Red-Letter Days
by Albert N. Husted
Great events, like great buildings, to be appreciated, must be viewed from afar. Looking backward to-day across the thirty-five years which separate us from the "Great rebellion" of 1861-65, that momentous epoch in our nation's history, assumes, approximately at least, its true perspective and proportions.
When the fratricidal conflict had lasted but a year of two, the northern States were impatient and discouraged - and not without good reason. For the first two years of the war, the record was one succession of failures and defeats for the "Boys in Blue." The situation in the field was sufficiently depressing, but the condition of public feeling at home was even more so. At the November election, 1862, a majority of the ballots in the Empire State were cast by the party which pronounced the was "a failure," and clamored for peace at any price - even the dissolution of the Union.
In July, 1863, just after the splendid victories for the Union arms, both at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, where hardly less than seventy-five thousand "rebels" were killed, wounded, or captured, there was, in several of our northern cities, forcible resistance to the "draft," which had then become absolutely necessary to fill the more than decimated ranks of the Union armies. For thirty-six hours New York city was at the mercy of a "draft-riot" mob. A considerable number of negroes - how many was never known - were shot and hung in the streets, for no crime save that they belonged to a race which had been the innocent cause of the war. Much property was destroyed by the torch of the incendiary. Many stores were looted; the police and local militia were unable to cope with the mob. Several regiments of regular troops were hurried from Washington. Order was restored, and the "suspended" draft was finally enforced.
With fully one-third of the inhabitants of the land in the seceded States, and nearly one-half the remainder in sympathy with them, it is small wonder that the remaining one-third were almost in despair.
When the first shot was fired at Fort Sumpter, the North was in the poorest possible condition for putting down a rebellion of such gigantic proportions. Her treasury was empty; her all-too-meagre munitions of war were mainly in possession of the South; for many years her people had given much less attention to military affairs than the people of the seceding States. But, the North had large resources of men and money - the "sinews of war" - and all, whatever their opinions, were compelled to pay their taxes and help fill the "quotas."
To-day it is plain that the defeat of the Confederate army and the capture of the rebel capital by General McClellan's army in May, 1862, might have been followed by a patched-up peace, without the destruction of slavery, and many years of border warfare between the two sections ending in a division of territory, with freedom and slavery facing each other form opposite sides of an imaginary line across the continent. The war terminated when its mission was accomplished - when human slavery in this land of ours had been forever destroyed, and a lasting peace, on the basis of equality before the law, for all the people of the land, had been permanently established. The cost in treasure, in lives, in human suffering and human sorrow had been untold and immeasurable, but the verdict of all the coming centuries will be the sacrifice was not in vain. When the participant in those stirring scenes takes a hasty glance across the intervening decades, certain red-letter days rise to his vision with startling reality - the firing upon Fort Sumter, the rout of our army at Bull run, the defeat of McClellan's magnificent army in the "Peninsular Campaign," and many others. Of little relative consequence, yet of much interest to those who marched with the "Normal School Company" (there was but one Normal school in the State at that time), was October 16, 1862, when that organization, one hundred strong, armed and equipped for active service, marched from the "Albany Barracks," near the spot where the Dudley Observatory now stands, to the train in waiting to convey them to the seat of war. Their destination was the battlefield of Antietam, Md., near which the Army of the Potomac was refitting after its last conflict.
Our first contact with the rebel forces, December thirteenth following, marked a day that was "red," indeed. Never were loyalty to duty and prompt obedience to orders, under conditions the most hopeless, better illustrated than in the gallantry of our brigade - Third brigade, First Division, Fifth corps - on that ill-fated day. Since early morning we had watched from Stafford Heights, opposite Fredericksburg, the unsuccessful attempts of the lines in blue to capture the strongly fortified Marye's Heights, just across the Rappahannock, in rear of the city. Column after column, brigade after brigade, had crossed the pontoons, formed line of battle, made a dash for the fortifications and left their killed and wounded on the field; the remnant returning only to be followed by another column to meet a like fate. The sun was nearing the western horizon when our bugles summoned us to the same trying ordeal - the forlornest of all "forlorn hopes" it seemed, but
Fortunately for us, "night spread her sable mantle o'er the field" before we had time to make the final assault for the possession of the heights. All night we lay close under the guns of the enemy, unprotected from his fire save by a low ridge, behind which we had halted to re-form our line, which had been badly broken by the murderous fire of shot and shell. And what of the morrow? Would the attack be renewed? If so, we must lead it. Under cover of darkness the rebel works would be made impregnable. What our fate would be under such circumstances we could not doubt. At break of day and the order, "Attention!" we prepared for what seemed likely to be, for most of us, our last "charge." Soon it became apparent that plans had been changed and we should not be sacrificed. The Confederate sharpshooters were firing at every head which showed itself, and it was only by closely hugging Mother Earth that we kept out of sight - returning the fire as best we could. Fortunately, again, the weather was mild and we did not suffer greatly from exposure. Thus, for twenty-four hours, we faced the enemy at short musket range. With the return of darkness our army withdrew to the other side of the river, and those of us who were able to travel were soon again at our old camp near Falmouth, Va.
Two weeks later, January 1, 1863, marked an era for human freedom on this continent. On that day President Lincoln's "Emancipation Proclamation" took effect; by its terms all the bondmen and bondwomen of the States in rebellion were set free. No portion of the army had greater occasion for remembering the day than our own Third brigade. The day previous about noon we had orders to "move immediately," and move we did, through mud and rain until midnight, then camped on the open field in the midst of a cold storm of snow and sleet. Six months have passed; meanwhile the Army of the Potomac has fought and lost the battle of Chancellorsville. For two years the brave Confederates, under the leadership of General Robert E. Lee, have successfully defied the armies of the North; now they resolve to "carry the war into Africa;" the field of conflict has been transferred from the "sacred soil of Virginia" to the free soil of Pennsylvania. A veteran rebel army of one hundred thousand men, infantry, artillery, and cavalry, is fifty miles north of Washington. The situation is extremely critical and the free States are thoroughly alarmed. One more defeat for the Army of the Potomac and the Confederate government will take possession of Washington, and the independence of the South must be acknowledged. The fertile valleys and flourishing towns of Pennsylvania are already paying no small tribute to the invaders.
At Gettysburg te two great armies, now nearly equal in numbers and equipment, and composed largely of veterans of previous campaigns "took up the gage of battle." On your return from the meeting of the National Educational Association at Washington next July, you will probably take the Gettysburg route. Making a tour of the battlefield, you will observe, on Little Round Top - which marks the extreme southerly point of the infantry "line of battle," the most noticeable regimental monument, of the more than three hundred which commemorate the deeds of as many organizations. In form it quite resembles a miniature church, about twelve feet square, of solid granite, with a tower forty-four feet high at one corner. A winding stairway in the tower leads to the roof, from which a large part of the battlefield and a great sweep of country to the north and west may be viewed. It bears the inscription "Forty-fourth New York Volunteers" - the regiment of which our company was a part - and marks the spot so successfully defended July 2, 1863, by the Third brigade, consisting of the Forty-fourth New York, Eighty-third Pennsylvania, Sixteenth Michigan and Twentieth Maine regiments, and consecrated by their blood.
Three miles northward is Gettysburg, a town of about six thousand inhabitants. Midway of these two points is the ground traversed by Pickett's men in making their celebrated charge on the Union center July third. A little to the southwest of the village is Cemetery Hill, where sleep the Union dead - more than thirteen hundred of whose headstones bear the words "New York." Here also may be seen the tall, graceful monument erected by our State, at a cost of fifty thousand dollars, to the memory of her heroic sons.
Battles, fevers and the many hardships of soldier life had thinned our ranks, but, in view of the recent successes of our arms, and with Grant in supreme command of all our armies, we entered the campaign beginning May 3, 1864, with confident steps and high hopes. The Wilderness, Spottsylvania, North Anna, Cold Harbor and the Siege of Petersburg were one series of "red-letter" days. Of our nineteen regimental commissioned officers who crossed the Rapidan on the night of May third, only four were "present for duty" May twelfth - most of the others had been either killed or wounded. The Normal School Company was reduced to twelve.
But "The Retreat" was never sounded. Our march was steadily forward until Appomattox was won, and peace crowned with joy the toils and sufferings of four years of war.
A.N. Husted
Taken from The Echo, May 1898, Vol. 6, no. 10, p. 6-8. From SUNY at Albany Archives