The Blue and the Gray; Or, The Civil War as Seen by a Boy

by Annie Randall White

  "What are the prospects for crossing?" asked Sergeant Gregory of anofficer who passed at that moment.

  "We'll be over somewhere about doomsday, judging from the outlook. Thethree bridges we need the most can't be laid under the present regime.We've got to evict those sharpshooters from the houses along the riverbank, for it's worse than murder to post our men there to be picked offin that cruel fashion--all to no purpose, for bridges can never be builtwhen men are shot down as fast as they show their heads."

  The country was hilly, now and then dotted with clumps of trees, whilebarns, fences, and everything that was combustible, had been convertedto use by the two armies, as each in turn had passed over the land. Allwas dreary and desolate. The sky was leaden-hued, save when a burst offlame from the cannonading would lighten it for a short space, and thenit would die down, leaving it almost a pitchy blackness.

  General Burnside's resolve to bombard the place had no power to oust thesharpshooters, even when tons of shells were thrown into its streets,setting fire to many of the buildings. When, after a brief rest, theengineers resumed the construction of the bridges, the same resultfollowed--destruction of their numbers.

  The town itself was almost impregnable, being completely encircled byhills, save on the river side. These heights were bristling with forts,entrenchments seamed them in every direction, and batteries were plantedin such profusion that no opening presented itself for attack. {147}

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  How long this slaughter would have continued it is hard to tell,{148}but a happy inspiration came to General Hunt, chief of artillery.He suggested that a body of men could make a dash for the river, crossin boats, and besiege the sharpshooters in the houses, driving them out,and taking possession.

  The daring of the plan almost took away one's breath, but it seemed theonly way to silence the enemy's murderous fire, and it was quickly putin execution. The pontoon boats lay at the river bank. A band of triedmen was selected for the perilous undertaking, who at a sign, without asound or word of command, rushed from their concealment, leaped into theboats, shot out from the shore, and were half across the stream beforethe Confederates realized their intention. Then came a shower of bulletsfrom their rifles, rattling like hailstones about the heads of thebrave men, who held boards up before them for protection, dodging themurderous fire as well as they could, while those who were rowing pulledwith a will, and the boats were across the stream in swift time. A fewwere shot, falling into the river, but the largest number went oversafely.

  Reaching the shore, the regiments ran up the hills, and succeeded inforcing the sharpshooters from their lairs, capturing over a hundred ofthem, while the rest fled to the hills.

  The way was now clear for the completion of the bridges. A pontoonbridge is a fine piece of ingenuity.

  Heavy boats, perfectly flat, often twenty feet in length, are anchoredat equal distances from each other, lengthwise of the current, and beamsare placed upon them to unite them; then strong, thick planks are laidacross the beams, thus making a steady, wide roadway, strong enough toendure the weight of horses, heavy pieces of artillery, and the tramp ofthousands of men.

  While the bridge was being made, the enemy did not remain quiet, butdropped shells at various points along the river, which exploded, buthappily did little injury.

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  The smoke of the artillery, the flames bursting from the houses, and thestruggling army of the Union exposed to a pitiless fire made a picturewhich was never effaced from Ralph's mind, and {150}years after, when hesaw the panorama of "The Battle of Gettysburg," in Chicago, the memoryof that day at Fredericksburg came back with vivid force. He was oncemore a stripling, in the midst of the noise and shock of battle, withcomrades falling about him, torn and mangled out of all semblance ofhuman beings, while he was miraculously preserved.

  That night the Union forces rested on the ground, in the mud and frost,not far away from the pontoon bridge; and though they knew the morningwould plunge them into further conflict, yet tired limbs and achingheads found the refreshing slumber which they needed. Early nextmorning, after a hasty breakfast, they were ready for any events whichthe day might bring forth.

  A heavy fog hid the other shore, while the air was cold and raw. Longbefore the sun scattered the mists, cannonading began at the bridge, themain point of attack, but the firing became so severe that orders wereissued for them to retire behind the bluffs.

  At last the bridges were finished, and the army crossed to the otherside of the river, under the continuous shells of the enemy. Now begana terrific struggle. General Franklin had advanced against the troopson the hill, but they had repulsed him, with much loss. General Meade'sdivision was chosen to lead the attack. Down across the railroad theydashed, under heavy fire, their skirmishers having been sent forward,while the well-directed batteries hurled against the hills did someexecution.

  But the Confederates from their elevated positions poured destructioninto their ranks, mowing them down. The Union forces were not daunted,but made an entering wedge between two rebel divisions, turned backtheir flanks, and captured prisoners and battle flags. Scaling theheights, they were met by the second line, which drove them back inconfusion, and they were only saved from utter rout by General Birney,who threw his command in front of the enemy, who were pursuing them.

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  The sounds of battle grew louder, and as the divisions of French{151}and Hancock moved in columns through the town, the Confederatebatteries burst upon them, but they charged across the open ground, tobe met by a veritable sheet of flame, which swept into their faces, andliterally consumed them. No bravery, no determination, could withstandthat awful fire of the enemy, who {152}had taken advantage of an ambushwhich nature had seemed to furnish them, from whence they sent forththeir deadly aim.

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  A road ran at the foot cf Marye's Hill, which had sunken so much asalmost to be unobserved, at a little distance. This road was boundedat its outside edge by a stone wall, where were hidden two brigades ofConfederates, who had sent forth this {152}sheet of flame and death.Their numbers were so great, that every man at the wall was assisted byseveral behind him, who loaded muskets as fast as they could, and passedthem to him, while he discharged them as rapidly, leaving only his headexposed for an instant, as he raised it to take aim.

  In the face of these fearful odds, the Union soldiers were undismayed.No disorganization, no wavering in their ranks, but they kept on, onlyto meet certain death.

  And now General Hancock, he whose presence was an inspiration, led thecharge with 5,000 men, whose intrepid daring carried them within twentyyards of the fatal wall, only to be beaten back, leaving 2,000 dead totell the tale of the slaughter at Marye's Hill.

  General Burnside was beside him himself with rage. In the face of thesedefeats, he demanded that General Hooker make a bayonet charge, andthose doomed men rushed forward, with a valor never surpassed, rallyingagain and again, until nearly half their number lay dead on the road, ortorn with fearful wounds.

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  The rebel artillery was not idle, but as the Federals retreated, sentshells after them, still plowing their numbers with deadly effect.

  A heavy storm of rain came on in the night, and under cover ofits inclemency, the Union troops withdrew to the north bank of theRappahannock, although it had been General Burnside's determination{154}to renew the assault the next day, and lead it in person. Thiswas a step which needed a vast deal of dissuasion on the part of hisgenerals ere he relinquished his mad attempt.

  Mud was over the shoe-tops, and the rain was falling fast when theUnion army received orders to evacuate the town, and no time was lost inobeying. The pontoon bridges carried them safely across from the sceneof disaster, and left the army in a sorry plight.

  Decimated in numbers, the dead alone counting 12,000, disappointed,hospitals full to overflowing, the dead to bury, the predictions ofdefeat had been bitterly realized. It is said that the {155}brave anddashing
General Meagher went into that battle with the Irish brigade,over 1,200 strong, and came out with a little over 200.

  It was plain that the men had been sacrificed through incompetency andstubbornness. Murmurs and discontent were abundant, as the army preparedto settle down in its winter quarters.

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  CHAPTER XV. RALPH IS SENT HOME.

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  FTER the {156}slaughter at Fredericksburg, Ralph rapidly failed instrength. The excitement of that scene of carnage and his increasingexhaustion told upon his frame. He fulfilled his duty as well as hecould; he was cheerful and alert; he wrote more often to his dear motherwithout ever alluding to his health.

  "I can't understand what ails me," he thought. "I have never received awound, while some of the boys who have been badly cut up are well again,and seem as strong as ever. I do believe I miss Old Bill more every day.I never felt sad or lonely when I had him to cheer me up."

  He grew daily worse. Often when on duty he would halt, with weak andfailing breath. He lost all desire for food, and his lusterless eyes andpale skin told how he suffered.

  "What seems to be the matter, sergeant?" one of his comrades asked,anxiously. "You don't pear to have any vim about you. Why, if you hadn'tshown such pluck--fact is, if it was any one but you, I mout 'cuse youof playing off."

  "I'm all right, Hank. I feel a little weak and have hard chillssometimes--but I'll be better soon. I'm a little sick, that's all."

  "That's enough. You ain't been yerself since we fit at Fair Oaks I'veseen it a long time. That malary from the swamps has finished many astrong man."

  At last Ralph had to succumb. His condition was observed by the doctor,who called the attention of his captain to the fact that he was nolonger fit for duty. And when one morning he was not able to report atearly {157}roll call, it was with gloomy forebodings that he heard theorder that he be removed to the hospital at once.

  "Is this the end of my ambitious hopes?" he queried. "Am I going to diewhen I am willing to serve my country? I would not mind being killedin battle, as a soldier should be, but to die in hospital, far from mymother. It is hard!" And he buried his face in his pillow to hide thehot tears that he could not keep back.

  When weeks passed, and Ralph grew no better, the Colonels attentionwas directed to his case. He was a severe disciplinarian, but he hada kindly heart, and he speedily forwarded a recommendation to the wardepartment that Sergeant Gregory, Company K, Massachusetts Volunteers,be honorably discharged from the service of the United States. Adocument granting the request came back in due time, to the Colonel,who passed it to the captain, and he handed it to Ralph, who could notrepress his emotion.

  "I enlisted to the end of the war. I do not want a discharge. Could younot have obtained me a sick leave? I know I shall be strong soon."

  The doctor shook his head solemnly.

  "You are not fit to march, or do active duty--perhaps' never will be.The hardships incident to a campaign have broken you down. You were veryyoung to have undertaken them. I do not wish to wound your pride, butthe government does not want sick men on its rolls."

  So Ralph was given his papers, and after writing his mother a few lines,saying that he was quite sick, lest his sudden coming should alarm her,he was sent home by the same route by which he came. It was a painfuljourney, not alone from his physical suffering, but his heart bled as henoted the ruin that had been wrought in the land--the deserted houses,the neglected fields, miserable-looking people, mostly women andchildren, whose woe-begone faces told of the privations they were dailyenduring, uncomplainingly. The {158}contrast between the early days ofthe war and the present was bitter, and he felt how terribly real thatwar was to these people. Their farms had been overrun by the trampingof two armies, and each had equally despoiled them of theirpossessions--both were alike unmindful and indifferent to their sorrow.

  But brighter thoughts succeeded these gloomy musings, as he drew nearerto his home, and already saw his beloved mother's sweet face, and felther warm kiss upon his cheek. But even in the Western country, as thetrain stopped at the various stations, he noted careworn faces, andanxious glances, as the murmured "God bless you!" was sent after theboys in blue. There were several soldiers on the train, some goinghome on furlough, and some on the same errand as Ralph--going home torecuperate, or, perchance, to die.

  When Ralph reached Chicago, he was glad to lie down on one of thebenches in the depot. He found he had to wait three hours for the trainthat would convey him to his prairie home. The rest was welcome, andafter a nap, and a strong cup of coffee, he felt a little better; somuch so that he thought he would take a short walk of a block or so. Thecity was, so to speak, in holiday attire. The streets were teeming withan excited yet happy-looking people, and an unusual bustle pervadedthem. He wondered why every one was crowding to the edge of thesidewalks, and as he was about to ask a bystander, he heard the tramp ofmany feet. How familiar the sound of the steps was to his ear. The boysin blue were coming, he thought, and again a wave of wounded pride cameover him, as he realized that he was shut out from the ranks, by reasonof an illness which he could not understand or conquer.

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  But no--these were not his comrades, he saw, as he looked curiouslyat the long procession filing past him, closely guarded by the boys inblue, who kept step, while the men they hurried along were the subjectsof ridicule from the thoughtless crowd. They were prisoners--these{160}men, some clad in the well-known gray, some wearing butternutsuits, some of them without coats or hats, their pants frayed and tornclear up to the knees. Here would proudly march a clean-shaven, erectyoung fellow, with a suit of gray, scarcely soiled, while at his side amere shadow of a man, ragged and dirty, would shamble along, barefootedand wild-eyed.

  Nearly all of them were emaciated, while the expression upon theirfaces was one of sullen despair. Men were there who were the flowerand chivalry of the South, who had staked their lives and fame upon thesuccess of their cause, and there were men who scarce knew for what orwho they were fighting. To the former defeat was bitter humiliation--tothe latter capture meant something to eat, and beyond that, they did notlook. But to the careless crowd who watched them pass, they were merelyrebel prisoners. No sympathy their anguish and shame was felt; no pityfor their long months of captivity, when heart and brain would chaferestlessly, moved the crowd, who jeered and exulted. It was so, we know,the country over. The boys in blue were hooted at and mocked, when thefortunes of war threw them into the hands of the enemy. They all forgotthat those who wore the blue and those who wore the gray were alikeanimated by a love of country, and that all were brothers--equallybrave, equally earnest, equally true-hearted.

  Thoughts like these passed through Ralph's mind as he saw the wretchedmen on their way to Camp Douglas, the military prison at Chicago. To himthey were objects of sympathy, and he shuddered as he asked himself whatwould have been his feelings had he been taken prisoner. He wasstartled by a smart blow upon the shoulder, under whose force he almoststaggered. He turned in astonishment, and saw Alfred Boneel, a merryFrench boy, who had been a schoolmate of his.

  "Why, Alph, is it possible--you are looking well. You're as brown as anut, and say, where _did_ you get those whiskers?"

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  "In the service, of course. There's nothing like army life to {162}bringout a man's good qualities. But say, Ralph, I'm sorry I can't returncompliments. You are neither brown nor rugged looking. What's up?"

  "They are sending me home as unfit to serve any longer," Ralph replied,dejectedly. "I don't know why they should single me out for such adistinction."

  "Oh, you'll come out all right. I see you've done something besides getsick, judging by your sergeant's stripes."

  "Yes, I won them, and was hoping for something better. But tell me allabout yourself, Al."

  "I haven't got much to tell, but I've seen some fighting, too. I wasat the Fort Donelson scrimmage, and it was the coldest time I eversaw--snowing and
blowing, and afterward turning out clear, but bittercold. The storm of rain and snow had been pretty severe, and the fellowswho were in the trenches must have been frost-bitten. I know we hadno shelter and were hungry besides, as rations had given out, and hadnobody round to ask us in to take dinner with 'em. We had pulled upstakes at Cairo, and had to go up the Ohio to Smithland, and then up theCumberland River. Cavalry was no good in that country, for there was toomuch big timber, and the ground was too rough. We were kept busy tryingto plant a battery, for those fellows in gray have some sharpshootersworthy of their name, and though not one of them showed himself, it waswhiz! pang! every few minutes, and some one was sure to go down. We lostEddie Downing that way."

  Al paused a moment to brush an imaginary fly from before his eyes.

  "Eddie Downing was shot? He was a noble boy. So he's dead!"

  Al nodded assent.

  "Where's George Martin? Do you know what regiment he joined?"

  "Oh, sure. He was in the gunboat service. Poor fellow, he fared worsethan Eddie. He was on the Cumberland and had his right arm shot away."{163}

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  "Is {164}he at home?"

  "He was sent home as soon as the stump healed, and his only regret is,so his father says, that it wasn't the left arm, for he declares he'dtry it again. But of course they wouldn't have him in any branch of theservice."

  "Of course not. But George always had grit. But how did you come out atFort Donelson?"