The Burning of the McLean House
On The First Day's Battle of Gettysburg
Donated by Susan Alexander Llauget
Transcribed by Nancy Piper
Taken from the Gettysburg Compiler, Saturday, July 2, 1915, Page 1
The Burning of the McLean House On The First Day's Battle of
Gettysburg
Told by a Young Girl Driven from the House When Set on Fire
On this 52nd anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, the "Compiler" presents an account of the burning of the home of Rev. Charles McLean, on the Mill road west of Willoughby's Run. The details of the burning have never been told before and are written by Mrs. Amelia E. Miller, who was Amelia E. Harman, then a school girl at Miss Shead's school - Oakridge Seminary - on the Chambersburg pike and lived with her aunt in the McLean house.
"We were doubtless the only persons on the Union side who were fed from Gen. Lee's commissary during the Battle of Gettysburg. And so far as I know, our house was the only one actually set on fire deliberately by the enemy. This is how it was:
We were living on the tragic morning of the battle in the big colonial mansion known as the "Old McLean Place" situated on the highest point of the bluff overlooking Willoughby's Run. We had decided to remain in the house even in the uncertain event of a battle, although most of our neighbors had abandoned their homes, for ours was of the old-fashioned fortress type with 18 inch walls and heavy wooden shutters. My aunt and I, then but a school girl, were quite alone, our farmer having gone away with the horses in the hope of hiding them in the fastness of the hills.
At nine
A.M. on the morning of July 1st came the ominous boom of a cannon to the
west of us. We rushed to the window to behold hundreds of galloping horses
coming up the road, through the fields and even past our very door. Boom!
Again spoke the cannon, more and more galloping horses, their excited riders
shouting and yelling to each other and pushing westward in hot haste, past
the house and the barn, seeking the shelter of a strip of woods on the ridge
beyond. But the ridge was alive with the enemy! A few warning shots from
its cover sent them flying back to find shelter behind the barn, outbuildings,
trees, and even the pump, seeking to hold the enemy in check.
We did not know it then but were in the very center of the first shock of the battle between Hill's forces' and the advance line of Buford's Cavalry. Horses and men were falling under our eyes by shots from an unseen foe, and the confusion became greater every minutes. Filled with alarm and terror we locked all the doors and rushed to the second floor - and threw open the shutters of the west window. Once glance only and a half-spent Minnie ball from the woods crashed into the shutter close to my aunt's ear leaving but the thickness of paper between her and death.
This one glance showed us that a large timothy field between the barn and the woods concealed hundreds of gray crouching figures stealthily advancing under its cover, and picking off every cavalryman who appeared for an instant in sight.
An officer's horse just under the window was shot and the officer fell to the ground. "Look" - we fairly shrieked to him, "the field is full of Rebels." "Leave the window," he shouted in return, "or you'll be killed!"
We needed no second warning and rushed to the cupola. Here the whole landscape for miles around unrolled like a panorama below us. What a spectacle! It seemed as though the fields and woods had been sown with dragon's teeth, for everywhere had sprung up armed men, where but an hour ago only grass and flowers grew.
Soon we saw a strong detachment of Rebels file out from the fringe of woods,
a quarter of a mile distant to meet a body of Federals advancing rapidly
from the direction of the town and in a few moments we were witnessing the
quick, sharp engagement in which Gen. Reynolds fell.
Hardly was this ended, when we observed a dark, sinuous line winding around the distant hills beyond the town, like a huge serpent. It was Meade's army advancing on the double quick to the relief of Reynolds.
A sudden, violent commotion and uproar below made us fly in quick haste to the lower floor. There was a tumultuous pounding with fists and guns on the kitchen door and loud yells of "Open, or we'll break down the doors." Which they proceeded to do. We drew the bolt and in poured a stream of maddened, powder blackened blue coats, who ordered us to the cellar, while they dispersed to the various west windows throughout the house.
From our cellar prison we could here the tumult above, the constant crack of rifles, the hurried orders, and outside the mingled roar of heavy musketry, galloping horses, yelling troops and the occasional boom of cannon to the westward.
The suspense and agony of uncertainty were awful! We could hear the beating of our own hearts above all the wild confusion. How long this lasted I know not. Of a sudden there came a scurrying of quick feet, a loud clattering on the stairway above, a slamming of doors and then for an instant - silence!
With a sickening dread we waited for the next act in the drama.
A swish like the mowing of grass on the front lawn, then a dense shadow darkened the low grated cellar windows. It is the sound and the shadow of hundreds of marching feet. We can see them to the knees only but the uniforms are the Confederate gray! Now we understand the scurrying feet overhead. Our soldiers have been driven back, have retreated, left the house, and left us to our fate!
We rushed up the cellar steps to the kitchen. The barn was in flames and cast a lurid glare through the window. The house was filled with Rebels and they were deliberately firing it. They had taken down a file of newspapers for kindling, piled on books, rugs and furniture, applied matches to ignite the pile, and already a tiny flame was curling upward. We both jumped on the fire in hope of extinguishing it, and plead with them in pity to spare our home. But there was no pity in those determined faces. They proceeded to carry out their full purpose and told us to get out or we would burn with it. They were the "Louisiana Tigers", they boasted, and tigers indeed they were.
We fled from our burning home only to encounter worse horrors. The first Rebel line of battle had passed the house and were now engaged in a hot skirmish in the gorge of Willoughby's Run. The second was just abreast of the barn, and at that moment being hotly attacked by the Union troops with shot and shell!
We were between the lines! To go toward town would be to walk into the jaws of death. Only one way was open - through the ranks of the whole Confederate army to safety in its rear!
Bullets whistled past our ears, shell burst and scattered their deadly contents all about us. On we hurried - wounded men falling all around us, the line moving forward as they fired it seemed with deadly precision past what seemed miles of artillery with horses galloping like mad toward the town. We were objects of wonder and amazement that was certain, but few took time to listen to our story, and none believed it.
All kept hurrying us to the rear. "Go on, go on," they shouted. "out of reach of the grape and canister!"
At last, after we had walked perhaps two miles, we came upon a group of officers and newspaper men in conference under a tree. We told them our story. The officers looked incredulous, the newspaper men attentive. One of these, the Confederate correspondent of the "London Times," seemed greatly interested in our tale, and was, I believe, the only one who credited it fully. He courteously offered to conduct us to a place of safety still farther to the rear. Dismounting he walked with us, showing great sympathy, and assuring us that the ruffians who had fired our house would meet with condign punishment at the hands of Gen. Lee. Also that we would be fully reimbursed by him for our property. (In Confederate money of course). He placed us in an empty cottage, and went directly to Gen. Lee's headquarters, then quite close by. He returned shortly saying he had seen Lee in person, told him our story, and he had promised to station a guard around the house while the battle lasted, and send us rations every day.
The guard soon appeared and patrolled around the house day and night during those three terrible days. Every day our rations of bread, bacon and coffee were furnished, and the guard were most respectful. But they were awful days of suspense and dread, for we could hear the raging of the battle three miles away on the Round Tops, and our nights were filled with horror. On the fourth morning we found that our guard had silently vanished away, and going out to reconnoiter we saw the last of Lee's wagon train disappearing over the hills.
There was no breakfast that morning nor did we have any until late afternoon, when we reached an inhabited house which proved to be that of the then editor of the "Gettysburg Compiler". Here we received a cordial welcome, and were urged to remain over night when it would be safer to go "home." This was not until the following afternoon when we footed the distance across the fields, for there was not a horse or vehicle to be found in all the country.
I will not describe the sickening sights of the ground over which we passed. I would that I myself could forget them.
When we reached the site of our home, a prosperous farm house five days before, there appeared only a blackened ruin and the silence of death. The chapter is closed. Here I draw the curtain and allow the scene to fade into the shadow of the past."
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