Pvt. Worcester Burrows, Co. C, 27th New York Infantry, On the Battle and the Retreat

26 12 2012

Delaware Soldiers.

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We give below some extracts from letters after the battle, from Worcester Burrows and Henry O. Wheeler, of Deposit, which we find in the Deposit Democrat. They were both members of the N. Y. 27th., and as brave boys as ever went to the field.

From W. Burrows.

Soon after our Colonel fell the regiment seemed to waver, but it was immediately rallied by our gallant Maj. Bartlett, who assumed the command, and showed himself a brave and daring man and a good officer. Soon after he took the command the enemy hoisted the American flag, and we were instantly ordered not to fire, supposing them to be our men, but no sooner had they secured their position than they hauled it down and opened a desperate fire upon us. It was well returned, our boys fighting like tigers. We were badly cut up. Some of our men after they were wounded, would cry out, “give it to them boys.” One of our company stood firing all alone after the order to retreat was given, and when the Capt. asked him why he stood there all alone, he replied, “I was so enraged that I did not miss the regiment.”

Although the enemy had every advantage, we gave them a good reception, and we think they will prefer hereafter to meet “the Yankee [?]” as they did, three to one rather than as they braggartly say “one to three.”

The Ellsworth Zouaves came into the field just behind us. We could hear them shout, “Ellsworth,” above the cannon roar. They fought desperately, completely annihilating the company of Black Horse Cavalry, only six escaping.

As soon as the retreat commenced, the panic seemed to fly through the whole body, and every one was for himself. The ambulance were loaded to their utmost with the wounded, and a great many were left behind in the hospital; these were butchered by the canibals that followed us. As our broken forces were scattered along the road, a few of our Cavalry came dashing along, saying “the rebel Cavalry was upon us.” There was a predictable panic. Every thing was borne along in the crowd. We managed to keep our Deposit boy on board the ambulance; the first one broke down; on the next one, a four horse concern, we could only get him upon the step, where he rode until we reached the Run. Found the bridge blockaded;  artillery, ambulances, baggage wagons crowded into a confused mass. The enemy had cut off our retreat and poured on us a volley of shot and shell. The drivers cut their horses loose and fled, leaving the wounded to take care of themselves. In the same wagon with Wheeler was a wounded officer; a man rode up and offered him his horse to escape, but he refused it. Wheeler sat looking out as cool as ever for a few moments, and then said, “you can make your escape, and I will try if I die in the attempt.” He mounted my back, and I picked my way out of the rubbish, waded the Run and took to the woods. As we came up the bank from the Creek the grape fell around us like hail, but we escaped without a scratch. As soon as we were out of reach of the enemy’s fire, Wheeler took the “tow path” and hobbled nearly two miles. We stopped at Centreville and rested three hours, and had W’s wound dressed. We inquired for the Twenty-Seventh, and one of Deposit boys answered to the call; stopped a few moments with us and then went for help for W. About 11 P. M. the surgeon told me to be off with my friend or he would be taken. We commenced our weary march, but at a short distance a horse rushed into the road with a rail attached to his halter. I caught him, placed W. on his back, and set off in better spirits in search of the Twenty-Seventh, and overtook it about twelve miles from Washington, and what a sorry looking set. We arrived at Arlington about 10 A. M. on Monday. We had to wait until about 4 P. M. before we could get orders from Gen. Mansfield to cross Long bridge. On reaching Camp [?] some two hundred of the Twenty-Seventh were missing, but since, they have straggled in until now there is only 110 gone, 20 out of Co. C, which seems to have fared worse than any other. All the deposit boys came back. Three of them have been quite sick since they returned. All were lame and sore, as you may imagine from the length of our march without scarcely eating any thing from the time we left camp until we arrived at Washington. We are now all feeling pretty well, and will soon be ready for the field again. We will fight like savages if we get at the rebels again.

Truly yours,

W. B.

Franklin Visitor, 8/14/1861

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Worcester Burrows at Ancestry.com

Contributed by John Hennessy





“C”, Co. K, 27th New York Infantry, On the March and the Retreat

23 12 2012

From our regular Correspondent.

Letter from the 27th.

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Camp Anderson,

Washington, D. C.

August 5, 1861.

Friend Black: – I had intended soon after the memorable “battle before Manassas,” to write as full an account as possible concerning the advance of the 27th, the engagement following, and the final repulse and retreat to Washington, but as two weeks have since quickly elapsed, ,and letters have been daily received concerning the battle, and your readers were also favored with your letter from “Camp Anderson,” dated July 24, it will be almost unnecessary to have still another statement. Our retreat, no – we don’t call it a retreat – simply a retrograde movement together with the fatiguing march following, left the men, as you know, quite disheartened, but quiet and freedom from drill since our return have restored the usual good feeling, and we again hear issuing from the door of this and that “mess” the notes of patriotic songs which evince an increase of patriotic feeling and exuberant spirits. As not much has been written concerning it, I will write more particularly concerning

THE MARCH.

My last I think closed with a brief notice of orders to cross the Potomac, which was done within three hours of the command, the regiment singing, as we passed through the streets and over the Long Bridge, national airs, and hurrahing as we touched the “sacred soil,” with a right good will. Upon arriving on the Virginia side we found thousands in advance of us, and were followed by regiments from Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Vermont, Connecticut and New York. In the rear hundreds of ponderous baggage wagons jolted over the stony road, regiments of cavalry clattered over the uneven ground, and the rumbling of artillery here and there along the [?] combined to make up one of the grandest scenes ever witnessed, viz: an advance movement of the American Army.

That night, fatigued by a forced march of sixteen miles, we halted at eleven o’clock six miles from Fairfax Court House, and encamped in a large field, with ripe sheaves of wheat as pillows and mattresses, a blanket for covering, and the sky as one grand tent. The rumble of baggage wagons, which filed by in one continuous train, lulled us to sleep, and in the morning roused us. A savory breakfast was cooked from [?] found in a cellar near by, and at eight o’clock we were again on the march, over a road obstructed by fallen trees and rail fences, which the advance removed, and at half past ten the order was given to form into platoons, and we ascended a hill in full view of the enemy’s earthworks, which had been deserted but two hours previous.

Smoking camp fires and an untouched breakfast told of their hasty departure. But a short distance farther on, and we were at the notorious village, Fairfax Court House, and from and old rusty dome or steeple of insignificant proportions, floated a small faded “pelican flag,” which was quickly removed, and in its stead out to the breeze went “[?] Red, White and Blue.” Our patriotic adjutant struck up the Star Spangled Banner, and the regiment joined in the chorus, the full and hearty sound floated with the dust surrounding into the face and eyes of the few rebel occupants of the town, one or the other of which had the effect to make them look very severe. Everything in town had a deserted appearance, and in the entire march a large proportion of the dwelling past were vacated.

The division halted a short distance beyond, and in the rebel camps surrounded by earthworks on either side for the protection of rebels, with marks every where around us of their presence, we spent the second night out of Washington, several members of our company sleeping even in a tent occupied the night before by a rebel Major.

Independent foraging parties went around shortly after the halt, and collected and bro’t in from different parts of the camping ground a good supply of coffee and honey, a beef that had been killed the morning previous, several tents and various cooking utensils.

Acting on the principle that “stolen fruit is the sweeter,” chickens were served up in all manner of ways, ,and the supply of beef being scanty a fine bullock was found near by and added to the rations, being cooked for the following day. Yes with all this there were many acts of destruction to be regretted. Looking up from pilot bread and blackberries, I saw the flames encircle a large barn but a short distance off, and in a few moments it was in ashes. Smoke was seen in other directions, and it was reported that owners were destroying their property that it might not come into our possession. How true this was I do not know. That night for the first time we heard the cry ring out on the night air, “turn out! turn out!” and crawling from under boughs and blankets used as covering, every man jumped for his musket, and was quickly in his place. We knew we were in an enemy’s country, completely surrounded by rebels who, but the night before, slept where we were sleeping, and all expected something, but were disappointed when told that the alarm was caused by an accidental discharge of a sentry’s gun, followed by the order to “stack arms.” Next morning we proceeded on and halted in the afternoon at the last camping ground, Camp Hunter, three miles from Centreville.

Here came the first realization of genuine camp life. Luxurious land to be simply [?] as in the far distant future or remembered past. To be sure those who had money could purchase of accommodating pedlars who followed us, as long as their supply lasted, two inches of bologna for two shillings, a pie, very thin and nearly transparent, for twenty shillings, or a pint of very common “tangle-leg” for one dollar, but as the 27th hadn’t been paid off, they had as I say to look at these articles, and stand by while the regulars in the brigade, who clinked in their pockets and on the card table gold for four months pay, did the “shopping.”

During our stay a sentence was executed upon two deserters from the 3d Infantry, which was fifty lashes upon the bare back well laid on, branding with the letter D, one and a half inches long and one inch wide, forfeiture of pay due and coming due, and at the expiration of ten days they were to be drummed out of camp. It was a sorry sight and one which no one wants to witness more than once,

At one o’clock Sunday morning, July 21st, the bugle sounded, and at two we started for Manassas Junction, with minds fully made up for a complete victory. Going four miles we left the direct road and marched through a road cut through the woods, with but an occasional and very brief halt, fourteen miles which placed the division in a position to make the attach from the rear of the enemy. During the entire distance all the water we drank was of the muddiest kind, and breakfast had to be eaten while marching. At half past ten, after a halt of fifteen minutes, the 27th was ordered onward, and away we went, on double quick, into the battle field, saluted upon coming into view by a round from the enemy’s batteries, which directed fire upon us, and soon changed the occasional booming to a continuous roar. – Right here I might as well stop. I shall not, nor can I give a description of that battle; an account I might give, but that you have had entire. Pen and ink cannot describe the roar of the cannon, the rattle of musketry, the charge of cavalry, the groans and implorations of the wounded, and dying, nor the horrors of war. The 27th fought bravely and nobly, and compelled to retreat, tired and worn, we slowly moved back toward Centreville, leaving our dead and wounded to the mercy of the enemy. Our retreat was hastened by an alarm, and arriving at the stone bridge another alarm was given which was too real. The rebels had planted a battery near the bridge, and were pouring in shell and grape furiously. I was near the Rhode Island battery when we arrived at the bridge, and such a scene of confusion I scarce ever witnessed. The gunners unhitched their horses and mounting them dashed away through the crowd leaving the battery – four heavy brass pieces – in the reach of the rebels. The wagoners, who followed next, joined in the panic, and cutting the fastenings to the wagons left them standing and upturned along the road. Infantry crowded on and hurried across, and as far as the eye could reach was one dense mass of soldiers fleeing for very life, and strewing the road as they went with muskets, blankets and haversacks, some even throwing away shoes to free themselves from everything which prevented a rapid flight. Near Centreville, confidence was restored by meeting fresh troops, and with a more steady tread the march was continued, with but a short halt at Camp Hunter, till on Monday morning at nine o’clock, wet with drenching rain, we came into  Fort Runyon, (just across the river), weary, footsore and exhausted, having marched according to statistics at the War Department, sixty-four miles, and been six hours in the battle field, without rest during the entire thirty-one hours.

Why a defeat, “and whose fault is it?” are questions which every one first asks, It was not because bravery and courage were wanting, and General Scott compliments his Generals in the strongest terms. One thing is certain, reinforcements were lacking, and while the enemy, after each volley, relived the exhausted with fresh troops, we were compelled to repeat the charge. Co. “K” did gloriously! The timid and weak (what Co. did not have them!) dropped out one by one, and placed themselves in positions of safety, leaving the field free to the true soldiers, who, amid the hottest fire, did their work manfully and nobly, and richly deserved the proudest victory ever achieved.

Our Col. is fast improving, and although he has received the appointment of Brigadier General, we hope to see him with us again temporarily, if not permanently. I picked up a Rochester Democrat of Aug. 3d, [?], and was astonished to find in it an article headed, “Information (!) for friends and relatives of Co. K, [?],” which contained such a [?] of misstatements that it must not pass [?] [?]. With but one or two exceptions the entire communication is false from the beginning to end, and the various expressions of those who read it were certainly amusing. The writer’s attempts to make us notorious are refreshing, [?] doubt whether any would be able to endure it but those who (the writer says) “charged and took unsupported a battery eight times.” (!) The fact is we have become disgusted with the lies in circulation, tales of heroic deeds, and narrow escapes, &c. &c., and prefer simply plain and truthful statements concerning us, knowing that the former are an injury, while the latter is our due, and all that we desire. I am sorry to add as a finale, that two deserters from Co. K, named J. Carlos Humphrey and William Murdock, are at large having donned citizen’s clothes, and been absent from camp for over one week. Whoever will cause their arrest will receive the usual reward.

The bugle is sounding for roll call, and hoping to be more prompt,

I am &c.,

C.

Orleans Republican, 8/14/1861

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Contributed by John Hennessy





A Volunteer at the First Bull Run – H. Seymour Hall

5 03 2010

A VOLUNTEER AT THE FIRST BULL RUN

BY COMPANION H. SEYMOUR HALL, Brevet Brigadier General U.S.V. May 4, 1892

WAR TALKS IN KANSAS: A SERIES OF PAPERS READ BEFORE THE KANSAS COMMANDERY OF THE MILITARY ORDER OF THE LOYAL LEGION OF THE UNITED STATES, pp. 143-159

On Wednesday, April 17, 1861, after attendance at morning prayers in the chapel of Genesee College, Lima, N. Y., Truman L. Bowman and myself, both student boys who expected to graduate at the June commencement, challenged each other to enlist as soldiers in a regiment which Prof. Quinby, of Rochester University, had begun to organize at Rochester, N. Y., twenty miles away. We discontinued attendance on our recitations and imparted the project to our fellow-students, a number of whom were eager to follow our example, thus threatening to demoralize classes and considerably diminish the somewhat slender attendance in the college, so that on Monday, April 22d, the college president, Rev. J. Morrison Reid, D.D., late missionary secretary of the Methodist Episcopal Church, called a public mass-meeting of students and citizens in college chapel to capture and control these prospective soldiers. The chapel was crowded with people, and amid the most intense excitement, Doctor Reid was chosen to preside, and my friend and classmate, Charles H. Hickmott, secretary. After a most fervent and patriotic prayer, President Reid made a speech, advocating the organisation of a company to remain at home, complete our college course, drill for exercise, so as to be ready when needed; which time of need had not, in his opinion, yet come, though President Lincoln had called for 75,000 men.

The next speech followed a similar line of argument, the speaker being one whom I most admired and respected, our professor in French and German, William Wells, Ph.D., now filling the chair of modern language at Union College, Schenectady, N. Y. Others followed in the same strain, but all failed to touch the hearts of the people. Hall and Bowman were then called for, and both briefly and emphatically announced their purpose to become soldiers at once, at which the wildest enthusiasm was manifested. This was embarrassing to Doctor Reid, who looked over the audience for someone to call to his relief; observing Mr. John Mosher, the only banker in the village, the doctor asked him to give his views. Mr. Mosher rose deliberately, the people eagerly listened as he said with marked emphasis, “I have $100 to help fit out a company for immediate service.” There was small solace in this for our president, so again he sought for reinforcements, this time calling on Colonel Alexander McCane, of the War of 1812. The colonel promptly stood up, towered majestically above his fellows, planted his cane on the floor as if obeying the command, “Order arms,” and said with military brevity and vim, “I have another $100 to put with Mr. Mosher’s.” Utterly routed by this combination of finance and military strategy, Dr. Reid sought to rally his forces behind that honest farmer, Squire Calvin E. Vary, who had given several thousand of his hard-earned dollars to endow the college, was then one of its trustees, and had driven in from his farm to witness the proceedings. Says the doctor, “What does Squire Vary think?” Up rose the stalwart squire, showing his tall and massive form, and enunciated as his proposition, “All I have to say is, that I have another $100 to help those boys along, and will put with that just as much more as is necessary to organize the company. I move that this meeting be now adjourned.” Those three gentlemen then came to me and said, “Come down town with us; to-night we will hold a meeting in Concert Hall, and organize a company for immediate service.”

A meeting was held, rousing speeches by men who staid safely at home, encouraged the boys to join the company which it was resolved to organize, and while the meeting was full of enthusiasm and patriotic ardor, it was lacking in information. No one knew how to proceed or what were the pay and allowances of a soldier; none of us had ever seen a muster-roll nor a volume of tactics. The next morning I wrote out a brief pledge of enlistment, took it to a teacher of penmanship, had it beautifully copied at the top of a half-sheet of foolscap paper, pasted other half-sheets to it, and we signed our names to this, the first muster-roll of the “Lima Volunteers.” My roll filled up rapidly, and those under twenty-one years of age were required to bring the written consent of their parents before signing the roll. I find on my memorandum-book used at that time thirty-one names of boys for whom I had written out these certificates of consent for their parents to sign, and remember many others to whom I also furnished them, one-half the company at least being minors. President Reid had sent me a summons to resume attendance on my classes, to which I paid no attention, so he repeated it, coupled with the notice that I would be expelled if I did not comply, to which my reply was more emphatic than courteous; but I was not expelled. My friend General Horace Boughton, lately buried at Arlington, came out from Rochester recruiting for General Quinby’s regiment, into which he was mustered as captain. T. L. Bowman enlisted with him, and I saw Bowman no more till 1866, when he came to St. Louis, Mo., with Stilson Hutchings, as one of the Times editors, when Hutchings and Hodnett established the St. Louis Daily Times. When our ranks were full, the local citizens’ committee proposed that we elect officers, and they said that Colonel James Perkins was an experienced military man, who, in addition to his exhaustive knowledge of military science, would with his sixty years be like a father to us, and as some of us were orphans and strangers in the town, except for our few months’ residence there as students, we gladly ratified their choice.

They then proposed as lieutenant, Philo D. Phillips, who had commanded a company of “Wide-Awakes,” armed with torches, in the presidential campaign of 1860—so of course he knew all about war. As none of us knew anything about it, we also confirmed this selection, and were proud of our acquisition. Now our college, through its president and others, showed its deep interest in our welfare; not deep enough, however, to confer the degrees upon those of us who would have graduated in June had we not enlisted, as all other colleges in the North did on their students under similar circumstances, but deep enough to recommend as third officer, commissioned by the State as ensign, Thomas D. Bancroft, a student who it was claimed had served in Jim Lane’s thirty-day company that General Lane organized at Washington in March; hence Bancroft could allege experience as well as knowledge. But the boys knew Bancroft and drew the line there. They came to me and said: “You were the first one to enlist and interest others to do so, you have done all the business; the men whom we have elected captain and lieutenant have not taken part with us, nor done anything to entitle them to the places to which we have elected them; you ought to have had first place, all we can do now is to give you the next position, and we propose to make you ensign.” Knowing my entire lack of experience, I was entirely willing to remain in the ranks as I had begun, and so stated to my comrades, but they unanimously elected me. The ladies made a beautiful United States flag and presented it to the company in the Methodist church, which, large as it is, was much too small to hold the audience that gathered to witness the scene and hear the service of religious and patriotic prayer, songs, and speeches. As the ensign was supposed to have something to do with the colors, and for other reasons, it devolved upon me to receive the beautiful emblem from the hands of the ladies and to respond to the presentation speech. We soon learned that our company color could not be carried, but I kept it with the boys in every campaign and adorned our company headquarters with it in every camp, as long as I served with the company.

The ladies also made havelocks out of fine white flannel and gave each of us one to wear to protect our heads from the hot sun, and they supplied each soldier boy with an elegant pocket needle-book of their own handiwork, so liberally furnished with pins, buttons, needles, and thread that if we could have caught the Rebels asleep, we could have sewed them up so tight that they could not have fired a gun. The committee gave each man a blanket, which was trimmed and bound by the same fair hands.

When our .company was filled up to the maximum, Esquire Vary took our foolscap roll to Albany to have our company accepted by the State. Governor Morgan had called some of the members of the military committee of the Senate to advise with him, among them Dean Richmond and Erastus Corning, and when our services were tendered, all were of the opinion that no more men were needed, and that those already accepted by the State of New York could alone put down the Rebellion.

The squire was about to telegraph to us to disband, when he met Captain Joseph J. Chambers, who had recruited a company in Westchester County, and was now at the capital tendering its services to the State. Captain Chambers, whom I afterwards knew well, went before the Governor and the committee, to urge the acceptance of his own and the few other companies whose tender of service had not been accepted. He had been private secretary to Governor Myron H. Clark and was well known to Governor Morgan and his advisers. Having failed to change their decision by argument, and he could make a strong one, and was a ready speaker when aroused, though he stammered very badly at other times, he picked up a heavy chair and backed against the door of the executive chamber, saying, “B-b-b-by G-G-od! you d-d-d-don’t get out of this room t-t-t-till you accept these co-co-co-companies.” Whether for this or for some other reason, our company was accepted, and about the 30th day of April, 1861, Major C. E. Babbitt, a State officer, mustered the company into the service of the State of New York, and on the 7th day of May we were ordered to rendezvous at Elmira. I had procured a copy of Hardee’s Infantry Tactics and studied and practiced drilling, so that when thousands of people came to see us off, we could march quite like soldiers. We rode in wagons and coaches seven miles to Avon Springs, where a crowd so large and enthusiastic awaited us that we could hardly make our way to the cars. At Corning orders were received to stop off and quarter in the State Arsenal there, as there was no room for us in barracks at Elmira. By order of Captain Perkins, I proceeded to Elmira, to arrange to unite our company with some regiment, where I found several already containing five to eight companies each, their full complement of field and staff officers chosen, which gave companies joining later no voice in the selection of the regimental officers. This was not satisfactory to me, and I soon found representatives of other companies who took the same view of it that I did; consequently we formed an organization of our own, called ours the ‘”Union Regiment,” agreeing that no one should be selected for any field or staff position till ten companies were admitted. We made up that number about May 18th, near which time occurred my first meeting with General H. W. Slocum. He was in Elmira at the request of some gentlemen of another organization, expecting to be their colonel, but the election was delayed by officers who had other views. Learning something about him, and that he was a graduate of West Point, had seen service, and afterwards successfully engaged in business, I sought an introduction to him, and, without his knowledge, heartily pressed the suggestion that the officers of our regiment meet to elect a colonel. We did so, elected Slocum colonel without a dissenting voice, and sent a committee to notify him; he came in with them on their return and at once accepted.

The ten companies composing the regiment were organized in different counties of the State, as specified, and commanded at that time by Captains Joseph Chambers, Westchester County; Joseph J. Bartlett, Broome; Peter Jay, Broome; A. D. Adams, Wayne; C. C. Gardner, Dutchess; James Perkins, Lima, Livingston; C. E. Martin, Mt. Morris, Livingston; G. G. Wanzer, Monroe; H. L. Achilles, Orleans; and S. M. Harman, Allegheny. The regimental organization was then completed by our election of Captain Chambers as lieutenant-colonel and Captain Bartlett as major. Our company was ordered to Elmira and mustered into the service of the United States with the regiment for two years from the 21st of May, 1861, and Colonel Slocum at once began regular instruction and drill. This was the 27th Regiment, New York Volunteer Infantry, and we were Company G. We learned our camp duty and the drill quite easy, but were somewhat particular about our rations in those days, and on one occasion when the beef was a little too fresh and lively, the boys of Company E securely boxed their dinner allowance, formed a procession, to the tune of “The Rogues’ March,” to an improvised cemetery in the orchard, and after a moving funeral oration by Judge Albion W. Tourgee, then a private in the company, buried their beef with all the honors of war. General Slocum, who was absent from camp, heard of it on his return. Tourgee says: “Some very strong language was indulged in, and afterwards a very nice fellow—one of those genteel fellows with a gun—came to me. He was very polite to me, and stated that the colonel wanted to see me at his quarters. I didn’t want to be rude, so I went. The colonel was smoking, not very quietly, and was talking to himself quite emphatically. He asked me if I had anything to do with ‘that operation.’ I did not know exactly to what he referred, but finally admitted that I might have been there. Then he asked me if I did not know that my conduct was derogatory to good discipline and in defiance of authority, and that upon me rested the fate of the country. I had never looked upon it in that light, and remarked that I never knew that beef had any particular rank, and that I thought it ought to be confined. He gave me a kind lecture, for which I was very thankful, and afterwards I found him a kind commander.” Our drill, spiced with similar incidents, went on till about the 8th of July, when we started for the front. At Williamsport, Pa., we found a fine supper prepared, and the enthusiasm of the people and the eagerness of the ladies to serve us with every delicacy of the table are yet well remembered. We arrived in Washington on the 10th and were quartered on Franklin Square, where were just barracks enough for our regiment. Guard-mounting, drill, target practice, and dress parade kept us busy by day, while the study of tactics and Army Regulations was the chief occupation of some of us when off duty. 

Our regimental quartermaster had been a village hotelkeeper at Lima, whose business experience in other directions was limited. When I called on him for company books and blanks, he said he had tried to get them, but they were not to be had. In looking around the city I had been to the War Department, and again I called on General George D. Ruggles, then a captain in the Adjutant-General’s office, and told him what Lieutenant Hamilton.said. He replied that car-loads of such supplies were on hand, suggesting that if I would send a man from each company, he would send the regiment a full supply. I reported the matter to Colonel Slocum, and we were soon supplied with books and blanks.

We left Franklin Square at 2 p. m., Monday, July 15th, crossed Long Bridge into Virginia, bivouacking at midnight, after what then seemed to us a tremendous march, six and one-half miles east of Fairfax Court House, momentarily expecting to meet the enemy. Under Colonel Andrew Porter, as brigade commander, we pushed on at 7 a. m., July 16th, toward Fairfax Court House, finding our road obstructed by fallen trees, which we had to remove, so that we did not reach the enemy’s works at the Court House till noon, when we found their works deserted, took possession, and remained for the night. On the morning of July 17th we advanced about half a mile beyond the village toward Centerville, where we came upon abundant evidences of the hasty flight of the enemy, blankets, tents, and arms being found plentifully strewn around in the vicinity of our camp. At this place one of our boys, a very young and slender freshman, a good soldier, found and brought to me an ancient and curious saber; the sharply curved blade is finely tempered, the ebony grip is clasped in the middle by a band of silver enlarged on one side into an oval plate bearing an eagle supporting a shield, in his talons arrows and olive branch, all beneath a constellation of thirteen stars, the silver guard terminating in a finely engraved eagle’s head of the same precious metal. I carefully preserve it, and have endeavored in vain to learn its history.

From this place we moved at 3 p. m. to within three miles of Centerville, where I made use of a tent which fell into my hands at Fairfax, upon which was marked, “Major Cabell, C. S. A.” Two hours after midnight the long roll called us out in the rain, but no enemy appeared. We remained in this place until we advanced to the attack. Our division commander, Colonel David Hunter, having his carriage and headquarters under a tree just across the road, where we saw squads of prisoners occasionally brought in. Saturday, July 20th, we received three days’ rations, with orders to cook and take them in our haversacks, and be ready to move at 2 a. m., Sunday, July 21st. Saturday night was a warm, beautiful moonlight night, and as the boys lay grouped around, they speculated whether the enemy would not retreat as he had done from Fairfax Court House, and some expressed doubts of our ever getting sight of him. I said to them that, having some acquaintance with Southern people, my opinion was that our desire to meet them would be fully satisfied.

Our discussion was closed by the first notes of the opening performance of the famous Marine Band of Washington, which accompanied our brigade, and just on the eve of battle their exquisite music was listened to in silence, and when the band finally closed with the familiar and touching strains of “Home, Sweet Home,” the eloquent silence remained unbroken till Sunday morning, July 21st, at half past 1, when we quietly aroused the men from their dreams of home and friends which many of them would never realize. Our division was the flanking column, which was to turn the enemy’s left by way of Sudley Springs and Ford, our brigade being second in line, the order of march being Griffin’s Battery; Battalion of Marines, Major John J. Reynolds; Twenty-Seventh Regiment, New York Volunteer Infantry, Colonel H. W. Slocum; Fourteenth New York State Militia, Colonel A. M. Wood; Eighth New York State Militia, Colonel George Lyons; Battalion Regular Infantry, Major George Sykes; one company Second Dragoons, two companies First Cavalry, four companies Second Cavalry, Major I. N. Palmer.

The road was obstructed by the troops en route to their position at the stone bridge, so that we did not cover the three miles to Centerville till 5, and it was nearly 7 when our brigade filed to the right at an old shop four miles beyond Centerville, and one-half mile beyond Cub Run Bridge on the Warrenton Turnpike, at which point the flanking movement really began. We followed an old abandoned road through the woods, which meandered somewhat near the general course of Bull Run, about two miles from it, till we came to Thornton’s, where our course changed to the southwest directly to Sudley’s Ford, which we reached about 10, having marched since 2 a. m., twelve and one-half miles only, though it seemed a great achievement at the time. Colonel A. E. Burnside’s brigade had crossed and were resting; we halted for rest and to fill our canteens before crossing Bull Run, and half an hour later, as the enemy was discovered, we crossed the ford while Burnside’s brigade was deploying. Our captain fell out exhausted as to the double quick we passed in rear of Burnside’s line, now hotly engaged, to take our place on his right. The shells of the Rebel artillery fell around us, damaging and demoralizing us slightly, the first casualty that I saw being the killing of two men of Major Sykes’ battalion by one shell. As we moved out across the open fields an incident occurred that I have a vivid recollection of, which was also witnessed by others, and which is so well recounted by Dr. W. H. Coe, now of Auburn, New York, that I will quote it from his letter to me:

“Auburn, N. Y., April 23, 1888

“General H. S. Hall:

“My dear Sir,—You will no doubt remember me as one of the original members of Company G, Twenty-seventh Regiment New York Volunteers, enlisted on Seminary Hill at Lima, April 23, 1861, nine days after the fall of Sumter. I was only a lad then, and was required to get the written consent of my parents allowing me to enlist. I attended a reunion of the Twenty-seventh at Mt. Morris last fall, at which only seven or eight of Company G were present. General Slocum was present, now slow in his motions, stocky in person, and getting white with age. I find on inquiry for this one or that one, that I am oftener answered ‘Dead’ than otherwise. I have been told that you went well up in the service after the Twenty-seventh boys came home, and that you left an arm down South. But I want to refer back to 1861, and our march from Centerville to Bull Run, and as we went on double quick across the fields in rear of the line of battle to take our place near the right of the line in such a position that we could see the hard fighting going on as we passed along, and knew that we were going into the same; then where was Captain Perkins? Poor man, he had tired out, and was not fit at his age to endure such marching; the company being led by First Lieutenant Phillips; then I well remember seeing lieutenant Phillips step back from the head of the company and say, ‘Lieutenant Hall, will you lead the company?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ said Lieutenant Hall, and immediately exchanged places with Lieutenant Phillips; and so Lieutenant Hall led the company through the first great battle of the war. I want your boys to understand this, and remember it as a bit of military history. You may have forgotten this item in the rush of changes of those days, but I distinctly remember it.”

The direction of our attack was nearly south along the Sudley and New Market Road, and as we advanced the enemy on the east of that road, under Bee, Bartow, and Evans, gallantly held their ground till our regiment was ordered to charge down the road upon their supports and turn their position by their left and rear.

Without halting, we rushed down the hill, driving infantry and artillery from their position near a stone house in the angle formed by the road we were on and the Warrenton Turnpike, and as they fell back to the heights across the turnpike we filed around the stone house facing to the rear of and advancing upon General Bee’s position, up the hill towards a grove of oak trees in which his.left was posted. At this moment the enemy, finding their left turned by us, retired by their right, and we saw them moving out of the grove parallel to our front, deliberately making signs, as if they were friends. Their colors were furled, and their gray uniforms did not sufficiently designate them, as many of our own troops wore the same color. We were yet lacking in discipline, so while some of us shouted, “Fire!” others yelled, “Don’t shoot; it is a Massachusetts regiment, or the Eighth New York.” Tall Bob Frazee at my elbow on the right of my company, with a voice like a fog-horn, shouted to them, “Show your colors,” when they shook out the Rebel flag and opened a terrific fire of musketry on us. That settled it, and gallantly and coolly directed by Colonel Slocum, Lieutenant-Colonel Chambers, and Major Bartlett, we gave them the best we had. Their batteries and reserves on our right rear across the Warrenton Pike joined in the fight, and when one company seemed somewhat nervous, Lieutenant-Colonel Chambers encouraged them by saying, “Ne-ne-ne-never mind a f-f-few shells, boys; G-G-G-God Almighty is m-m-merciful.” One lieutenant, with the large whites of his eyes showing like saucers, manfully stood his post and fired his revolver in the air. Riding up and down the rear of the regiment, the lieutenant-colonel continued his Scriptural injunctions, and noticing my company doing the most telling execution, said, “G-g-g-give it to ‘em, b-b-boys; God l-l-loves a cheerful g-g-giver.” The troops that engaged us soon passed over Young’s Branch and across the Warrenton Turnpike out of sight near the Robinson house with their main line and batteries, and as our regiment was without support, Colonel Slocum withdrew it up the hill into the grove from which the troops we had encountered came, receiving a bullet through the leg while directing the movement. Major Bartlett then assumed command of the regiment, he says by order of Colonel Slocum, and gallantly commanded us during the remainder of the action. An ambulance was brought to the grove, the colonel was put in, and, accompanied by the lieutenant of the elevated revolver, started for Washington. We were next formed in line on the ridge from which we had charged down upon the enemy around the stone house, this time advancing to the assault of the enemy on the Henry House Hill, south of the Warrenton Pike. There had been very little concert of action in the earlier part of the battle, and there was still less now, seeming to be no simultaneous advance of lines, divisions, or brigades, regiments going in here and there singly and being repulsed one by one. We advanced to the turnpike for the second time, now to the west of Sudley Road, crossed it and Young’s Branch, and moved up to the assault just as Ellsworth’s Zouaves and other regiments gave way, when we were retired in good order under a heavy fire, in rear of the ridge from which we had set out. A large body of disorganized men had gathered there, and General McDowell, accompanied by Major Wadsworth of his staff, rode up to Major Bartlett, and the general said that our regiment was so steady and reliable that he desired us to move upon the crest of the ridge as the foundation of a new line, which should show a firm front until we were relieved, and I have always thought he added, “by General Patterson, who will soon be here.”

We obeyed the order, other troops forming on our right and left, and off to the west we could see columns of soldiers moving towards us, which I supposed to be the expected relief. Soon without any apparent cause the troops on our extreme right began to pass in our rear as if of a common impulse, neither did I hear any orders for the movement, and when it reached our regiment we went with the rest. There were no signs of fright or panic, but soon ambulances, wagons, aid artillery became intermingled with the infantry, and very little semblance of organization remained. I had urged the company to keep together, and succeeded in keeping about twenty with me. We followed a road that led to a ford near the stone bridge, and forded Bull Run in plain sight of that bridge, just as the enemy’s artillery opened on the throng of men and teams crossing it, breaking down a loaded wagon almost on the center of the bridge obstructing its passage. Many of the drivers and some of the troops were seized with panic, and some teams and men wildly took to the woods. The cry of “Black Horse Cavalry!” was raised, which added to the confusion. The artillery fire did very little damage, nor did any cavalry appear to me, though I looked carefully in all directions.

As our little party was making its way steadily along near the road, an ambulance dashed past us, at the rear of which we saw our captain hanging on for dear life with one hand, his long legs flying in the air as he ran in his desperate efforts to keep up, while with the other hand he held on his shoulder several officers’ sabers. We soon came up with him lying exhausted by the side of the road, when Bob Frazee and I took his sabers, and, supporting him on each side, helped him along till two mounted officers overtook us, when I appealed to them, saying, “Gentlemen, for God’s sake can’t you give our captain a lift; he is old and completely exhausted?” One of them said, “I will,” dismounted, and we lifted Captain Perkins into his saddle. I inquired his name, which I have forgotten, but think he was assistant surgeon of the 79th Regiment, New York State Militia. Some distance further on we again came up with the captain, when Captain Seymour Pierce, then our first sergeant, and Lieutenant J. E. Briggs, then sergeant, helped him along till they got him into a wagon which took him to Washington. Our quartermaster had gone out with his horse and buggy, and Captain Perkins was riding with him when the stampede began; before this some officers of the regiment had asked to have their swords carried in the buggy, so Captain Perkins had taken charge of them. When the shelling began and the cry of “Black Horse Cavalry!” was raised, the quartermaster took through the timber with his buggy, soon broke an axle, setting our captain afoot, his appearance clinging to the ambulance being the first we had seen of him since he dropped out near the Sudley Ford in the morning. We halted at Centerville soon after dark, and lying down on the ground, I soon fell asleep. When I awoke, the sun, shining full in my face, was over an hour high. Not a sound was to be heard, so stirring myself, rising and looking around where an army was bivouacked when I had lain down the night before, not a human being, friend or foe, was in sight, except Captain E. H. Brady, then one of my sergeants. Gathering up the swords that the captain had left with me, Brady and I did not stop to pay our bill, make our toilet, or order breakfast, but steadily advanced backwards in good order towards Fairfax Court House.

We were soon overtaken by two men of the Second Wisconsin Regiment, mounted double on a confiscated horse. Seeing my extra equipment of swords, one of the men kindly offered to carry one of them for me, and I gladly handed him the first one that came to hand without noticing which or whose it was. Unfortunately, I never could remember his name, and the sword never was restored to its owner, who proved to be Lieutenant Coan, to whom it had been presented by Albion, N. Y., friends, hence its loss by his voluntary abandonment of it to the care of another was quite mortifying to him. The others I brought into Washington and restored to their owners, who seemed to take it as a matter of course that some brother officer should load up with the side-arms that they had divested themselves of on the field of battle. I never constituted myself an armor-bearer to any of them thereafter.

At Fairfax Court House many teams and wagons were abandoned; public, regimental, and officers’ property strewed the ground on all sides, in the midst of which we saw a mounted officer, whom as we came nearer I recognized to be General James S. Wadsworth, of Geneseo, N. Y., then a major of militia, serving as volunteer, aide-de-camp to General McDowell. I approached him and said, “Sir, we belong to the Lima Volunteers, from your county; can we be of any service to you?” He replied that we could help him make a train of the abandoned wagons, by getting the soldiers that were occasionally coming in to hitch up and take charge of teams, which we did, and made up quite a train, which we took into Alexandria, sending the wagons to their proper regiments. When we left Fairfax Court House, it was fully 9 a. m. of July 22d, and there was as yet no sight or sound of pursuit by the enemy. General Wadsworth was still there without one single orderly, guard, or escort, engaged in his efforts to save property and to forward such soldiers as had been left behind. It was characteristic of the man, who with his great wealth, which he had used freely to send supplies into Washington at an earlier day, never availed himself of it to avoid service, but bore a gallant soldier’s part, did a soldier’s duty, and died a soldier’s death at the head of his division in the Wilderness. We went into Alexandria without further adventure, where several men of the 27th Regiment had made their way, whom I gathered together, drew rations for, and put them in temporary quarters, reporting to the regiment by telegraph, started for our camp on Franklin Square, Washington, at 4 p. m., and reached there with thirty-five men of the regiment at 7 p. m., July 23d.

The loss of our regiment at the battle of Bull Run, in killed, wounded, and missing was 130, 60 of whom were missing. Thirty-five returned to us from Libby Prison in January, 1862, among them seven belonging to my company. The fate of the other twenty-five missing men I never knew.

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