"...show mercy and kill me?"

Thursday, July 16, 1863, near Bunker's Hill, Virginia

We have marched twice around the world, I think and we are not yet done. At least we have stopped to rest here, at this postage stamp of a town. There is water to drink, shade to hide from the Sun, and, as is usual, nothing to eat. We should be used to it by now but we are not.

At least the Yankees are not known to be hard by. They had tried to trap us at Falling Waters but Lee whipped them once again. While we waited for the Potomac to fall to the point where we could be forded, their infantry caught up to us. They thought that they had us with our backs against the river, outnumbered and with no place to go. But we were behind entrenchments which gave us some advantage. Lee posted a battery on a hill knowing that it had not a single round of ammunition. It was a big bluff but one that the Yankees tried anyway.

We had been bested at Gettysburg but we still had plenty of fight in us. We were anxious to give back something and the Yankees obliged us by attacking. The fight was a desperate affair. Both sides fought knowing that the war could end right at that place. If they beat us, the only hope for the Confederacy would die. If we beat them, and cross the river, we would come back at them for another try some day and the war would continue.

We waited in line to meet them with fixed bayonets. We did not have as much ammunition as we would have liked. Off to my left, I saw the Yankees reach our lines and there was some hand to hand combat. The Yankees did not stay long; they were beaten back. They had waited too long to attack us. Even as the battle was raging, the advance part of the army was crossing the river. By that night, we were all across and marching South.

Perhaps marching is not the proper word to use here. Once across, I will say that we appeared relieved that the Yankees could not come after us for awhile. Our pontoons were cut loose from their moorings once we crossed and we had the satisfaction of seeing them float downriver, stranding the enemy, shouting, on the other side. 

We did not escape unbloodied.  John Howell is missing from our company and his fate is unknown. We managed to take most of our wounded with us. I fear that so many were abandoned to the Yankees at Gettysburg. The pitiful condition of our wounded made me give thanks that I was untouched. Although we had crossed the river, we dared not pause so close to the river to attend to the needs of the wounded lest the Yankees, in particular their cavalry, find another way to ford the river, get in front of us and hold us up until their infantry caught up with us.

The suffering was beyond any form of measure. Ordinary wagons, unsuited to the transport of wounded, were pressed into exactly that kind of service. Broken men were put into the wagons the same as boxes of ammunition. Their cries could be heard by all who passed by. They begged for relief and there was none save the relief of death. I heard one call out, "Will someone show mercy and kill me?" We marched on, barely acknowledging the poor soul. This war has been too long and we have seen too much.

We did camp at Martinsburg but not for long before we retired to this place.  A few of the local inhabitants, and there are but a few local inhabitants, came to our camp to satisfy their curiosity. They asked about Gettysburg, about the battle there. We told them but they acted as if they believed none of it. It was far too fanciful for them to swallow. Only those who have been in a war and fought for their lives understand what it is to be a soldier. 

Some of our wounded have been taken in by the local folks. They have shared a little of their food with us. They did not appear to have much to share. This part of Virginia is now the so-called state of West Virginia, unlawfully torn from the mother state by the Lincoln administration. We all know that Federal troops have been recruited in this stolen state. When this war is over, they will be dealt with as traitors.

We are in no hurry to leave here and we do enjoy the long rest, especially those of us without shoes. I still have mine and am grateful for them. I am hopeful that they will last until our march is concluded at our destination whatever that might be. We suppose that we will return to our positions along the Rappahannock. What will happen once we return is yet to be revealed.


I Send You These Few Lines:

The retreat from Gettysburg was composed of two large elements. One was the wagon train of wounded that was about 17 miles long. It was sent over a route far above the route of retreat of Lee's main army which was retreating between Meade's army and the train of wounded.

Even so, fast-moving Union cavalry were able to raid the train several times. The train was protected by Southern cavalry and some artillery but a slow train was easily ambushed and the guards could not be everywhere. 

The route of retreat at this point is almost exclusively down the Valley Pike, present-day US 11 which largely parallels the newer I-81. 

The Battle of Falling Waters was the last serious attempt by Meade to trap and destroy Lee. Once Lee was across the Potomac, Meade knew that Lee had successfully escaped and that the pursuit was over. From now on, Meade would just be following but not pursuing Lee.

John Howell was the last casualty the the Lancaster Hornets suffered during the Gettysburg campaign. We will hear from him again.