USA > New Hampshire > History of the Twelfth regiment, New Hampshire volunteers in the war of the rebellion > Part 56
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About 4 in the afternoon the sound of voices roused us and we heard a cart approaching the corn-rick, " Ise dun gwine ter gib dis ver mule no mo' co'n. case he's jus fass gettin goood fer nuthin," said the voice of our friend. the boss
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hand on the place. A gruff answer we could not make out was made to his remark, and then we heard the cart back up to the stalks, and the two men began to load. Their voices grew more and more distinct as the pile over our heads grew thinner. " Wha furs yer gwine ter kill dat ar mule?" complained the slave, . Cart's dun loaded nuff an mo'." But the master bade him keep on ; he even took the fork himself and eased the slave for a moment. Again and again the two men walked over us, and once the fork tines passed through Thompson's trowsers, but luckily missed wounding him.
At last the expostulations of the slave in the mule's behalf had their effect, and the cart drove off. We breathed freer for the moment, but would cart and master return? Ben pulled his jack-knife from his pocket, and opening it scanned the only weapon of defense we possessed. Then, shaking his head, said, " It's no use, Bach. we're gone as sure as thunder if he comes back, and even if we get the best of him in a fight. he'll rouse the neighbors and we'll be gobbled." We saw there was nothing for it but to be out and off. so gathering our traps, and seeing a piece of woods near by. we ran for it, and seemed to have escaped observation. Though it still lacked two hours of dark, we concluded to continue our tramp. A light snow had fallen during the day, and half melting not only quickly soaked our army brogans, but made it almost impossible for us to halt for rest with any degree of comfort. We had marched an hour perhaps, when. skirting a piece of woods, we suddenly came to a junction of three roads, and saw before us a mill on the bank of a small stream. The ruins of a much larger mill were near at hand, and we soon learned that this was Gaines's Mill that had figured so prominently in the seven days' fight before Richmond. Some men were at work on the mill. and a squad of Confederate cavalry was cooking at a fire near by. So sudden had been our approach that almost before we knew it we were in plain view of the group, and not ten rods away. I would have sold my chances cheap, and Ben afterward told me that he saw Castle Thunder for an instant as plainly as if he were in it. "Come on," whispered he, " It's no use running, but remember to let me do the talking." I gladly noticed that the bold- ness of our manœuvre had completely thrown them off their guard. We asked each other in turn the natural questions at such a meeting. Ben told them that we were officers of the Eleventh Virginia Infantry, and had volunteered to go as spies into the Yankee lines to find out the progress Dutch Gap canal was making.
Our dress of Union blue seemed to confirm our story, and in fact Thompson volunteered the information that we had secured the clothing the better to escape observation. " Do you know Captain Polk of the Eleventh?" said the officer in charge of the picket. " Well, I reckon," replied Thompson, " he belongs to my mess. I left him only a day or two ago. Fine fellow, cap." A part of this was literally true, for in exchanging the courtesies of the picket-line at Port Walthall, we had met the officer referred to. Questions over, we were invited to share the supper of the party, and regaled ourselves with bacon roasted on a stick over the fire, and corn bread cooked at a neighboring farmhouse. With many wishes for the success of our venture, and a promise on our part to call on them on our way back and relate our adventures among the Yanks, we parted the best of friends. "Take care of yourselves, boys. them Yanks are mighty sharp," were the last words that followed us. Moving down the road so long as the light of their camp-fire was in sight, as soon as possible we struck for the
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woods, and after getting under cover took up the double-quick for a mile or more without a halt. By that time the excitement of our adventure had subsided enough to allow us to speak, and Ben turning to me said, " Bach. another one like that 'll be too much for me."
Early that night. the third since our escape, and only a couple of miles from Gaines's Mills, we found ourselves tumbling about among the intrenchments and bomb-proofs of Cold Harbor battle-field. \ field where, on the third of June , preceding, our regiment at the head of Humphrey's division, had made the fatal charge that cost us more than half our men in the short space of five minutes. No Twelfth New Hampshire boy bears the name Cold Harbor without a shudder to this day.
Traces of the savage fight were lying about everywhere. Canteens, cartridge- boxes, shattered muskets, and here and there the bleaching bones of comrades looked up into our faces, white and distinct in the darkness. Damp and chilly as it was we could have enjoyed a short nap, even in that place, had I not, in groping about for a smooth spot, struck something hard and round, and upon carrying it to the light, seen the grinning features of a skull looking at me with its sightless eyes. We could endure fatigue better than sleep with such compan- ionship. and resumed again our weary tramp. It was a hideous night ; blackness all about, but light enough for us to distinguish the scattered bones of the dead which now and then caused us to stumble, and wonder what the poor owners of seven months before would have said to this rude intrusion on their long sleep. At 2 o'clock that night a light ahead gave warning of a dwelling. It proved to be a negro cabin. Within, a father, mother, and three adult daughters were at work at their task of shelling corn. a task which they assured us must be finished before they could receive their rations of food for the next day. Despite their own dire necessities, they begged us to remain the day out at their cabin and offered to share with us their scanty fare. With some hesitation we concluded to stay. worn out as we were with anxiety and travel. A few dirty rags spread on the floor of a loft in one corner of the cabin served as a bed, and so completely worn out were we, that, though the family continued their usual occupations, neither Ben nor myself knew what was occurring. Early the succeeding night. after thanking our host. and promising to free them from their bondage when we had conquered the rebs, we were on our journey; and getting bolder with our increasing distance from Richmond, we determined to take the roads instead of avoiding them as we had hitherto done. By 10 o'clock we had reached Barker's Mill, the scene of another fight of the Peninsular campaign, and an hour later were passing the ruins of Tyler's house. The two roads leading down to Sumner's grapevine bridge over the Chickahominy river were left to our right. We had learned that these bridges were no longer passable, and hurrying on our way we crossed the Richmond & York River Railroad and struck the highway leading to Bottom's bridge. There we had determined to recross the stream and strike for camps of our troops that we knew to be on the north bank of the James, and some twelve miles distant. About 3 in the morning we approached the bridge, and much to our surprise found a bright camp-fire at the centre of the road and about four rods from the farther end of the bridge. Horses were picketed near by, their saddles on, betokening readiness for prompt movement. .A sentry stood dreamily looking into the fire at his feet, his carbine at " secure."
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Thompson and I hastily retreat into a thicket by the roadside. We discuss the situation in whispers. There are two alternatives open to us : a tramp of seventy miles down the peninsula to Fortress Monroe with all the risks of capture such as we had already experienced, or an equally hazardous attempt at crossing the bridge in the face of an armed guard, with almost the dead certainty of bringing up in Richmond. Pros and cons are carefully weighed. So evenly balanced seem the chances that we cannot make a choice. .. Lie still. Ben." said I. " while I go out and look them over again." Leaving him in the woods I creep along on my hands and knees to the end of the bridge nearest us. The road is an embankment as it approaches the bridge, and high above the level of the ground on either side. reaches the crossing at a dead level. The river, a black, ugly stream. flows sluggishly by. It is fifty feet or more in breadth. Anyone attempt- ing to cross must move the entire distance in the face of that picket standing there by his fire, and nearing him at every step. There are six men, at least. under their blankets near the fire. If there were but one we might dash upon him and overpower him. I return to my companion and report. " There is one chance in a thousand." I said, "and that is the best I can make of it." Ben suggests lots; agreed. Ile cuts two twigs .-.. Long one means the long road ; short one, the bridge." He fixes them : I draw. It is the long stick ! Off' we start down the long pike, trying to think we have done the best in choosing as we have. We can hardly drag one foot after the other. Our feet are parboiled with their constant soaking; every motion of the body is torture; the terrible strain of the last five days has begun to tell. not only on our physical endurance but on our will power as well. . Ben," I say at last. " this is slow murder. I'd as soon starve in Libby as walk myself into the grave. What do you say to trying the bridge?" " I'm agreed," said he, and back we tramp over the half- mile we have just come. We agree that I shall lead, and Ben keep close behind ; if the guard challenges us we are to rush for the woods, and run the chances of his missing us when he fires. Once on the bridge we drop on hands and knees and creep cat-like across. Every inch brings us nearer the picket ; he stands like a statue. He seems to nod once. but as I wait for another look he stoops down and tosses some brands into the fire. We move on ; each thinks the other makes twice the noise he needs to. We are at the end of the bridge. My eyes are almost bursting from their sockets as I watch that man at the fire. A yard more, and we are safe! It is the longest yard I have ever traveled ; it ends at last, and I creep down the embankment at the roadside farthest from the guard. Ben sticks close behind. and is the last to be out of danger. We steal away through the bushes and take the first long breath. and as we do so the sentry for some reason, we never knew what, rouses his sleeping companions and they stand to arms. A mile away under the shelter of some pines we stretch out on the pine needles and are fast asleep in a twinkling.
The sun was high before either of us awoke. We concluded it was best to lay off for the day and not run the chance of meeting scouting parties of the rebs. As soon as darkness permitted we were again on the road, and happy in the thought that it was our last night out. At the first farmhouse we reached we very incautiously walked up to the door and knocked. A white woman appeared. evidently the mistress of the house. I asked for food, she answered by asking who we were and why we were there in that plight. Ben interposed with the
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same story he had used at Gaines's Mills with such good effect. It was all to no purpose. .. You 'uns ar jes Yanks, you don't talk like we'uns down here 'n Henraker." was all the answer we got in reply to our request for food. .. We've caught a Tartar," I whispered to Thompson, and without pressing our claims on the woman's larder, we bade her good night and hurried off through the fields towards the James. Directly we reached some negro quarters belonging to the same plantation, and making our way in asked for hoe-cake. The woman began to prepare it and while we made ourselves comfortable at the fire a negro lad ran in. out of breath, and told his mother that his mistress, as soon as we were out of the house, had dispatched a son to some neighbors a mile away to rouse the lads to be after some Yanks that had been there. An older son was home on furlough from the Petersburg lines and had gone to a dance at a neighbor's. .. It's time we were out of this," said Ben, and without waiting for the hoe-cake, now about half done, we made good time over fields and through woods for a couple of miles until the rough jungle forced us to take to the road again. We tramped along for half an hour, perhaps, neither of us speaking meanwhile, when an overpowering desire came over me to rest. I declared to Ben that I would go no farther till I had rested. He urged our keeping on ; we are nearly through. said he ; only seven miles and we should reach Harrison's and then we could rest for good ; but I was stubborn. Ben was as determined as 1. " Then I am going on alone." he said, and started ahead. I walked into the open field by the road- side, fifty feet or so, and stretched out on my canvas, Thompson after moving on a little changed his mind, came back where I was, and lay down by my side.
We were lying there quietly, with the moon looking us in the face, it being now between ten and eleven, when the rumble of a wagon fell on our ears. Nearer and nearer it drew to us, coming from the direction in which we were bound. We should have met it had we kept on. As the team reached us we saw it was a countryman. whether black or white we could not distinguish, with a load of wood. Ilis mules stopped to breathe in front of us, and almost in the same instant a cavalryman coming from our rear drew rein in front of the team. Ile was mounted on a gray horse, and heavily armed. " Have yer seen a couple of fellows on the road as yer come along?" said he addressing the teamster. The man answered that he had not. The soldier then went on to say that two chaps that looked like escaped prisoners had stopped at his mother's an hour before to ask for food, and not being granted it had hurried off through the field. .. One of them," said he, evidently describing Ben, " was a stout fellow with a Yank's cap and heavy moustache, and the other short and slim like, and with a slouched hat. They both had Yanks' uniforms," he added, "and carried some sort of blankets over their shoulders." To the two fugitives who were being thus accurately described, this conversation was becoming decidedly interesting. It is needless to say that I never hugged any five feet of ground closer in my life. Neither of us stirred. There we lay in the open field in bright moonlight, and took in every word. One glance of the rider towards us and he must have seen us. To our infinite relief he said at last, "I reckon as how the rascals must have turned off' on Long Bridge road," and then turning his horse he kept the mule team company on the road to our rear. We listened to their voices as they dlied away in the distance, and congratulating ourselves on this last narrow escape, kept on our way, Thompson ahead and looking out for dangers in advance, and I behind with an occasional backward glance to warn of trouble from the rear.
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Faint streaks of dawn were appearing in the east when Ben caught sight of a mounted horseman standing statue-like in the road in advance. Fearful of mak- ing a mistake, we reconnoitered for some time before venturing to make ourselves known. Negroes had told us that a colored regiment with gray horses were doing picket duty at the Landing. Ben finally sang out, " Hello there. don't shoot, we're friends, we want to come in." .. Corporal the guard ! " answered the picket without noticing us directly. In a moment the corporal and three men charged down on us at a gallop with carbines ready for instant service. However, we had no difficulty in proving who we were to their satisfaction, and in a few minutes we were made welcome by the Eighth United States Colored Cavalry. Once back with the picket reserve we were furnished hot coffee and extra blankets. and turned in for sleep-and such sleeping as we did that morning ! On waking, someone passed us a mirror; neither Ben nor I could recognize ourselves, and no wonder. My own weight had fallen off, as I after- wards learned, from one hundred and forty-five pounds to ninety-six pounds, and Ben's in like proportion. Our complexions had sallowed, and the vile stench of the prison hung about us for weeks despite new uniforms and frequent baths.
To tell how we took the boat the next day to Chapin's Farm where our corps was then stationed ; how the boys turned out as we drew near the camp, and boosted us on their shoulders and rode us into quarters perched high in air ; how the officers made us welcome to their mess; how General Weitzel ordered us a thirty days' furlough ; how, while at home, we received commissions as officers ; how when we took Richmond the following April, I paid old Pryor a visit and relieved him of some of the arms he used to flourish in our faces - all these are things not germane to my story, which amounts to this, that next to the wear and tear of a life in Libby and all that that implies, is the wear and tear of getting out of Libby and all that that includes.
CHAPTER XVIII.
PORTRAITS AND SKETCHES.
As a great majority of those who may read this history will not. prob- ably, be as well informed about military matters as those about whom it has been written, it may be well to its better understanding. especially of . this chapter, to here state. that a regiment of infantry. as organized at the time of our late war. consisted of ten companies of ninety-eight men and three commissioned officers each.
The officers of a regiment consisted of a colonel. lieutenant-colonel, major. adjutant, quartermaster. three surgeons-chief and two assistants - and chaplain. These, as well as the three officers of each company just referred to, were called commissioned officers because they were commissioned by the governor of the state. All other officers of com- pany or regiment were appointed by the colonel, to whom they alone were responsible. and were therefore sometimes called subordinate or non-commissioned officers. Of those belonging to the regiment were the sergeant major. quartermaster sergeant, commissary sergeant, hos- pital steward, and drum major, who were also known as the non-com- missioned staff.
None of these. except the first. were officers of the line. so called, and were not required to go into battle any more than those commissioned officers whom they were appointed to assist. as their official names above given plainly show.
The sergeant major acted chiefly as the adjutant's assistant at all times and places, and was the only non-commissioned officer who in active service carried a sword.
The company non-commissioned officers consisted of one hundred and thirty in all, or five sergeants and eight corporals to each company. These ranked according to the date of their appointment, and the duties of all the same rank similar. except one in each company called the first or orderly sergeant. He acted as clerk for the company, made all the details, issued all orders, etc .. beside attending to all the duties, on the march and in battle, of the common soldier. A good orderly sergeant, in the line of duty as well as battle. stood side by side with his captain. and oftentimes in battle had to take and fill his place. This much that posterity may the better appreciate him. Many of the best soldiers of the regiment have held at some time this important position.
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The names of all officers and men whose pictures appear in this chapter, except field and staff, are given in alphabetical order, regardless of rank or position : and each in that company to which they originally by enlistment belonged. This has been done both on the ground of con- venience and justice, it being as hard as unfair to discriminate in this respect in favor of the officers, be they corporals or colonels.
For this reason no officer, whatever his rank or pecuniary means. has been allowed to have any better or costlier picture engraved for this history than the poorest private. This, it may be here mentioned, is according to the original plan of this work which the author, though often requested and sometimes strongly tempted, has never deemed best to change. His chief regret is that he has not been able to find and give all deserving soldiers of the regiment a picture and a sketch in this history. Especial effort has been made to get pictures of the soldiers that best showed their looks when carrying the sword or gun in the army, such being the faces that posterity will care most to look upon. For this reason many proffered photographs of noble looking manhood of later years have been refused and the old tintypes of thirty-five years ago accepted.
One of the chief objects of the biographical sketches in this chapter has been to get as much information about each soldier as possible into little space. To this end much has been sacrificed to brevity. not excepting, oftentimes, even the common rules of grammar, to say nothing of good rhetoric, the constant inquiry in the author's mind being, not is this or that idea properly expressed, but can the reader plainly understand it.
Thus, as will be seen, letters, words, and sentences have been all made to contribute sometimes without authority or precedent, but not entirely, as hoped, without reason.
Much of importance has not been written in these sketches at all, because the same, in brief, can be found in the general roster at the end of the book. and thus much needless repetition saved.
Of these items of interest are the time and place of enlistment and place of residence at that time ; dates of all commissions and appoint- ments, and places and dates of all deaths by disease or on the battle-field, etc., etc.
All names of places, not otherwise designated, are supposed to be located in New Hampshire.
The names of soldiers' children given in these sketches are all written in the order of their ages, the oldest coming first.
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EXPLANATION.
The letters and figures written below every picture in this chapter are simply an abbreviated description of that soldier, as given in the original enlisting papers of the Twelfth Regiment. now on file in the adjutant- general's office at Concord.
These letters will be easily understood by every veteran, and for every civilian who may take an interest in these pages, they need but few words of explanation.
A soldier's " descriptive list," as used in the army, was simply a copy of his original enlisting papers. In the abbreviated form and sense used here. it simply means the color of the eyes. hair, and complexion of the soldier when he enlisted, and his height in feet and inches. These letters and figures are always written, and are to be read in the same order here given.
The capital letters are used as the first letters of the words for which they stand, and always mean the same word. independent of position, except the letter . B."
This letter alone means blue or brown. as it may be found in the first or second period from the left ; and as a person's hair is never blue, though his eyes are more usually of that color than any other, while brown, among the soldiers, was the prevailing color of the hair, it will at once be seen, therefore, that space and unnecessary letters are saved by letting this letter have a meaning according to its position.
As the color of the eyes was not always blue nor the hair brown, other letters beside " B" are used to designate colors and shades of color relat- ing to both, as well as the complexion - as " A " for auburn, " Bk " for black, " D" for dark, .. G " for gray, " H " for hazel. " L " for light. and " S" for sandy : and sometimes two of these letters are found together in the same period. Thus e. g .. .. B. DB. L. 5-10 " means blue eyes, dark brown hair, light complexion, and five feet ten inches in height.
From what is above written it will only be necessary to remember the order in which the letters come to plainly understand them.
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B. B. I .. 5-9. GEN. JOSEPH H. POTTER.
B. B. L. 5-10. BVT. COL. JOIIN F. MARSH.
B. L.B. L. 5-S. CHAPLAIN THOMAS L. AMBROSE.
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B. BK. I .. 6-2.
LIEUT. COL. GEORGE D. SAVAGE.
D. D. L.5-93. QUARTERMASTER ISAIAH WINCH.
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GEN. JOSEPH II. POTTER.
The Twelfth can boast of but one general, and here is a very good picture of him. He was the first colonel of the regiment, and commanded it until the battle of Chancellors- ville. where he was wounded in leg by musket ball and taken prisoner.
Ite was born in East Concord October 12, 1822; was the son of Thomas D. and I'nice (Marden) Potter, and the oldest of eleven children, all of whom lived to mature age and six of whom are now living.
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