A recent assignment I had in my English class was to write a series of journal entries that describe your character and the happenings of some catastrophic or horrible historical event, and the characters and entries can be as historically accurate or fictional as you want.
I chose to write about the Battle of Antietam, and took the role of a Corporal in the 69th New York Volunteer Regiment who joined the regiment just before the Union army began their Maryland Campaign in the September of 1862. Some parts of the entries might sound a bit rudimentary in terms of history and background, but remember that I had to write this for a regular English class, not a group of fine historical maniacs. That being said, if there are any historical inaccuracies in my writing, please respectfully point them out, but you might need to know that I did write this at 12:00 AM the day before it was due, along with a summary of my thoughts and reasoning, and a list of citations for websites I had pulled info from.
I think this was the first large English assignment I had actually enjoyed writing, so I hope you enjoy it too!
Spoiler
Campaign Diary of Corporal Aiden B. MacLean,
69th New York Volunteer Regiment,
Federal Army of the Union States of America
September 14, 1862
Well! Here’s to spending 50 cents and my new diary. Since I know you’re going to snatch this from my grubby hands as soon as I get home, Ma, I’ll just start this off with a big hello to you and little Conor. I cannot express how much I miss you and the neighbors; your goodbyes are still as fresh in my mind now as when I was walking off down the road, but how far I’ve come since then. I’ve been praying for you every step I take and I can only hope you have been doing the same for me.
I’ve been put in a wonderful group of people, the 69th Regiment of Volunteers; they are mostly all Irish-born or of Irish descent, so I find great comfort in being with them. It’s almost like I’m back in old Kilkenny with my fellow lads (you know of that all too well, Ma). This regiment already has quite the history, even though it was only mustered last November. I thought at first I would feel out of place among these fine men, but I was elated to see that they have definitely retained that old Irish welcome and spirit (not to mention the spirits). Why, our own Colonel Corcoran was under court-martial when the war broke out, but these men are going about like nothing has happened! It is a joyous feeling to know I am back among the people I know and love.
Our regiment has been placed in a brigade with two other Irish units, the 63rd and 88th New York, and we’ve been named as the Irish Brigade under General Thomas Francis Meagher. He’s an interesting character, that one. Was very outspoken about Irish independence, yet somehow managed to be promoted to Brigadier General from a mere company commander. I believe we’ll have an interesting time fighting under this fellow. Hopefully he’s not as much of a dunce as other Union generals I could name…
Anyhow, now that I’ve reoriented myself to my general situation (I still feel a bit wobbly from the drinks we got from those nice people in Clarksburg), I think I’ll go help with setting up camp. Haha, some of my lads are already getting jealous that I’ve been sitting on my ass for so long while they do all the work. Better go do something before things start flying. Not sure that practice would help me dodge bullets.
In general though, campaigning is tough work. Being in pursuit of a rebel army is tiring, even when you have buddies around you for support, moral, and the all-important company. All the same, it’s not the work that tires me. It’s the rising feeling I’ve been getting in my gut that there will be a battle soon. We’re close to the Confederates now, to Lee. The odds are good and in our favor, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from my more experienced mates, it is that war can flip a situation faster than a keg of ale at lunchtime. I won’t say I’m not excited for my first real engagement, but I can’t shake the feeling that this battle won’t be something to remember fondly, and it’s right around the corner.
Well, always forward, always to the front. As we say, “Faugh a ballagh!”
September 16, 1862
As we were nearing the end of the march tonight, we heard the first shots. A distant rumble followed by a muffled crack. On the first crack a ripple went down the column, like wind on a field of daisies. As we heard more shots, we began to talk amongst ourselves, discussing rumors and speculations on what was happening at the scene of the battle. We had heard rumors yesterday that Lee had positioned his army in a defensive formation around the town of Sharpsburg, so it was safe to assume that Sharpsburg is the place where we will be fighting. Oh, how the tension rose when we discussed that. Our company sergeant had gotten a hold of a map last night and what we saw didn’t encourage us: the Reb lines appear extend all the way from the Potomac to the north to a curve in Antietam Creek in the south. Three bridges crossing the creek outside Sharpsburg funnel the areas around the Confederate flanks and center, especially their right, where they have a perfect choke-hold on the area surrounding the Burnside Bridge. I already feel sorry for the poor souls who will have to cross that bridge, and pray for their safety.
I don’t know of the plans made for our own II Corps, but our action will most likely be seen in the center, as that is where we seem to be headed. Lord, I can already imagine that the guns we are listening to at this moment will be aimed right for us when morning comes. From what I hear of the I Corps and their troubles this afternoon, it will be a difficult battle. I will not lie, and say that it gives me chills to think that we’ll be in the very midst of it. The middle of the Confederate lines, damn it all!
Well, my mates will be with me. I can hear them performing the nightly prayer just now, and I also pray to the Savior that He will keep them safe in tomorrow’s action. They are a better bunch than many I have seen. I wouldn’t go into battle with any others if I had the choice, for I believe that our spirit and bravery have won and will win the day once again. We are the Irish Brigade after all.
September 17, 1862
I only have a few minutes to write this, but my friend Tom thankfully reminded me that I have something of a duty to make my memoirs, now of all times; I might never be able to write in this again.
Our place of attack is confirmed. Sumner is ordering that we’ll be pushing up with the rest of the II Corps across Middle Bridge to attack the Confederate center, where I hear there is something of a weak spot. We’ll be in support of Weber’s and Kimball’s brigades as we launch what I expect a series of wave assaults on the Reb positions. Despite what I’m hearing from the other sectors of the battle, this attack seems likely to succeed. We do outnumber the enemy, and it seems that most of Lee’s attention is on his flanks. I pray to God that this is the case, and that our banners and Irish spirit will spring us forward to victory, and Richmond.
My God, there’s the assembly. In the case that I…that I am unable to write in this journal again, I give my warmest regards to all the wonderful men I have met in this fine regiment and to my commanders, whose leadership has been invaluable in this time of strife. I finally give my greatest love and joy to my mother and little brother. Conor, I expect you to take care of Ma for us in the event I do not return. In this world you have to be strong; you are a MacLean, so you shouldn’t have to worry. Strength is in your heart and mind, just like our father, who has never seemed too far away, and seems even closer now. May you both thrive in this world of opportunity, and God bless you.
Aiden Brody MacLean
September 19, 1862
If it was at all possible to communicate through emotions rather than words, people would better understand the pain and suffering those who witness tragedies bear with them.
War is horrible. It always has been and always will be. Scholars say this, governors say this, presidents say this, and we listen. But to see the carnage, to hear the screams and cannon shot exploding overhead and beside you, feel the dirt and smoke and percussive force in your eyes and body, see your friends being ripped through by bullets, shells, bayonets, and the piles of bodies; the rivers of blood that flow from them.
We marched forward in our brigade formation, and as we did so we saw in the distance Weber’s brigade crest the hill that lined the road we were headed for. That was when it started. We heard volley of musket fire, so loud that it seemed that it would resound through our minds for eternity. We saw the whole front line of the brigade fall in unison, and we knew at that very second that those lives lost marked the beginning of a day of misery. The pace of the corps quickened as we rushed to support Weber’s devastated brigade. Line after line rushed forward to take positions past the point where the previous had fallen, only to be cut down and break in primal terror from the Rebs fortifying the road, which we now knew to be like a trench, sunken and protective.
Artillery began firing on both sides, and the wailing of shells overhead became a constant reminder of the wraiths that stalked this place of sorrow. As we approached the front of the corps, Father Corby began riding along the line, calling out in absolution to those who were about to die. I felt my will strengthened, and as I attended to the line, I saw the set jaws and proud faces of my fellow countrymen. Our banners snapped in the wind, bright emeralds in a sea of blood, and we charged forth upon the Confederate defenses in our fury. I saw many of my friends fall in the initial volley, but the charge was underway, and I had not time to think upon their probable deaths.
With support from Caldwell’s brigade, we were able to breach the left side of the Reb defenses on the road and begin pushing down its length. Oh, how the Confederate troops perished, falling in droves from fire in the front and fire that ripped into their exposed flanks. So thick were the Confederate troops that bullets had a better chance of hitting something if they missed the initial target, and soon bodies covered the bottom of the lane like a blanket. Their blood created a river that flowed down either end. It was only after the battle did I learn that five and a half thousand men had died in that place. We had pushed the Confederates back, but at what cost? I could not bear to know, and still refuse to listen to the casualty reports of our proud brigade.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
September 20, 1862
All I can think of right now are the friends and enemies who died. I had held my friend Tom in my arms, after he had taken a bullet to his thigh and a piece of shrapnel to his stomach. I will never forget how he pleaded me to keep writing my diary, for my sake, as well as his, and my family’s, and the sakes of all the courageous Irish men who had died in the place we now call the “Bloody Lane.” We need always to remember them, those brave and selfless souls who left my country to escape the enslavement of our people, and died fighting the enslavement of another. May their souls be saved and their enmities abolished, for God never intended such a proud nation of brothers to destroy each other. With His grace and love, may this war be over, and may the cries of horror and despair of every loving family in this land end with it.
Well. Here I am, sitting on the field of my first battle. I am both relieved and sorrowful that it will not be my last. May our victory not be in vain. Faugh a ballagh!
Signed, Aiden Brody MacLean
