a week of hardships, as just described, the regiment to which McKinley belonged found itself, along with the rest of the brigade, before Cloyd Mountain. Here the enemy had erected rude breastworks on the ridge of a hill, behind which they had massed their infantry and light artillery.
"Forward!" came the command, about noon, and forward went the brigade, with the Twenty-third Ohio forming the right wing. The advance led across a meadow five hundred yards wide, and while in this position the soldiers were exposed to a most galling fire, and a number fell, to rise no more.
"Double-quick!" was the cry. "Come on, boys!" And, the meadow passed, the regiment forded a small brook skirting the mountain base. Beyond was a patch of scrub timber, and into this they plunged and began the hard work of ascending the hill, over rough rocks, fallen trees, and pitfalls constructed to bar their progress. Soon arose the rattle of musketry, punctuated with the booming of artillery, the leaden hail clipping through brush and branch and spat-spatting against the rocks. The woods were filled with smoke, for in those days nothing was known of smokeless powder.
"Hurrah! We have them!" was the cry raised presently. The brigade had reached the last rise of the hill, and the enemy's position was plainly exposed. A deadly fire came from the Confederates, and a flag went down on each side. But the Unionists kept on, making a furious assault both on the infantry and the artillery, and a little later the cannon were silenced and fell into the hands of Lieutenant Austin, of the Twenty-third, who had them dragged to a place of safety. One of the Confederates tried to regain the battery, but a private of Company G pushed him back and hung his cap over the muzzle of the piece; and then the tide of battle swept the two apart forever.
The first ridge lost, the Confederates fell back to the second ridge, and onward went the Unionists once more. Again was the battle renewed, and again officers and privates went down before that sheet of deadly hail. On all sides the ground was torn up as if by cattle gone mad. But the Confederates could not hold their new position, and they retreated to a ridge still farther back, where they were reënforced. But the blood of the Unionists was now up, and again they advanced, until the enemy was forced into a full retreat.
The objective point of the brigade was the New River Bridge, and after destroying much of the railroad tracks in the vicinity of the above battle and at Dublin, the Unionists moved the next morning toward the New River Bridge. Here a battle was fought, largely by the artillery, and the bridge given over to the flames.
The command next turned toward Blacksburg. It rained in torrents, and the crossing of the river at Pepper's Ferry was a tedious and thoroughly disagreeable operation, the whole command having to wait its turn to cross in one small ferry-boat. Arriving at Blacksburg, there was a skirmish with the Confederates, resulting in the loss of several killed upon either side, and then the Twenty-third crossed Salt Pond Mountain, acting on this occasion as train guard. Again it rained, and the roads proved to be in such fearful condition that it was next to impossible for horses, mules, or wagons to get through, to say nothing of artillery. Many of the wagons had to be abandoned, and were given over to the flames. Of those times one of the teamsters says: —
"Our horses were all knocked out for the want of proper fodder, and all we had to depend on was the mules, and even some of those fell by the wayside. The road was chock-a-block with all sorts of equipments that the boys found too heavy to carry, and many a poor fellow dropped out and had to be left at a temporary hospital. With the army were a number of contrabands who didn't wish to be left behind, and when their teams gave out, they had to walk. Some of them had children with them, and the youngsters cried bitterly because of the rain and other hardships.
"Major McKinley was with us, — he was only a lieutenant then, — and he had to take his dose of the disagreeable the same as all of us. Everybody in the ranks was covered with mud, and the officers weren't any better off, although the major always was a sticker to keep his uniform bright. He helped around the supply wagons, — he was used to that kind of work, having been a commissary sergeant himself, — and once I saw him help a poor contraband who had his wife and three children with him, and several heavy bundles of household goods, probably everything the poor fellow had in the world. McKinley helped carry one of the children along the road for at least a mile, and he helped the woman over more than one ditch. And he did those things just as if he thought it was no more than his duty to do them. I don't wonder his old mother said, 'William was always a good boy.' Guess he was thinking of her when he helped the contraband and his family."
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