558

IN THE RANKS TO THE ANTIETAM.

zigzag of the way defined more sharply hy itssomber presence. Here, too, on all the distant por-tions of the line, motion was imperceptible, butcould be inferred from the casual glint of sun-light on a musket barrel miles away. It was 3o’clock when we resumed our march, turning ourbacks upon the beautiful, impressive picture —each column a monstrous, crawling, blue-blacksnake, miles long, quilled with the silver slant ofmuskets at a “ shoulder,” its sluggish tail writh-ing slowly up over the distant eastern ridge, itsbruised head weltering in the roar and smoke uponthe crest above, where was being fought the bat-tle of South Mountain.

We were now getting nearer to the danger line,the rattle of musketry going on incessantly in theedges of the woods and behind the low stone fencesthat seamed the mountain-side. Then we cameupon the fringes of the contest — slightly woundedmen scattered along the winding road on theirway to the hospital, and now and then a squadof prisoners, wounded and unwounded together,going under guard to the rear.

The brigade was ordered to the left of the roadto support a regular battery posted at the topof a steep slope, with a cornfield on the left, andtwenty yards or so in front, a thin wood. Weformed behind the battery and a little down theslope—the 89th on the left, the 9th next, thenthe 103d. We had been in position but a fewminutes when a stir in front advised us of some-thing unusual afoot, and the next moment theConfederates burst out of the woods and made adash at the battery. We had just obej'ed a hastilygiven order to lie dow 7 n, when the bullets whistledover our heads, and fell far down the slope behindus. Then the guns opened at short range, full-shotted with grape and canister. The force ofthe charge was easily broken, for though it wasvigorously made it was not sustained—perhapswas not intended to be, as the whole day’s battlehad been merely an effort of the enemy to checkour advance till he could concentrate for a gen-eral engagement. As the Confederates came outof the woods their line touched ours on the extremeleft only, and there at an acute angle, their mennearly treading on those of the 89th, who were ontheir faces in the cornfield, before they discoveredthem. At that instant the situation just there wasideally, cruelly advantageous to us. The Confed-erates stood before us not twenty feet away, thefull intention of destruction on their faces — buthelpless, with empty muskets. The 89th simplyrose up and shot them down.

It was in this charge that I first heard the “ rebelyell ”; not the deep-breasted Northern cheer, given

in unison and after a struggle, to signify an advan-tage gained, but a high shrill yelp, uttered withoutconcert, and kept up continually w'hen the fightingwas approaching a climax, as an incentive to furthereffort. This charge ended the contest for the dayon that part of the line. Pickets were set wellforward in the woods, and we remained some timein position, waiting. How a trivial thing will oftenthrust itself upon the attention in a suprememoment was well exemplified here. All about usgrew pennyroyal, bruised by the tramping of ahundred feet, and the smell of it has always beenassociated in my memory with that battle.

Before the sunlight faded, I walked over thenarrow field. All around lay the Confederatedead—undersized men mostly, from the coastdistrict of North Carolina , with sallow, hatchetfaces, and clad in “butternut” — a color run-ning all the way from a deep, coffee brown upto the whitish brown of ordinary dust. As Ilooked down on the poor, pinched faces, worn withmarching and scant fare, all enmity died out.There was no “secession” in those rigid forms,nor in those fixed eyes staring blankly at the sky.Clearly it was not “ their war.” Some of our menprimed their muskets afresh with the finer powderfrom the cartridge-boxes of the dead. With thisexception, each remained untouched as he hadfallen. Darkness came on rapidly, and it grewvery chilly. As little could be done at that hourin the way of burial, we unrolled the blankets ofthe dead, spread them over the bodies, and then satdown in line, munching a little on our cookedrations in lieu of supper, and listening to thefiring, which was kept up on the right, persistently.By 9 o’clock this ceased entirely. Drawing ourblankets over us, we went to sleep, lying uponour arms in line as we had stood, living Yankeeand dead Confederate side by side, and indis-tinguishable.— This was Sunday, the 14th ofSeptember.

The next morning, receiving no orders to march,we set to work collecting the arms and equipmentsscattered about the field, and burying the dead.The weather being fine, bowers were built in thewoods—generally in fence corners — for such ofthe wounded as could not be moved with safety;others, after stimulants had been given, were helpeddown the mountain to the rude hospitals. Beforewe left the spot, some of the country people livingthereabout, who had been scared away by thefiring, ventured back, making big eyes at all theysaw, and asking most ridiculous questions. Onewas, whether we were from Mexico ! Those belatedechoes, it seemed, were still sounding in the woodsof Maryland .