Death And Deliverance: A Young Civil War Soldier's Journey

By Keith Youse

September 1861. Israel Youse leaves his family and farm behind to join the Fighting Chippewas, the 81st Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry Regiment of the Army of the Potomac. A naive young man, Israel is filled with the excitement of youth and adventures he will have with his cousin, Davey, as they leave Pennsylvania to defeat the Confederacy. Fueled by dangerous challenges, relentless fear, and the continuing effort to survive personal and physical battles, Israel is quickly driven to manhood, and the thrill that once warmed him leaves him cold and lonely. They miss their families and realize the importance of family and friends. By using the reality of his military experience, author Keith Youse weaves together love of country and the realities of war to vividly breathe life into the war that tore our nation apart. Death and Deliverance is a stark portrayal of the bravery and passion of a conflicted nation, reminding us that those on the other side of the line are not that different from them and forcing them to find the courage to fight and the faith to pray.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645153542

Book preview

Leaving the Farm

Last night, Reverend Beck came over and prayed with our family for my safe return. He said God would be watching out for me during my future trials and tribulations. I told him I thought a lot about becoming a minister one day. He smiled and said we should talk about that after the war. I kind of figured that if God thought I was going to work for him in the future, He’d try harder to protect me now so I could work for him later. When the reverend left, Mama cleaned up the parlor and took the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. It seemed that the only time I sat in that room was when the reverend came or somebody died. I was hoping that wouldn’t be the reason for their next visit to the parlor, with me and Davey going off to war and all. I was pretty tired from the day’s work and the excitement of leaving, so I kissed Mama on the cheek and went to bed. I had a lot to think about that night and slept little.

It was dreary and overcast on that cool morning in early September 1861 when I got up to face the world on my last day at home for I didn’t know how long. It was the first morning since grade school that I didn’t help Dad with the barn work before breakfast. Mama was in the kitchen, acting real quiet, packing a kerchief full of sticky buns and deer jerky for my trip. There wasn’t much conversation at breakfast except for the twins, Josh and Caleb, being yelled at for playing with their food. Mama tried her best to hold back the tears, and Dad kept his eyes mostly on Mama as if he could help her keep from crying. After the dishes were cleared, there wasn’t much left to do but force myself to make small talk and finally do the inevitable—say goodbye. As we hugged and kissed each other, I began to feel empty down inside, like I was being torn from something real important and I was too weak to stop it. Then I heard the clip-clop of Mr. Balliet’s European draft horses and the groans and creaks of his loaded wagon coming up the lane to our farmhouse. Thank God it was time for me to be leaving.

Israel’s Farm House

Mr. Balliet was the farmer down the lane and a really good friend of Dad’s. He pulled up to our gate with a wagonload of hay he was planning to sell when we got to Lehighton, our first stop on the way to Easton. Mama cried outright when I climbed on board the wagon. Dad looked at me while he held Mama, and he had tears in his eyes as he tried to smile. He had told me just after breakfast to be careful and make him proud. My little sister waved to me from Mama’s arms, and my little brothers saluted me. I was glad the wagon was piled high with hay, so my family couldn’t see me cry when I sat down next to ole’ Biskets, Mr. Balliet’s hound. He got that name because he had a bad habit of stealing fresh-baked goods from Mrs. Balliet’s summer kitchen when he was a pup.

We were on our way to pick up a cousin of mine in Ashfield who volunteered for the 81st just because I did, and we were best friends too. David Ginder lived with his folks about a half hour east of our farm. We were good friends, hunting friends, who played soldier a lot when we hunted turkey, bear, and deer on the Summer Mountain. We were both good shots, but I was better than Davey maybe because I was a little older. The Youses were the best shots in the valley even though the Ginders tried to claim that as truth. Davey’s folks were just as upset as mine were when we told them during the summer family reunion that we had planned to volunteer for the Army of the Potomac.

We had a lot of company joining up from Carbon County, especially after we all listened to Colonel Jim Miller tell us how he was supposed to put a regiment together made up of volunteers from Pennsylvania that could shoot good, follow orders, and were willing to fight for the Union. We were all told that the Fighting Chippewas, the chosen name for the 81st Pennsylvania, was going be the best doggone volunteer regiment in the Army of the Potomac! We would even have General George McClellan as our commanding general. After all, he fought in the Mexican War, and he even worked with President Lincoln on the railroad in Illinois before Lincoln became president, and that says pretty much everything about him. We were certainly going be the best, and we were going to be justly proud of it.

As we pulled into the dry goods store in Ashfield to pick up Davey, we could see his girlfriend, Sarah, and his folks, all waiting together on the porch. His mother didn’t seem very happy to see me probably because she blamed me for getting her son to volunteer and get ready to fight in a war. She sent two mason jars of her prize-winning bread pudding with Davey, knowing I would probably eat one myself. Sad goodbyes and hugs were exchanged. Sarah put a hand-knitted wool scarf around Davey’s neck and kissed him on the cheek, and we were off. To keep from missing our families, we talked so much on the way that we hardly noticed the dust and all the bumps.

We arrived at the railroad station in Lehighton just before dusk and had about one hour to wait before our very first train ride. We thanked Mr. Balliet for taking us, and he said we should do a respectable job against those Rebs and to come back home safe and sound. We bought our tickets for the trip to Easton, and it wasn’t long before we were told to board. After finding a seat, the train slowly pulled away. Soon, the click-clack of the wheels on the rails and the gentle rolling of the Pullman put us to sleep.

We woke up in darkness some time later to the sound of a large Negro with a real deep voice shouting, Easton Station!

We didn’t see any Negroes around home, but Colonel Miller said that their freedom was the reason President Lincoln had to go to war against the South. Then I remembered what Reverend Beck said one time about all of us being made equal in God’s eyes and how nobody had the right to own anybody else. I hoped he was right because I didn’t want to have to shoot anyone without a good reason.

We grabbed our gear and stepped onto the platform to see lots of boys our age lining up along the station wall in front of uniformed soldiers who were calling out their names backward. We walked over to one of the soldiers to show him our papers and told him we were there to volunteer with the 81st. He looked at them and directed us to the end of the platform without saying a word. There another soldier with real bushy-looking sideburns and a short beard took our names and told us to stay put right there until the last six men on his list arrived. Then we’d be told where we were going and what to do before wagons would take us to the enlistment camp just outside Easton.

We finally boarded and headed out through the city and into the countryside to our camp. The first thing we did when we arrived was line up again. I guess it’s easier for the sergeants to holler at us when we’re in line, rather than when we’re just milling around talking. We were marched in two lines, if you can call it that, to a tent to get food. There we sat on benches and ate something we didn’t recognize, and then we lined up again. This time, we marched to another tent to sign enlistment papers, and we got sworn in by a major from the Army of the Potomac. We were now soldiers or recruits, as the major said. He encouraged us to be proud of the uniform we were going be wearing and to defend our nation with honor. We marched, or tried to, on to the next tent where we got our uniforms and shoes. I was really excited about being dressed like a soldier, I just needed a rifle, and I felt ready to go fight some Rebs.

We were marched by the light of campfires to small tents where we were told to get to sleep because morning would come early and there was a lot to do. Davey and I crawled into our tent that had two wool blankets rolled out to cover the ground and lay our possibles bags at the end for our pillows. We could hear horses snorting and the excited voices of the other volunteers all around us. I asked Davey how he felt about all that was happening to us. He said he was a little scared but still willing to stay joined up. Soon, there was no conversation coming from him, so I dozed off to a restless sleep.

I jumped straight up in the air when the cannon went off, and I brushed against the top of the tent, which proceeded to knock me over, and I landed right on top of Davey. After a short but friendly tussle, we pulled on our shoes. When we got outside the tent, we were told where to line up. As we stood in line, we could see that a lot of the recruits were our age or just a little bit older, maybe up to their thirties, but most were young men. Then the soldier, who informed us he was a corporal, told us that the Drill Sergeant would soon be here and we should keep our mouths shut and pay close attention if we didn’t want to get our butts chewed out on the first day. He took attendance, he called it a roll call, to make sure nobody was AWOL and that we were all there.

When the sergeant came, he told the corporal that he should take the daily paperwork over to company headquarters and come right back.

Then he turned to us and yelled, Atten—shunn!

Some of us knew to stand up straight, but we didn’t know about keeping our feet together and looking straight ahead and such. We all soon learned what attention was. We learned some other commands so we could start to march better, and marching is what we did for the next four hours. We finally got ourselves marched to the mess tent for lunch—they called it chow. This time, I recognized beans and pork fat, and after marching all that time, it tasted pretty good. Little did we know, moldy beans and rancid fat back would be the better part of our diet for the next four years, along with some other kind of meat and hardtack, colored with mold when it got damp and couldn’t dry out.

One day, after about six days of drilling, we were called to attention and marched over to a building called an armory. We went in single file and, to our surprise, saw boxes and boxes of new Springfield rifles. They were .58 caliber smooth bore muskets that shot Minie balls instead of the round balls, like Davey and I shot in our squirrel rifles back home. Over the next two days, we practiced loading and dry firing our Springfield’s. We had to be able to not only remember the ten-step loading drill but also do it all in twenty seconds or less.

Drilling Troops

First, we had to lower the stock of the musket to the ground then pick a cartridge out of our cartridge bag and tear it open. We used our teeth for that. Somebody said those who were against the war or afraid to fight would have their front teeth pulled out, so they couldn’t load muskets, and then they couldn’t go to war. After tearing open the cartridge, we’d load or charge it and draw the ram rod. After ramming the cartridge home—twice—we had to return the rammer by putting it back in the slot below the barrel. I kind of figured that if we were doing a lot of shooting, I could reload faster by leaning the rammer against my leg instead of switching it around and shoving in back under the barrel. The sergeant snorted and told me that while you’re shooting at the Rebs, they are shooting back at you, and you’d be forgetting where you put your rammer or dropping it in the mud, and then how could you reload? He also mentioned and not too politely that we were just privates and shouldn’t be thinking, we should be listening. We should be doing what we’re being trained to do and that’s all. The next step in loading was called casting about. It meant we should raise our musket to firing position. Then we had to insert the percussion cap on the nipple, cock the hammer, and aim at the enemy. The last step was to fire at the enemy and, of course, hit our targets.

I guess that we all couldn’t wait to fire real Minié balls at real Rebs. We didn’t have to wait long, at least to fire our new rifles, because the next day, we went to an area to put our dry fire training to work. After several hours of not much fun, we were going be able to begin live firing. We were issued ammunition and marched to a practice range set up special for us. We each fired about a hundred rounds during the next two days, and it turned out Davey and I were the best shots in the company. The sergeant told us that he’d put us up against any he’d seen in his twelve-year career and put money on the line. I was better than Davey, but he could reload and shoot faster than me and anybody else in the company.

Then one day, Kevin, a runner from headquarters we had made friends with, told Davey and me that we were all going to Washington to form up with other volunteers and finally become part of the second corps of the Army of the Potomac. We were really excited by the news that we finally were going be getting closer to the war. Soon, we were boarding a train again, this time to go all the way to Washington, DC, where President Lincoln lived. We arrived in Washington on October 10, 1861. The next day, after breakfast, we were marched onto a parade field with hundreds of other soldiers, and we were all addressed by Colonel Miller. He looked real special because he was in a dress uniform, had a colored sash around his waist, and was wearing a real shiny sword. He told us all how proud he was of us and that we learned real fast what makes a good soldier.

The marching, training, and maneuvering went on through winter and for the next five months while we were camped at Kendall Green—not all that far from the White House as the crow flies. Our job in Washington was called defensive, but we continued to drill each day until everyone in our company said we were the best in the army. We were put into position to protect the White House and the land east of the Potomac River, just in case the Rebs broke through our lines in Virginia. Within two weeks, our company became part of an advancing army being sent into Virginia to the town of Manassas. We knew that the march was going take us from trainees to real soldiers sometime in the near future.

After setting up camp in Manassas, we did some more training to prepare us for the long road marches that were soon coming up. The countryside around Manassas was real pretty—lots of pretty trees with their leaves beginning to turn colors. Lots of mud too everywhere we marched. The fall rains were real heavy and soaked us lots. Rumor had it we were soon heading out to fight, but they’d been saying that for weeks.

It was about a week after we made camp that the company went on reconnaissance to Gainesville, Virginia, about thirty miles west of Washington, to gather information about the Confederates that we could and bring it back for General McClellan. Davey and I were really good at sneaking through the woods because we learned how to sneak up real close on turkeys and deer when we hunted on the Summer Mountain. Little did we know, it wouldn’t be as exciting as we thought.

Over the next two months, we built corduroy roads, took siege of Yorktown, and marched through Williamsburg with the rest of the army. We even built the Summer Bridge across the Chickahominy River just eight miles outside of the town of Richmond. The Summer Bridge became an important link for the divided army. On April 4, 1862, the 81st Pennsylvania left Alexandria Virginia on the Potomac, for Fort Monroe, on the Chesapeake. We were excited to hear that we would board a ship called the USS Spaulding and proceed to Yorktown. Our sergeant, Sidney Hawk, told us that we had the best field officers in the Army of the Potomac and Colonel Miller was the right man in the right place. I asked him about Major Conner, Colonel Miller’s executive officer, and he said that Major Conner was one of the best officers to buckle on a sword.

Davey and I figured that with all the good officers we had to lead us in battle, it was high time we got to fire a shot at the enemy.

Peninsula Campaign

Well, walking in the rain was no fun back home, and it surely was no fun marching with a wet pack and bedroll behind columns of soldiers and horses. At least at home, when I was plowing, the horses’ apples would drop into the furrow, not mix in the mud where we were marching. We were all wet to the skin and then some, but it was the only way to get to Yorktown without using the railroad, and we were surely hankering for a chance to meet those Rebs.

All of a sudden, just up ahead, we heard some rifle fire and then lots more. Our sergeant ordered us off the road into the woods to the right of our column to take up defensive positions. Davey and I ducked in behind some fallen logs and peeked out into a kind of low-lying fog that hangs around swamps and bogs when it’s cold and rainy. We soon heard men yelling among the shooting but couldn’t make out the words. We all thought it was F Company returning fire because they were ahead of us in the column, and we felt pretty good about that.

Just then, we saw horses coming at the gallop from our left flank about a hundred yards down the road. It was Colonel Miller and his aide coming to lead the corps. There were thirty or forty of us, or that I could make out, just waiting to see something to shoot at. We were looking in the direction of the horses to see which way we should be moving when Sergeant Hawk ran up behind Colonel Miller. They conferred about what was happening, and Colonel Miller began drawing his sword to lead a charge, when all of a sudden, the voices we heard turned to Rebel yells. I never heard one, but the chill on my spine told me what they were, and we were just about to learn what they meant.

As Davey and I raised our guns to fire, about a dozen shots rang out directly in front of us. While we were watching the horses, the Rebs formed up a small skirmish line and fired a volley in our direction. It scared me so much that I couldn’t shoot. I just kneeled there behind the log until Sergeant Hawk grabbed me by the arm and told me he’d shoot me himself if I didn’t start returning fire. Davey got the message and let a round fly even before I took aim. We answered fire for another ten minutes or so, but it seemed like an hour.

When it was safe to move, Sergeant Hawk got us up and moved around all hunched over. The firing up ahead seemed to wither away. We saw that a couple of our men were wounded, not too bad though, and one was killed. He looked horrible with his jaw shot off and his eyes bulging out like a bullfrog when they’re stepped on while you’re trying to catch one. We had fired on the move until all return fire stopped forward of us and then we realized the right side of our line just disappeared. We were really scared, my heart was pounding in my ears, but we stayed alert. We started to maneuver back toward the road to find the rest of our company.

In the middle of the fuss, we looked up and saw something like I’d never seen before. A man in a balloon was high above us and tied off to the ground. We’d heard that a man in a balloon was supporting our artillery by telegraphing Confederate positions to direct our cannon fire and maybe our ground movement. What a sight! This poor fellow, all alone, way up in the air, just a sitting duck for a sharpshooter, if he got near the wrong lines, and no ladder to get him down. Well, the more I thought about that one, the only difference between him and me was the distance to the ground.

Balloon

We were able to regroup in some cover next to the road, so Davey and I could talk to each other now without the noise. For some reason, my right hand started to burn. I looked at it and saw blood and blistered skin. I was loading so fast that I got blisters from the ram rod when I was ramming home the ball into the hot barrel. Then it hit me like a punch in the stomach. I just had a man die right in front of me, and I could still see the bloody body just lying there in front of me. If I wasn’t shaken to sense by Sergeant Hawk, Davey and I could be laying in the dirt like him. My hands started shaking, my rifle fell to the ground, and just then, I was sick like had rotten food, and I puked. I cried deep sobs. I bawled and shook. I looked at Davey, and he was crying too. I couldn’t even bend over to get my rifle. It seemed like I should be praying because I was spared, but I just cried and puked. Our first fracas was over, and we were still alive. I will never forget the feeling or the thought of the dead man.

Over the next few weeks, we moved around from fight to fight as a corps, and I began to get used to what I was seeing, but it didn’t seem to get any easier to forget. We would probe their lines exchanging fire and fall back. In training, the sergeant called it a demonstration. We finally got into it good with them at Lee’s Mill on April 1. We pushed them back all day, moving each flank up as our artillery was able to pound their lines. We were told that McClellan was planning on a considerable bombardment by certain artillery units the next day at dawn to really surprise those Rebs. We could hardly sleep a wink because of the excitement, but by the morning of April 4, the Confederates had slipped away under the cover of darkness and moved all the way to Williamsburg.

We were on the move again. I guess moving from place to place was better than sitting because we had less time to think about how rough it was with the spring rains and the mud and all. We crossed to the north side of the Chickahominy River, on the bridge we just built a few months ago, and ran into some Rebs at Golden’s Farm near Fair Oaks Station. It was just a small force, nothing like a couple of weeks ago at Yorktown and Lee’s Mill.

On the last day of May, we were ordered forward to bridge a gap between General French’s brigade and General Birney’s division of the III Corps. The Reb commander, General Harkness, and some of his best soldiers came up against our troops, and it was there that we ran into some real fighting. With artillery being fired at the enemy just to our right flank and confederate rounds exploding to our left flank and rear, we just couldn’t seem to stay on the line with the corps.

We were moving forward and left when a force came into view. We thought it was the flank of K Company that we had been next to before the first barrage of artillery hit. The smoke from the exploding rounds made it really hard to see clearly. Then we saw the white flag. It was a group of Rebs with their rifles raised with white rags tied to their bayonets trying to surrender to us.

Sergeant Hawk ran over and told us to be careful but not to shoot them. Artillery fire from both sides seemed to slack off while we were paying attention to the troops as they slowly moved in the direction of our position. It was at that point that a volley of rifle fire hit us from our right flank. As we took our eyes off the surrendering Rebs coming toward us, another bunch of Rebs to our left flank opened fire at us at close range. We fell right into their ambush, and it was very powerful. We were befuddled by this trick and panicked. We should have returned fire, but we just ran for cover glancing over our shoulders to see how close they were behind us.

Right then, Colonel Miller was hit as he and his aid rode up, was shot off his horse with a head wound, and his aide was gut shot. His horse was hit twice in the neck and collapsed with the aide still in the saddle. The enemy had fooled us, and they had just killed our colonel and shot his aide.

Death of Colonel Miller

Captain Harkness had taken charge while we were retreating, and we met up with Lieutenant Miles and his company from General Howard’s brigade. They conferred and told us to get to the railroad we had passed about a half mile back and set up defensive positions. Hawk then moved us double time at the ready and prepared us for another ambush or anything else coming our way. We found the railroad and so did a bunch of our Company H Infantry that had been in support of the right flank. It was then that we had time to reflect on how good those Rebs could fight and how dangerous it was to be an officer.

We looked to the east, at the road that ran to the station, and saw Colonel Miller’s body being brought back from the ambush site laid over a horse, and a wagon soon showed up with the bodies of a captain and lieutenant from Company F, along with one of their aides. Our sergeant told us that even General Howard was wounded in the left arm during the fighting, but he was going pull through. He must have been a tough old bird because a couple of months later, I saw him with his tunic sleeve dangling empty at his side.

We moved on over the next few days to take part in the battle of Seven Pines in Henrico County, Virginia—it was a mighty rough one. Our part, at Fair Oaks and Fair Oaks Station, was a terrible thing. We had claimed the victory, but we just couldn’t be sure. After the main battle, we dug in and stayed put near the station for a month. We had some sniper fire, but the one major assault caused us to fall back as our pickets gave way. We recovered the trenches the next morning on a counterattack that was supported by artillery, and amazingly, we lost no men in that maneuver. Then a day or so later, we moved on to Savage’s Station, just a few miles North of White Oak Swamp, where we had accurate support from our artillery, but the Rebs must have heard how we could fight because they never came at us while we were positioned there. At least that’s what we were able to convince ourselves was happening. Sometimes, you can get in a tolerable amount of trouble feeling full of yourself and being too cocky.

Something real scary happened when we marched to White Oak Swamp. We were in support of our corps again near Glendale when General Jackson’s Confederate Artillery fired a few volleys at us. Our artillery couldn’t return fire because we couldn’t see where any of the gun emplacements where. We were fortunate to have good cover, and we were taking light casualties. Our new commander, Colonel Harkness, ordered us to quickly move to Charles City Crossroads, and that was the most beside myself I ever was. We were retreating and didn’t even know it. Just after dusk, they hit us with artillery and infantry. The darker it got, the more shooting we heard. We couldn’t see anyone, not the enemy and not the others in our company. Davey and I decided just to shoot at where we saw the powder flashes in front of us, and that’s just what we did on and off for the next three hours.

The screams told us we were taking some wounded, but there was nothing we could do about that. We were awfully afraid, but we just kept on shooting and reloading. At about ten o’clock, their artillery backed off, and it got kind of quiet. Then I could hear men crying and moaning in the blackness. The smell of exploded shells was heavy in the damp night air. We just lay in the dirt where we were because if we moved, we could be shot by our own boys.

Next morning, we heard that Captain Harkness was wounded and replaced by Lieutenant Colonel Conner. There wasn’t time to take care of the dead because we were soon marched on to Malvern Hill to relieve V Corps, who was getting beat up for the last four days. We began the engagement from our defensive lines that we had set up the evening before. When the shooting began, we remained behind cover defending our positions. When the order to charge was given, Lieutenant Colonel Conner was one of the bravest men I’d ever seen. He spurred his horse forward and kept rallying his troops to the forefront with cheers and his slouch hat waving above his head. He was leading us up against the heaviest fire Davey and I had been part of yet. It seemed like each battle had more ferocious fighting and dreadful wounding. Firing and reloading was something we didn’t have to think about now, we just did it.

Over the next two days, we charged against the Rebs’ picket lines and were driven back each time. We had to run around the bodies of our dead soldiers the last two times we tried to take the hill. In the last assault, Lieutenant Colonel Conner was killed, and we were ordered to withdraw from the battlefield until our brigade commander could be replaced. It was then that we learned the whole story.

Skirmish-In Retreat

General A.P. Hill’s divisions of the Army of Virginia converged on our retreating Union Army near Glendale at the same time General Longstreet and a reinforced brigade made their way nearly to Willis Church, capturing General McCall, one of our commanders. We were saved by Hooker’s and Kearney’s counterattacks along Willis Church Road. Federal gun boats that came up along the banks of the James River, southwest of Malvern Hill, brought intense fire on the Rebs and drove back the troops fighting under General Homes. That’s what really saved the Union’s left flank over at Turkey Bridge.

Federal Gun Boat

During these skirmishes and the Seven Day’s Battle, our losses of dead and wounded were in the thousands. General Sumner’s Corps, our rear guard, was hit hard by the Confederates at Savage’s Station. They lost several officers and many good men just like us. Every commander was in retreat toward the James River. Because of the speed of the enemy’s progress and the volumes of fire they were able to put down on us, we even had to leave our field hospital and 2,500 wounded near White Oak Swamp.

How could we leave our own wounded behind with those Rebs? What in the world were we doing being pushed around by people who owned folks and made them work for them anyhow? We were the Union Army, fighting for what was right, freedom for those who couldn’t get it themselves. Weren’t we supposed to be under the flag of the Army of the Potomac? Weren’t we the Fighting Chippewas, the best regiment in the corps? How could we quit a fight and run scared and leave our wounded?

I was angry, really mad at the war, the folks in charge, and the president. Were we just beaten back by the Confederates and just as willing to take it? I didn’t volunteer to be beaten. I was told we were going win the war and all come home heroes. Was I lied to, or was I just a gullible kid who got all stirred up by a sword carrying colonel and walked into something I wasn’t ready for or just didn’t understand?

Right then and there, I wanted to be reassured. I wanted to be back home wrapped in Mama’s arms like she did when I was growing up. I remembered being comforted by her fingers going through my hair as she would kiss me on the forehead and tell me everything was going be all right. Just the thought of those quiet times when I was growing up made me feel a little better. Even if I was all grown up, a fighting soldier, I still needed to be reassured that I’d be okay. I wanted Colonel Miller back alive. After all, it was the colonel who talked me into being here in the first place. Something had to make it right. It just had to get better. It would be three long bloody years before it would be.

After the Seven Day’s Battle and White Oaks, the Army of the Potomac began its sorrowful return through Virginia. It was a typical army movement, like most forced marches of the day to the James River. Then we went from land to water so the 81st could be transported by boat to Aquia Creek Virginia, where we disembarked and marched to Falmouth. From there, we continued on to Aquia and then headed for Alexandria. In mid-August, we were even dispatched to the second Battle of Bull Run, as we called it, but arrived too late to be active in the battle. It was a much larger battle than First Manassas; that’s what the Confederate’s called it, as they defeated General Pope’s army in the battle which was greater in numbers than the first battle over the same ground.

General Pope’s defeated Army of Virginia met up with the 81st in Washington and remained there in waiting until early September 1862. We had our tail between our legs and knew it. I wasn’t certain there was anything Davey and I could do to make things right. I guess being privates didn’t really allow us much to say about all those goings on, but if I could get someone to listen, I could give them an ear full. It was late summer, a year since we got signed up to fight. We surely did some fighting, but by now, I had hoped we’d be doing some winning.

Maryland Campaign

The Army of the Potomac received some much-needed rest in Washington, and I wrote a letter home. I didn’t tell them about all the fighting and dying because I knew it would upset Mama. I wrote a letter that she could read out loud and be happy to hear from me at the same time. I told her I missed her and Dad, especially her home cooking, and special pies and cakes. If I would have told her what we’ve been eating, she might have cooked up a pile of food, packed it in the wagon, and brought it down to Washington to fatten us up. Lord knows we all needed some fattening up. I couldn’t tell her how much I really missed her because if I did, she would read into it how much we’ve been suffering, and like I said, I didn’t want to worry her. After all, she was upset enough just having me away from home and in uniform, let alone reading that I was getting shot at.

After we joined up with the 7th New York Volunteer Infantry, we marched on to South Mountain, Maryland, about sixty miles northwest of Washington, to get back at those Rebs. And get back at them we did. The 8th Cavalry joined us at the same time we were chasing the Confederates all around the country. We pushed them back all the way to Boonsboro, Keysville, and then to Antietam Creek. Skirmish after skirmish was won by us, and our losses weren’t too high.

In the beginning, I never thought about anybody getting wounded or killed. Now I was happy if it was just one or two of our men got killed in a fight, as long as it wasn’t me or Davey. I guess at this point, having the Rebs on the run and all, we were all feeling pretty high and mighty. It was time the Rebs knew what the Fighting Chippewas were made of and then some.

The 81st needed to start feeling as confident as the Rebs were after their victory at Second Manassas. The Confederates gave the Union a terrible beating. I was glad not to be a part of another defeat. But after all, we couldn’t let the Rebs gain ground on northern soil. We were all soon to be put into harm’s way at Antietam, which would turn out to be the single bloodiest day in history on American soil.

It took us a few days to move southwest to Antietam. We were real careful how we moved because we didn’t need any surprises. The regiment spent September 16, getting ready to fight; defensive positions were built that day and into the evening. We drew extra powder and shot because according to Sergeant Hawk, it could be a while until we could count on resupply if the battle turned in favor of the South.

We were camped between West Woods and Dunker Church, just looking for dawn to break. We could feel the excitement build inside because we knew the enemy was waiting real close up ahead. We were close enough to hear a mouth organ and a Jew’s harp being played by the Rebs as they sat by their campfires long after dark. A tall stand of corn kept us out of sight, and we thought we could use the cover for protection to get to Antietam Creek should we move forward or to our right flank. We got our orders the next morning to move out.

Six regiments would work their way to Antietam or Sharpsburg, depending what side you were on. We figured that by now an army our size, supported by well-placed artillery, would strike fear so deep in the enemy that we’d just push them back, overrun their ranks, and drive them back to Richmond.

Our final orders came, and we moved out in the quiet of the predawn, just before the sun was breaking over the horizon. It would be the last quietness we’d have for the day.

After our orders came, we moved into the standing corn and, in next to no time, lost sight of everyone, except those in the rows next to us and right in front. The shooting started in minutes and built up from there. It almost didn’t matter about the corn standing because the Rebs shot so much lead in our direction that the stalks of corn were cut down all around us and we really couldn’t see what to shoot at till it fell. The way the pieces of the stalks were flying around us, they must have been using buck and ball rounds; the stalks were shredded in minutes.

When we finally got to the creek, we wished we could go hide back in what was left of the corn because crossing the creek exposed us a whole bunch more. The water was splashed up all around us by bolts from their Whitworth rifles. It was hard to keep our powder dry and stay running because of the slippery rocks on the river bottom and trying to run hunched over.

If it was peaceful, the creek would have reminded me of the Lizard Creek back home, where Davey and I used to fish when we played hooky.

Oh, boy, to be back lying in the sun on that creek bank just waiting for the catfish to bite.

Most of us reached