"The Irish Ninth in Bivouac and Battle"
by Michael H. Macnamara
CHAPTER XIX.
The Continuation of the Siege. -- Very near. -- It takes an Irishman to crack a Joke. -- Our hopeless Position. -- We evacuate the Heights. -- The sacked City. -- How to be jolly under any Circumstances. -- A Presentation. -- We return to Falmouth.
THE next morning (Sunday) was bright and clear, and the terrible conflict of the previous day was resumed. The artillery roared along the line, and the fierce musketry fires of the contending forces made the din almost indescribable. A Massachusetts volunteer regiment near us kept up a continuous fire; for what purpose no one could tell, for it is our conviction that not one shot out of the eighty rounds per man that was fired, did any execution. It served to draw the terrific fire of the enemy upon us, and to render our position very dangerous and uncomfortable. This we should not have cared so much about if we had a chance to return their fire effectively; but, sheltered as the enemy were by an almost impregnable stone wall, it was impossible to do so. However, the regiment kept up its fire, and did not cease until every man had expended his ammunition. Had the enemy then charged on them they could not have repulsed them for want of ammunition. Orders had been sent to them several times to cease firing; but we suppose the near proximity of the enemy, though defended by a stone wall, was too tempting an opportunity to be passed by such enterprising marksmen.
The Ninth kept their place upon the hill in full enjoyment of their otium cum dignitate. Many of the officers surrounded Colonel Guiney, smoking, telling stories, cracking jokes, and perpetrating such conundrums as would win the envy of Joe Miller, were he then in the land of the living. Whiz -- whiz-- came the bullets, without cessation, hundreds of times unpleasantly close to us; but the puns would come, the joke would be cracked, the story told, notwithstanding the authors thereof stood a most likely chance to be hit by the deadly missiles that were flying around.
If we remember aright, a great deal of tobacco was consumed that day; and one soldier had his pipe knocked from his mouth by a bullet. This was a great misfortune, as pipes were very scarce, and the poor fellow could not borrow another.
While we lay upon this hill the firing continued very heavily, and we were anxiously expecting orders to charge the enemy, when, looking around, we noticed a tall, stout fellow of our regiment, whom we had remarked some few minutes before, calmly sleeping amid the crashing and roaring around, start up from his slumbers, with a cry of pain, and pressing his arm, moan piteously. "Arrah, hold yer whist !" cried a companion near; "the bullet didn't hurt ye -- look at that !" and taking his cap from his head, he took the ball from the inside ! It seems the bullet had glanced from the arm of the sleeper and perforated the cap of his comrade, whose head was lying in close proximity to his companion's elbow.
The colonel of the One Hundred and Tenth Pennsylvania happened to be looking at him, and when he saw the bullet, remarked, "Well, it takes an Irishman to crack a joke."
We lay on the hill that day, chafing with impatience for a more active part in the battle then fiercely raging. Many of our men were hit, and sometimes wounded as badly as though in the midst of the conflict, and we were in infinitely greater danger from the explosion of the shells than if farther in the front. However, there we were ordered to remain. We must curb our impatience, and, if we could not actively participate in, await the issue of the conflict.
It was now evident to the soldiers of the army of the Potomac, that, however well they might fight, whatever valor they might display, this great assault would be attended with only one result -- the falling back of our entire army. The Heights of Fredericksburg, of immense natural strength, were strongly supported both by artillery and infantry; and Lee having the best position it was possible to select, could easily repel the onslaught of our troops with a much smaller force of his own. On the other hand, our forces were massed upon his front, literally piled up before him, and from their unscientific and circumscribed position, one half of our army paralyzed the other. The attack upon the enemy's works was continued throughout the day, our artillery on the right doing splendid execution. The forces upon the flank of our line, under Franklin, had thrice unsuccessfully assaulted the works of the enemy, but the blinding storm of bullets, grape, and shrapnel mowed down the gallant regiments as they advanced, literally destroying them before they reached the works. Yet still the hopeless task was continued. The brave men of our army moved steadily in the footsteps of those who had fallen only to share their fate. Thus regiment after regiment, brigade after brigade, and division after division, moved forward to play their rôle in the mighty tragedy that was being enacted, until the curtain of night dropped, and closed the bloody and heart-rending scene. On that terrible Sunday night we knew that the army of the Potomac had been repulsed. Orderlies and staff officers passed swiftly to and fro over the field; whispered orders passed rapidly from mouth to mouth; messengers flitted from regiment to regiment in the darkness. Suddenly, the whole army arose. Silently the men rolled up their blankets and prepared to move. Shortly before midnight the repulsed columns moved back toward the city. The Heights had been evacuated. The great sacrifice of human lives had been in vain.
It was about midnight when we entered the city. We found several divisions of the army already assembled there. Stacks of arms lined both sides of the street. Along the sidewalks were stretched hundreds of weary soldiers, sleeping in their blankets, while here and there a form rolled in a shelter-tent, which had originally been white, resented, in the misty light, a spectral looking appearance. Flickering lights could be seen slowly moving in the streets, and here and there dingy lights lit up dingy corners, seemingly increasing the gloom. From the windows of large buildings calm, steady lights struggled faintly forth, and the passenger, looking up from the street, could discern that they were full of sick and wounded; while in the steadily-moving figures shadowed forth could be plainly seen surgeons and nurses as they tended the poor soldier. In the entries of houses dead and wounded were lying on stretchers. The dead had been brought in from the field alive, but had since expired. Wagons stood in the streets, from which rations were being issued to the tired and hungry men who had come in from the front. Bread was not weighed out there; it was "take what you want." The store doors were wide open, and broken boxes and barrels, weights, scales, and destroyed goods of all kinds flung recklessly around. Soldiers, with bits of tallow candles in their powder-begrimed hands, were prying into the different apartments in search of spoil. Some were pulling up the flooring in search of treasure, which they imagined was secreted everywhere; some were sounding the walls around; others, siting on the end of a barrel, were holding a mimic auction, and disposing of coats and waistcoats at "ruinous sacrifices" to the laughing and admiring crowd. Others, of a literary turn, were deciphering accounts from great ledgers and entry books, and commenting on the lucky situation of John Doe, who was the debtor of Richard Roe to an immense amount. More were counting out large piles of Virginia bank notes of which the bank next door had been despoiled. Here and there you could see a waggish fellow, in female attire, strutting about on the arm of a comrade, and, daintily lifting his skirts, exposing a tremendous ankle clad in an unromantic government shoe. We watched these scenes a little while, and then moved away in search of more aristocratic quarters; and these were plenty. We found a fine dwelling, with the windows standing invitingly open. We tried the door; it yielded. Entering a fine hall, a side-door led us to a splendidly-furnished parlor; a rich carpet was on the floor; a well-filled bookcase against the wall; a comfortable sofa and numerous easy chairs were disposed about the room. We let down the curtains, and locked the door. One of "ours" went to a fine piano, opened it, and, seating himself, gave us snatches from Il Trovatore, La Sonnambula, Le Prophete, Der Freyschutz, and gliding from Traviata, to the dashing melody of the "Bowld Soger Boy," an hour or two passed merrily in music and song; then the piano was closed, and, after a brief examination of the house, which belonged to Dr. ___, we lay down on the soft carpet, and soon were buried in sleep.
Early the next morning we strolled about the city, and went to the quarters of the remnant of the famous Irish Brigade. They were down by the river side, and we found the havoc made among their ranks to be worse than we anticipated. Later in the day, our officers received a cordial invitation to witness the presentation of a stand of new colors, given to the Irish Brigade by the ladies of New York, which took place in the theatre of Fredericksburg, and, considering the surrounding oppressive circumstances, passed off with considerable eclat. After the presentation, on returning to our comfortable quarters, news greeted us that our regiment was to be again ordered to the front. Hour after hour passed away, however, and still no orders came. At last we retired to rest. About midnight we were aroused, and the regiment began to move. We imagined we were going to the front, and not until we arrived at the pontoon did we discover that Fredericksburg was being evacuated. We crossed the river that night, and, after a weary march, reached our old camp at Stoneman's Station, Falmouth, as the day was breaking.
At Fredericksburg, Burnside suffered in more respects than one. When that unfortunate battle was over, we re-crossed the Rappahannock, and while engaged in the weary process of retreat, a long and inexplicable halt occurred on the bridge, the commanding general reminding me of Swaran in the ancient poem of Cath-Loda, when "slowly stealing over the stream, he whistled as he went."
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