War from the Inside. Frederick L. Hitchcock

for the night, after a hard, hot, and exciting day's chase. Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox came into camp with a great trophy, nothing less than a good old-fashioned fat loaf of home-made bread. He was immediately voted a niche in the future hall of fame, for two acts of extraordinary merit, namely, first, finding and capturing the bread, and, second, bringing it into camp intact, the latter act being considered supremely self-sacrificing. It was magnanimously divided by him, and made a supper for three of us. Our mid-day meal had been made up of dust and excitement.

      All sorts of rumors were afloat as to the movements of the enemy, as well as of our own army. It was said Jackson was across the Potomac with a large force; that Hooker was engaging him, and that we were likely to bag the balance of Lee's army soon. One thing I learned, namely, that I could be sure only of what I saw, and that was very little, indeed, of the doings of either army. The soldier who professes to know all about army movements because he "was there," may be set down either as a bummer, who spent most of his time up trees, safely ensconced where he could see, or as a fake.

       COLONEL VINCENT M. WILCOX (see image enlarged)

      My diary records a night of good rest September 16, 1862, in this camp on the Shepherdstown road. The morning was clear, beautiful, and cheery. This entry will look somewhat remarkable in view of that which follows, namely, "No breakfast in sight or in prospect." Later one of our men gave me half his cup of coffee and a couple of small sweet potatoes, which I roasted and ate without seasoning.

      The "ball" opened soon after daylight by a rebel battery, about three-quarters of a mile away, attempting to shell our lines. Our division was massed under the shelter of a hill. One of our batteries of 12-pounder brass guns promptly replied, and a beautiful artillery duel ensued, the first I had ever witnessed at close quarters. Many of us crept up to the brow of the hill to see the "fun," though we were warned that we were courting trouble in so doing. We could see columns of rebel infantry marching in ranks of four, just as we marched, en route, and as shell after shell from our guns would explode among them and scatter and kill we would cheer. We were enjoying ourselves hugely until presently some additional puffs of smoke appeared from their side, followed immediately by a series of very ugly hissing, whizzing sounds, and the dropping of shells amongst our troops which changed the whole aspect of things. Our merriment and cheering were replaced by a scurrying to cover, with blanched faces on some and an ominous, thoughtful quiet over all.

      This was really our first baptism of fire, for though at South Mountain we had been in range and were credited with being in the fight as supports, none of the shells had actually visited us. Several of these came altogether too close for comfort. Colonel Oakford, Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox, and I were sitting on our horses as close together as horses ordinarily stand, when one of these ugly missiles dropped down between us. It came with a shrieking, screeching sound, like the pitch of an electric car with the added noise of a dozen sky-rockets. It did not explode. It created considerable consternation and no little stir with horses and men, but did no damage further than the scare and a good showering of gravel and dust. Another struck between the ranks of our brigade as they were resting under the hill with guns stacked—only a few feet away from us. It also, happily, failed to explode, but we were sure some one must have been killed by it. It did not seem possible that such a missile could drop down upon a division of troops in mass without hitting somebody; but, strange as it may seem, it did no damage beyond knocking down a row of gun-stacks and tumbling topsy-turvy several men, who were badly bruised, but otherwise uninjured. The way the concussion tossed the men about was terrific. Had these shells exploded, some other body would probably have had to write up this narrative.

      Another shell incident occurred during this artillery duel that looked very funny, though it was anything but funny to the poor fellow who suffered. He, with others, had been up near our battery, on the knoll just above us, witnessing the firing, when one of these rebel shells came ricochetting along the ground towards him as he evidently thought, for he started to run down the hill thinking to get away from it, but in fact running exactly in front of the shell, which carried away one heel. He continued down the hill at greatly accelerated speed, but now hopping on one foot. Had he remained where he was the missile would have passed him harmlessly. Except when nearly spent, shells are not seen until they have passed, but the screeching, whizzing, hissing noise is sufficient to make one believe they are hunting him personally. Veteran troops get to discount the terrors of these noises in a measure, and pay little attention to them, on the theory that if one is going to be hit by them he will be anyway, and no amount of dodging will save him, so they go right on and "take their chances." But with new troops the effect of a shell shrieking over or past them is often very ludicrous. An involuntary salaam follows the first sound, with a wild craning of the necks to see where it went. Upon marching troops, the effect is like that of a puff of wind chasing a wave across a field of grain.

      Returning to our artillery duel, so far as we could judge, our battery had the best of the practice, but not without paying the price, for the second rebel shell killed the major (chief of artillery of our division), who sat on his horse directing the fire, and besides there were a number of casualties among the battery men. I had seen many a battery practice on parade occasions with blank cartridges. How utterly different was the thing in war. Infinitely more savage, the noise deafeningly multiplied, each gun, regardless of the others, doing its awful worst to spit out and hurl as from the mouth of a hell-born dragon these missiles of death at the enemy.

      The duel continued for upwards of two hours, until the enemy's battery hauled off, having apparently had enough. Evidences of the conflict were sadly abundant. A number were killed, others wounded and several of the battery horses were killed. The work of the men in this hell of fire was magnificent. They never flagged for a moment, and at the conclusion were not in the least disabled, notwithstanding their losses. I think it was Nimm's battery from Pittsburg. This was the chief incident of the day. It was said the two armies were manœuvring for position, and that a great battle was imminent. This from my diary. It proved to be true, and that all the skirmishes and "affaires" for the preceding ten days had been only preliminary to the great battle of Antietam, fought on the next day, the 17th.

      We remained in bivouac here the remainder of the day and night. Burnside's Ninth Corps passed to "the front" during the afternoon, a splendid body of veteran troops, whose handsome and popular general was heartily cheered. He was a large, heavily-built man, and sat his handsome horse like a prince.

CHAPTER V

       Table of Contents

      THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM

      Never did day open more beautiful. We were astir at the first streak of dawn. We had slept, and soundly too, just where nightfall found us under the shelter of the hill near Keedysville. No reveille call this morning. Too close to the enemy. Nor was this needed to arouse us. A simple call of a sergeant or corporal and every man was instantly awake and alert. All realized that there was ugly business and plenty of it just ahead. This was plainly visible in the faces as well as in the nervous, subdued demeanor of all. The absence of all joking and play and the almost painful sobriety of action, where jollity had been the rule, was particularly noticeable.

      Before proceeding with the events of the battle, I should speak of the "night before the battle," of which so much has been said and written. My diary says that Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox, Captain James Archbald, Co. I, and I slept together, sharing our blankets; that it rained during the night; this fact, with the other, that we were close friends at home, accounts for our sharing blankets. Three of us with our gum blankets could so arrange as to keep fairly dry, notwithstanding the rain.

      The camp was ominously still this night. We were not allowed to sing or make any noise, nor have any fires—except just enough to make coffee—for fear of attracting the fire of the enemies' batteries. But there was no need of such an inhibition as to singing or frolicking, for there was no disposition to indulge in either. Unquestionably, the problems of the morrow were occupying all breasts. Letters were written home—many of them