As some of you may already know I am a descendent of Col. Charles H. Weygant of the 124th NY Regiment, who were known as the “Orange Blossoms” as they were from Orange County New Jersey. Weygant wrote a famous history about the regiment and is credited with having inspired Stephen Crane’s The Red Badge of Courage.
I have been gathering letters and diaries from this regiment and it has been a struggle, but I have found this one which is a nice description of their participation during the Battle of Gettysburg.
A letter published in the National Tribune December 23, 1885, from J. Harvey Hanford, Unionville, Orange County, New York, formerly of the 124th New York:
To the Editor :
In a late issue of the National Tribune you invite a minute description of an active private soldier’s experience on the battlefield of Gettysburg. I will try to give you a part of mine. I was 2d sergeant of Company “B” 124th N. Y. Vols., and together with the rest of the regiment and others reached the vicinity of Gettysburg at 8.30 P. M., July 1, 1863. We lay down in an open field, with orders to sleep on our arms, and not take off an article of clothing or any of our accouterments. This was hard sauce after such a march as we had had; but soldier-like, we had to take it out in grumbling. Early in the morning of the 2d we got our breakfast, and were then formed in line of battle behind a stone wall—an excellent position we thought. Not long after the order ‘ Forward, march!’ was given, and after crossing one or two fields we came to the famous wheat-field—and, by the way, it was the finest I ever saw, the wheat breast-high and ready to cut—but we marched through and over it in line of battle, and on looking back not a stock could be found, for it was -all trodden out of sight. When nearly through the wheat-field the order was given, ‘ By the left flank, march !’ and when halt was sounded, I being the extreme left man in the regiment, I found myself on the rocks at Devil’s Den. A battery of guns, commanded by Captain Smith, was soon in our midst. On this spot we lounged for some time, taking it easy. Our signal corps was a little to the left and rear of us, on Little Round Top. Presently a shell came shrieking and bursting near us; we needed no order or invitation to get behind the rocks, but did so at once. Then followed the usual cannonading until the infantry of the Confederates got so close as to pick off all our gunners. Then shone out the bravery of Captain Smith. When he had not men enough left to man the guns, he would come to us and ask and beg of us to help him fire them. Then he would run back to the guns and do what he could, and then back to us, and, with tears in his eyes would say: ‘ For God’s sake, men, don’t let them take my guns away from me!’ (Twenty-two years ago, yet I can see his looks and hear his voice.) O, how I would like to see him and thank him for what he then did, and if this meets his eye I would like to have him write to me. We were ordered to charge, and charge we did, driving the enemy back to the foot of the hill. We made four charges that afternoon, and held our ground until out of ammunition.
A little incident happened after our last charge. As I was kneeling behind a rock and loading my gun, Lieutenant Dennison, of the next company, had picked up a gun, and, there being a rock to my left hand, he jumped over my arms and caught his toe in my ramrod, bending it so I could not use it. I scolded him for it, but looking around I picked up another one. The Lieutenant squatted behind the rock, and was in the act of firing his gun when he was struck by a bullet in the leg. With a cry, ‘ I’ve got it, I’ve got it,’ he started for the rear, but before getting far another one struck him, so he had to be carried off the field. While I was behind the rock I was struck four times, but not seriously. My attention was all the time on an open space, apparently like a pair of bars, in the stone wall at the foot of the hill, behind which the enemy had taken cover. Into this I did most of my firing, as it was all the time crowded full of men. After using all my ammunition I went back to and over the brow of the hill, and there saw we were about to be relieved by other troops. What there was left of us passed through the ranks of the fresh troops, and we made our way to the rear. Our regiment, which was raised in Orange County, N. Y., and was by its Colonel (Ellis) called fhe ‘ Orange Blossoms,’ with the aid of citizens of the county, have erected a nice monument on the ground where we fought. This was all the fighting we were in at this battle, as we were so badly cut up as to be hardly a show of a regiment.
I saw in a paper some time ago that our twin regiment, the 86th New York, which was on our right, were going to erect a monument on the ground, and I hope they will. I think when the battle commenced on the second day I was the last man on the extreme left of the army. I know that at one time the enemy had passed our left flank and were enfilading us; but it was only for a minute or two. Our regiment holds a reunion each year, this year in Middletown, Orange County, N. Y., September 23, 1885. I wish we could see a good number of the 86th New York with us.
“J. Harvey Hanford, ” 2d Serfft. Co. ‘B,’ 124th N. Y., “Unionville, Orange Co., N. Y.”
I was very much intrigued by this account since I’ve had a lifelong interest in the career of Stephen Crane, author of The Red Badge of Courage (1895). The occasional descriptions of places and events that comprise the factual background of the novel follow closely the details of the Battle of Chancellorsville, fought in late April and early May 1863 on the banks of the Rappahannock River in northern Virginia. The movements of Crane’s fictional 304th New York roughly correspond to those of the 124th New York State Volunteer Regiment, known as the Orange Blossoms, which had its first experience of combat at Chancellorsville. Stephen Crane most likely chatted with some of the veterans of this regiment under the impressive Civil War monument in Port Jervis’ Orange Square. His father, the Reverend Jonathan Townley Crane, was pastor of the Drew Methodist Church that still fronts on the square, and the parsonage in which Crane spent much of his childhood is only a few doors away.