. It was now dark, but the roar of musketry mingled with the deep toned artillery shook the ground, and the dense forest was lighted by the scores of thousands of flashing rifles which sent death to unseen foes.
The corps had not recovered its line of works without sacrifice, for the ground in our rear was covered with our fallen comrades, while many more had been captured by the enemy. But we were now able to hold the ground.
The temporary disorder had arisen, and had been mostly confined to the new troops, and even these, when rallied from their momentary confusion, had fought with heroic valor. Although, for a time, forced back by the surprise of the rebel onset, the old troops of the corps had shown no want of courage. _The Sixth corps proper had not lost its pristine glory._ Something of a panic had been created among the teamsters in the rear, and before dark the trains were hurrying toward Chancellorsville.
Leaving the excitement of the battle, let us now turn where the results of this carnage are seen in their sober reality. While we stand in line of battle we see little of the frightful havoc of war. The wounded drop about us, but, except those left on disputed ground and unable to crawl away, they are carried instantly to the rear. The groans and cries of the wounded and dying, of which we so often read as filling up the grand discord of sounds on the battle-field, are things scarcely known in actual war. Rarely, as in the present battles, wounded men, unable to get away, are left between the lines in such numbers that, when the musketry dies away, their groans become heart-rending. But this is not usual.
But at the field hospitals, the work of destruction is seen in all its horrors. There, wounded men by thousands are brought together, filling the tents and stretched upon every available spot of ground for many rods around. Surgeons, with never tiring energy, are ministering to their wants, giving them food, dressing their wounds or standing at the operating table removing the shattered fragments of limbs. Men wounded in every conceivable way, men with mutilated bodies, with shattered limbs and broken heads, men enduring their injuries with heroic patience, and men giving way to violent grief, men stoically indifferent, and men bravely rejoicing that it is _only a leg_. To all these the surgeons are to give such relief as lies in their power, a task the very thoughts of which would overcome physicians at home, but upon which the army surgeon enters with as much coolness and confidence as though he could do it all at once. He has learned to do what he can.
Contenting himself with working day and night without respite, and often without food, until, by unremitting but quiet toil, the wants of all are relieved. No cla.s.s of men in the army perform so great labors with so little credit as the surgeons.
Lest the author should be accused of undue partiality for his own staff, he will quote the words of an unprejudiced witness, who, in speaking of the labor, the anxiety and the responsibility imposed upon the surgeons after a great battle, says:
"The devotion, the solicitude, the unceasing efforts to remedy the defects of the situation, the untiring attentions to the wounded, upon their part, were so marked as to be apparent to all who visited the hospitals. It must be remembered that these same officers had endured the privations and fatigues of the long forced marches with the rest of the army; they had shared its dangers, for one medical officer from each regiment follows it into battle, and is liable to the accidents of war, as has been repeatedly and fatally the case; that its field hospitals are often, from the changes of the line of battle, brought under fire of the enemy, and that while in this situation these surgeons are called upon to exercise the calmest judgment, to perform the most critical and serious operations, and this quickly and continuously. The battle ceasing, their labors continue. While other officers are sleeping, renewing their strength for further efforts, the medical are still toiling. They have to improvise hospitals from the rudest materials, are obliged to "make bricks without straw," to surmount seeming impossibilities. The work is unending both by day and night, the anxiety is constant, and the strain upon both the physical and mental faculties unceasing. Thus, after this battle, operators had to be held up while performing the operations, and fainted from exhaustion the operation finished. One completed his labors to be seized with partial paralysis, the penalty of his over exertion.
"While his duties are as arduous, his exposure as great, and the mortality from disease and injury as large as among other staff officers of similar rank, the surgeon has no prospect of promotion, of a brevet or an honorable mention, to stimulate him. His duties are performed quietly, unostentatiously. He does his duty for his country"s sake, for the sake of humanity."[7]
[7] J. H. Dougla.s.s, a.s.sistant Secretary Sanitary Commission.
The labors of the medical officers had never been so great as at these battles. Thousands of wounded men were stretched in and about the several field hospitals, and long trains of ambulances, loaded with more bleeding victims, were constantly bringing in new subjects of care.
The hospitals of the Sixth corps were located, that of the First division about a large house near the turnpike, in rear of the position of the division; that of the Third division was near by, and the hospital of our Second division was placed on the banks of Wilderness Run, near the old gold mine, and within a few rods of General Meade"s head-quarters. The hospitals of the Fifth corps were also within a short distance, on the left.
At the hospital of our Second division, the scene was one of activity and sadness. Never had so many of our choice spirits been brought to the rear, and never had the division been bereft of so many of its brightest ornaments by death.
All the hospital tents belonging to the division were filled to overflowing with the unfortunate victims of the battle. There, all the s.p.a.ce between the different rows of tents, and for many yards in front and rear, was covered with others, for whom there was no room under the canvas, and, finally, long rows of them were laid upon the ground at a little distance from the hospitals as close as they could lie, covering many rods of ground.
In the operating tents, the surgeons a.s.signed to the duty of performing operations plied their work without rest from the time the battle commenced until its close, day and night, while dressers, and those whose duty it was to supply the wounded with food, were untiring in their zeal.
At midnight of the 6th, the operators were directed to cease their work.
Ambulances and army wagons in great numbers were loaded with the wounded, and the whole train, accompanied by the surgeons, moved toward Chancellorsville, taking the turnpike along the rear of the army. But, with all the ambulances and army wagons at command, hundreds of these unfortunate heroes were left behind; and as it was known that our line of battle was to fall back within a few hours, preparations were made for their care when they should fall into the hands of the enemy. Four a.s.sistant surgeons from each division, a number of hospital tents, a supply of hard bread and beef, with dressings and instruments, were left behind; and with sad hearts, their companions bade them farewell. Like preparations were made by the other corps, for those of the wounded who must be left to their fate. The long train bearing the wounded reached the left of the old battle-field of Chancellorsville toward morning, and at once the labor of reestablishing the hospitals commenced. Tents were erected, the ambulances unloaded, and the surgeons, already worn out by forty hours of incessant toil, resumed their work.
When the Sixth corps reoccupied the breastworks at dark on the 6th, it was desirable that the right flank should be protected by old and reliable troops. Neill"s Third brigade was a.s.signed to that position, the Seventy-seventh being upon the extreme right, the Sixty-first Pennsylvania thrown out at right angles to protect the rear. On the left of the Seventy-seventh was the Forty-ninth New York, the Seventh Maine was next, then the One Hundred and Twenty-second, and the Forty-third New York was on the left of the brigade.
All was now quiet. No sound was heard except now and then the suppressed tones of officers in command. The stars shone through the openings among the trees upon a long line of dusky forms lying close behind the sheltering breastworks, as silent as death but ready at an instant to pour out a storm of destruction. A row of bayonets projected over the breastworks; an abattis of steel awaiting the momentarily expected onset of the enemy.
At ten o"clock the low tones of command of the rebel officers were heard as they urged their men against our rear and flank. Colonel Smith of the Sixty-first Pennsylvania, ordered his men to lie down, for they had no breastworks, and to reserve their fire. Nearer and nearer came the dark line, until within twenty feet of the rec.u.mbent Pennsylvanians, but not a sound from them. Still nearer the rebel line approached, to within a distance of ten feet, when the sharp command rang out, "_Fire_;" and rising the Pennsylvanians delivered a withering fire into the rebel ranks that sent them reeling back into the darkness from whence they came; but a line of prostrate forms where the fire from our line had met the advancing column, told of its terrible execution. Twenty minutes after this repulse they advanced silently but in stronger force, directly in front of our breastworks. They advanced slowly and in silence until within a few feet of the Union line, when with wild yells they leaped forward, some even mounting the breastworks. But a sheet of flame instantly flashed along the whole line of our works; the astonished rebels wavered for a moment and then beat a hasty retreat, relinquishing with this last desperate effort the attempt to drive back the old Sixth corps.
Scarcely a man of the Union force was injured by this charge, but the dead and wounded from the rebel ranks literally covered the ground.
There was no help for them. Our men were unable even to take care of their own wounded which lay scattered through the woods in the rear. So the rebel wounded lay between the two armies, making the night hideous with their groans.
The battle of the 6th was now at an end, neither party having gained any decided advantage.
At midnight the Sixth corps fell back upon the plank road to the vicinity of the old gold mine mill, where our hospitals had been.
Intrenchments were thrown up and the position was held without much annoyance from the rebels all the next day. The whole line of the army remained quiet on the 7th, only a few skirmishes along different parts of the line, relieving the monotony of the day.
The two days of fighting had told fearfully upon our ranks. Our regiments which a few hours before were well filled, were now but fragments of regiments; and our hearts were weighed down with heavy grief when we thought of the many grand spirits who had left us forever since we crossed the Rapidan.
We thought of the young colonel of the Forty-third, Wilson, beloved and admired throughout the corps. His death was a heavy blow to us all. We should miss his soldierly presence on the parade; his winning pleasantry in our social circles; we were no longer to enjoy his beautiful example of unswerving christian morality. His manly form was no longer to be our pride, and his heroic valor would never again be manifest on the field of battle.
Major Fryer had received his mortal hurt. Fryer was young and gallant; his handsome form and brilliant eye were in fine harmony with those of his friend and superior. "In their lives they were beautiful, and in their death they were not divided."
Captain Hickmot, too, of the Forty-ninth was among the slain. Surely death loves a shining mark, and with what terrible precision had he chosen his victims. Hickmot"s bright eye was glazed in death. His gayety was hushed forever. We remembered now his hearty laugh, his friendly words and his purity of character, and knew that they were ours only in memory.
Wallace of the Forty-third and Terry of the Forty-ninth, too, were gone.
Colonel Ryerson, the gallant commander of the Tenth New Jersey, was mortally wounded.
In the Seventy-seventh we had lost Craig; a youth of rare qualities and of stern patriotism.
The Vermont brigade had lost many of its brightest ornaments. Colonel Barney of the Sixth was one of Vermont"s best men. A kind yet faithful commander in camp, gallant and fearless on the field. He was the highest type of a man; a christian gentleman. Colonel Stone had been killed instantly on the 5th. His urbane manners were remembered by all who frequented our division head-quarters, and his bravery had endeared him to his men. Colonel Tyler, too, of the Second was among the mortally wounded, and all felt his loss deeply.
Captains Bixby, of the Second, Bartlett and Buck, of the Third, Carpenter and Farr, of the Fourth, Ormsbee and Hurlburt, of the Fifth, and Bird and Randall, of the Sixth--all men of bravery and patriotism, all beloved as companions and valued as officers--were among the dead or dying. But among Vermont"s fallen sons was no more ardent patriot or gallant soldier than Captain George D. Davenport, of the Fifth. His manly bearing, his brilliant intellect, his ready wit, his social virtues and his well known bravery, combined to render him a favorite officer in his brigade, while to those who were bound to him by the ties of fellowship, his disinterested love and n.o.ble generosity rendered his friendship of inestimable value.
These were a few among the many n.o.ble names of fallen heroes. Never were grander men sacrificed for a n.o.ble cause than they.
General Getty and General Morris and Colonel Keiffer were among the wounded, and we had lost General Shaler and General Seymour, captured by the enemy.
General Neill succeeded to the command of the Second division, and Colonel Bidwell a.s.sumed the command vacated by General Neill.