A storyteller returns to site of his remarkable Antietam find

Richard Clem at the O.J. Smith farm, site of a U.S. Army hospital.

Cropped enlargement of Alexander Gardner image of the O.J. Smith farm hospital in fall 1862.
(Library of Congress)

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On a beautiful fall day in 1991, my friend Richard Clem—the "Babe Ruth of Storytellers"—unearthed a brass identification disc on the O.J. Smith farm, a U.S. Army hospital site in the aftermath of the Battle of Antietam. The rare find turned into an obsession for Clem, a longtime Washington County (Md.) resident who has unearthed three other soldier ID discs. 

Corporal William Secor,
2nd Vermont

The Smith farm disc belonged to 2nd Vermont Corporal William Secor, a color bearer and the only soldier in his regiment to die at Antietam. Dog tags weren't carried by Civil War soldiers; instead, some soldiers bought discs from sutlers on which they had their names and units stamped. No soldier wanted to be forgotten if he fell in battle or from disease. Letters, diaries, photographs and "tags" often aided burial crews in the identification of soldier remains. 

For his 2006 Washington Times story on Secor, Clem—a retired woodworker—dived into National Archives records and tracked down descendants. He discovered this condolence note sent from a 2nd Vermont officer to Secor's stepfather:

Camp near Hagerstown, Md

Sept. 28th 1862

Mr. Ketcham 

Dear Sir:

It becomes my painful duty to inform you of the death of Corporal William Secor, Co. A. Vt. Vols. He was wounded in the battle of Antietam on the 17th and died on the 18th day of September. He was buried on the Smith farm near Sharpsburg. At the time he was wounded he was carrying the Colors of his Regt. Which position he had occupied for some time.

Morning at O.J. Smith farm, site of U.S. Army hospital.

He had many friends in his Regt. I saw the Chaplain that was with him in his last hours, and he said that it might be of consolation to his friends to know that he lived with a hope in Christ and was resigned to his fate. As a soldier, there was none better. He was always ready and willing. He had some personal property by him at the time of his death, a Testament, money and a diary, besides the things he had in his knapsack. They are at your disposal.

Most Respt. E.O. Cole, 2nd Lieut.

In October 2021, Clem, John Davidson (JWD Relic Recovery on Facebook) and I returned to the site of this remarkable disc discovery. Steps from where we stood in the farm field, Alexander Gardner set up his bulky camera in fall 1862 for an image of the Smith farm hospital. When sunlight hit this field just right, Clem told me about relic hunts here, he spotted glass glittering in the field—the remains of medicine bottles from the long-ago hospital.

The front of the brass disc includes William Secor's name.

 The reverse of the ID disc.

                                2018 video: Richard Clem talks about O.J. Smith farm.

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Hallowed ground to housing: A visit to Stones River battlefield

ABOVE: On Jan. 2, 1863, Confederates advanced under fire across this ground—today it's prepped
 for residential housing. Stan Hutson, my guide, holds maps from Blue & Gray magazine that detail
 the action here. BELOW: A farm field, also hallowed ground, is adjacent to the
 nascent housing development. (CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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The National Park Service oversees roughly 700 acres at the Stones River (Tenn.) National Battlefield, a small fraction of the ground where 25,000 soldiers became casualties from Dec. 31, 1862-Jan. 2, 1863. With the blessing of local politicians, ravenous developers have carved up much of the rest. 

Real conversation this morning with an NPS employee behind the desk at the visitors' center:

Me: "Can you tell me where the 45th Mississippi fought?"

NPS employee, after a minute or two studying maps: "They were near the Baskin-Robbins, Sam's Club and Walmart."

Ugh.

To see the roughly 2,500 acres of battlefield beyond the national park, you need patience, a great guide, a good attitude and a world-class imagination. Maps, too. Really good ones.

Hallowed ground to housing: The site of fighting on Jan. 2, 1863, is gone for good.

On Sunday, friend Stan Hutson—whose knowledge and love for the battlefield are unrivaled—showed me a seldom-visited site where Confederate soldiers advanced under fire near Sinking Creek on Jan. 2, 1863. (You may remember Hutson from this column I wrote about the vanishing Stones River battlefield for Civil War Times magazine, this blog post on Fortress Rosecrans and this post on his remarkable finds on a soon-to-be-paved over section of the field.)

The Confederates' right advanced near Sinking Creek
on Jan. 2, 1863. Today it winds through residential
neighborhoods.

To get there, Hutson drives through a neighborhood of circa-1980s ranch houses to a construction site. Behind us this overcast morning, we spot mountains of topsoil, man-made craters, piles of rocks, huge pipes and the outlines of streets—all preparations for yet another residential housing development. In the near distance, we eye a 30-acre farm field—this oasis in the middle of suburbia is barren today, but the farmer has planted it with soybeans and other crops in the past. 

 

"That's as close as we'll probably get to seeing the battlefield as it looked on Jan. 2, 1863," Hutson tells me. He points out on a Blue & Gray magazine map the Confederate regiments who wheeled across this ground to attack the U.S. Army positioned behind us.

Click to enlarge Blue & Gray magazine map
  of fighting in this area.

41st Alabama, 14th Louisiana, 40th North Carolina, 20th Tennessee, the Orphan Brigade ... and more.

In this nascent development, relic hunters have uncovered evidence of the fighting—bullets (including a French pattern .69 caliber "Triangle Base" round like this), artillery shell fragments and more. I wonder what battle artifacts could be recovered in the mountains of topsoil.

In late 2020, the American Battlefield Trust saved 42 acres nearby—a site originally destined for industrial development. That ground where little to no fighting occurred could become a park. No organization or individuals stepped up to save the site of the housing development—ground where significant action occurred.

Is it too late to save the farm field? 

On Jan. 2, 1863, the Orphan Brigade advanced here and down a hill toward McFadden's Ford
— today the ground is in a residential neighborhood.   

Under a modern bridge, Stones River National Battlefield tourists can see the site of McFadden's Ford,
where the Orphan Brigade was mauled by U.S. Army artillery. In the right distance,
 a modern neighborhood covers hallowed ground. 

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Where Forrest whipped out a pistol on another Rebel general

Nathan B. Forrest confronted Frank Cheatham at the Duck River on Dec. 18, 1864. 
Above, looking south at the stone abutments for the bridge that once spanned the river
-- the Yankees destroyed it in 1862. (CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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Nothing quite says “holiday spirit” like a visit to the place where bad-ass Nathan B. Forrest threatened another Rebel commander with a pistol. So, I slide down a muddy slope for a close-up view of the Duck River at Columbia, Tenn.—ho, ho, ho, this is the 157th anniversary of the bedraggled Army of Tennessee’s crossing here on a pontoon bridge in the aftermath of its two-day butt-kicking from George Thomas’ United States Army at Nashville.

View of the bridge abutment looking north.
(Photo courtesy Neal Pulley)

Scene on Dec. 18, 1864: Ornery Forrest, the notorious slave trader who mortally wounded a Confederate officer in Columbia during an 1863 confrontation, tells General Frank Cheatham he’s taking his cavalry boys over the Duck River pontoon bridge first. Cheatham: Like hell you are. Forrest being Forrest, he whips out a pistol and says: “If you are a better man than I am, General Cheatham, your troops can cross ahead of mine.”

Cheatham—whose horse Old Isham was buried in Coffee County (Tenn.) where they don’t even have a Starbucks—says something to the effect of, “I am not afraid of any man in the Confederacy!” General Stephen Lee, wounded in the foot by shell fragments the day before, climbs from his ambulance and calms the generals, who apparently apologize. Did they hug this one out? Did they chuckle over the "Dust-up  at the Duck"? Who crossed the river first? Who knows?

What’s undeniable is, if I slip into the rain-swollen Duck, Mrs. B becomes a widow and my girls lose a papa. I stay long enough to examine the stone abutment of the bridge that stood here until the Yankees destroyed it in 1862.

Ho, ho, ho, indeed.

Another view looking south at stone abutments.

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SOURCE

• Southern Bivouac, Volume III, November 1884, Number 3 Page 131-132.

Then & Now: The sad decline of Custer's 'honeymoon house'

"Clover Hill" in March 1864

A cropped enlargement of Custer with his staff on the front porch of "Clover Hill"
 in March 1864. (CLICK ON ALL IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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Every year since 1984, my friend Clark "Bud" Hall — a Vietnam vet and former FBI agent — has photographed "Clover Hill," the Stevensburg, Va., plantation house where George Armstrong Custer honeymooned with his 22-year-old bride, Elizabeth "Libbie" Bacon. The most recent photographs of the abandoned. circa-1775 house aren't pretty — nearly obscured by trees and undergrowth, it barely clings to life.

Frank Hampton
(Find A Grave)

Clover Hill — which sits 300 yards north of Route 3, near Culpeper — has a rich history beyond "The Boy General": It was home to James Barbour, a prominent lawyer, planter and delegate to the Virginia secession convention. Barbour served as a major in the Confederate Army. 

In the aftermath of the Battle at Brandy Station, 2nd South Carolina Cavalry Lt. Col. Frank Hampton — Rebel cavalry commander Wade Hampton's younger brother — died in the house from a saber wound suffered in fighting nearby. "Utterly disfigured," diarist Mary Chestnut wrote about his wound. (Hall was instrumental in saving "Brandy" from developers.)

Last week, Hall — who lives in Culpeper — shot his annual Clover Hill photograph. Here's a selection of those photos and Hall's story about the house, Libbie and her "dear life hero.":

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1937

Works Progress Administration photo

By Clark Hall 

Most married men — if honest about it — will admit their good fortune to have wed women who are better human beings than themselves. (I confess.) This marital dynamic proved uniquely valid when George Armstrong Custer won the hand of Elizabeth Clift Bacon, one of the most persevering wives in American military history. It is of note that nearly 158 years ago, “Autie and Libbie” honeymooned in Stevensburg, Va.

Spending part of his boyhood i n Monroe, Mich., George “Autie” Custer went off to West Point, where the undisciplined cadet graduated last in the class of 1861. Advancing rapidly in the Civil War, Lieutenant Custer functioned as a key aide and received high marks for his role at the Battle of Brandy Station, June 9, 1863. Appointed in late June 1863 as a brigadier at the age of 23 — the youngest general in the Union army — Custer received command of the Michigan Cavalry Brigade. He then effectively led his “Wolverines” in the Gettysburg Campaign. 

Incontestably, Custer was a superb cavalry officer. Further, his men adored him simply because he led them into battle.

George Armstrong Custer and his
bride, Elizabeth — best known
as "Libbie," — about Feb. 15, 1864.
(Library of Congress)

On Sept. 13, 1863, General Custer received a slight leg wound at the Battle of Culpeper Court House. Granted leave, the opportunistic Custer traveled west and audaciously courted Monroe’s most beautiful belle, 22- year old Libbie Bacon. Judge Daniel Bacon had no desire to see his beloved only child marry an intemperate soldier of modest roots, especially one known to favor “excessive alcohol and gambling.”

Now a nationally heralded officer, however, Custer convinced both Judge Bacon and Libbie he had given up alcohol (true) and gambling — untrue; he never quit gambling. As usual, Custer succeeded in capturing his objectives, and vows were exchanged on Feb. 9, 1864, in the “most splendid wedding ever seen in the state,” according to a reconciled Judge Bacon.

Departing on their honeymoon, Custer escorted his bride to West Point, New York City and Washington, where huge receptions awaited them. An attentive Custer never left Libbie’s side, and her own early devotion to him was evident: “Every other man seems so ordinary beside my own particular star.” She also referred to Custer as “my dear life hero, my boy general.”

While in Washington, Custer received urgent telegrams from Army of the Potomac winter headquarters at Brandy Station directing him to report immediately for a “secret” assignment. Libbie pleaded not to be left behind, and the couple trained to Brandy Station in late February.

Soon arriving by coach at Stevensburg, Libbie was made comfortable at “Clover Hill,” the beautiful, church-appearing home of Jack Barbour. Barbour was not in residence. Custer quickly departed for a raid toward Charlottesville on Feb. 28 and returned to Clover Hill on March 2, where he determined to provide his wife an “army honeymoon.” 

In honor of his bride, General Custer re-named Clover Hill “Camp Libbie.” For entertainment, Libbie was often hoisted into a “silver harnessed coach” and escorted to Mount Pony, where she toured the army’s main signal station. From atop the summit, Libbie wrote her parents that she observed the “white tents of the Army ... stretched far as eye could see.”

With her coach accompanied by mounted escort, Libbie also attended “six-course dinners” hosted by Custer’s superiors at Rose Hill and at the Dr. Daniel Green farm near Brandy. After spending just short of a month at Camp Libbie, General Custer secured a leave and took his wife on General Ulysses Grant's “special train” to Washington where their “official honeymoon” continued.

In mid- April, Custer deposited his wife in a Washington boarding house and he returned to the army for the “Overland Campaign.” Libbie much enjoyed Washington, where she met President Lincoln, commenting to her parents that he appeared to be the “most painfully careworn ... man I ever saw.”

Libbie lived in Washington throughout the remainder of the war and later followed her husband west to the plains. Following his death at the Little Big Horn, Libbie survived him by 57 years and “devoted the rest of her days to defending and gilding his memories.” They are buried together at West Point. 

One is certain Libbie never forgot her “Stevensburg honeymoon.”

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1984

Clark Hall

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1991

Clark Hall

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1998

Clark Hall

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2016

Clark Hall

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2021

Clark Hall

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2023

Clark Hall

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-- Have something to add (or correct) in this post? E-mail me here.

SOURCE:

Chestnut, Mary Boykin, A Diary From Dixie, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1906

On this forgotten field, 'America ... lost one of her bravest sons'

 On Dec. 17, 1864, the Battle of the West Harpeth was fought along Columbia Pike,
present-day Route 31. (CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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ON DEC. 17, 1864, from Hollow Tree Gap to the West Harpeth River — roughly 10 miles — the U.S. Army battled the ragtag Army of Tennessee’s rearguard in the aftermath of the Battle of Nashville. "On goes the frightened foe," an Iowa regimental chaplain wrote of John Bell Hood's retreat, "and on follows the victorious pursuer."

On the cold and rainy day, tragedies staggered both armies. At Hollow Tree Gap, an officer happened upon the body of a 16-year-old orderly near a U.S. Army soldier "gasping his life away." At Franklin, three 9th Indiana Cavalry officers suffered mortal wounds.

2nd Iowa Cavalry soldiers, believed to be
from Company M.
 (Image courtesy Darrell Van Woert)

About six miles south of Franklin, William McCormack — a 37-year-old married father of six from Liberty Township, Iowa — fell in a field that has yet to be swallowed whole by ravenous Middle Tennessee developers. "One of the bravest men I ever saw," an Illinois officer called the 2nd Iowa Cavalry private.

On a deep-blue sky morning, I aim to see where a Confederate bullet ended McCormack's life at the Battle at the West Harpeth — one of those fights that seldom earn more than a few words in a history book. I park at a business/residential development, scramble up a hill and manuever across a small bridge on Columbia Pike — that's Route 31 to those of you who live in the 21st century.

In the far distance to the left stands a tree line in the middle of a field — beyond it is where the Iowans are believed to have advanced. A mile or so to the north appear two ridges bisected by the pike — the U.S. cavalry came rumbling down that road. Steps away, a seldom-visited historical marker explains where Confederates, "moving rapidly south," held off U.S. Army and cavalry. Nearby, the West Harpeth, swollen from a recent storm, seems angry; so do the Columbia Pike/Route 31 speed demons.

Then my mind drifts back to that gloomy day in 1864 ...

GOOGLE STREET VIEW: Present-day view of West Harpeth battlefield.

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AT ABOUT 2 P.M, U.S. Army cavalry advances southward on Columbia Pike with bad intentions but no infantry support — Thomas Wood's IV Corps is stalled at the Harpeth River in Franklin, where earlier U.S. Army cavalry charged a small fort diabolically ringed with telegraph wire. 

The 2nd Iowa Cavalry, on the Federals' extreme right, advances near the Nashville & Decatur Railroad tracks. Armed with seven-shot Spencer repeating rifles capable of firing 14-20 rounds a minute, the Iowans are confident but nervous. "[Our] horses were poor and so much blown that they could only raise a slow trot," recalls Major Charles C. Horton, the Iowans' commanding officer.

The 2nd Iowa Cavalry, on the Federals'
 extreme right flank, advanced near
 the Nashville & Decatur Railroad tracks.

Surely McCormack's thoughts drift to his family in Liberty Township. He has  six children: George, 18; Robert, 14; Mary, 12; Henrietta, 8; Anna Bell, 4; and Willie Jane, 1. Somehow wife Esther makes do on their farm without her Kentucky-born husband, who enlisted less than a year earlier. The couple were married in Indiana in 1845.

The Iowans dismount to attack. Then  Rebel artillery opens up with grape and canister. Things get ugly quickly.

"We had a long ride over a very rough country before we reached the rebel lines," a 2nd Iowa Cavalry soldier recalls. "The Little Harpeth also had to be crossed, which, together with the volleys of the enemy from a strong and well covered position, completely broke our line before we reached them. As we neared the fence behind which the rebels lay, we were greeted by a galling and well aimed fire which carried death to many a noble heart."

Dismounted, well-concealed Confederate cavalry prove difficult to dislodge. After the Iowans struggle past a fence, fierce hand-to-hand combat breaks out. In near-darkness and fog, Union soldiers can hardly tell friend from foe. Enemy attired in blue uniforms make it even more difficult. In a close-quarters brawl, frantic soldiers bash each other with muskets, pistols, and sabers.

"Many of our boys, mistaking the enemy for friends, rode into their lines, and either obeyed the summons to surrender, usually pronounced over a dozen leveled muskets, or by desperate fighting cut their way out with fearful loss," the 2nd Iowa Cavalry soldier remembers. 

1860 U.S. census listed William McCormack as a farmer. The value of his property was
$6,400, above average for the era.

William McCormack married Esther Ann Magee on Dec. 18, 1845.
(McCormack widow's pension file | National Archives via fold3.com | WC106421)

MULTI-ACT DRAMAS play out all over the field. 

Overwhelmed, an Iowan surrenders. Then a shot from a comrade's carbine kills his captor, allowing the man to rejoin the battle — the fiercest fought by the regiment, the Iowan recalled.

Irish-born Dominic Black, a 21-year-old wagoner from Iowa City, orders a Confederate color bearer to surrender. When the soldier refuses, Black rushes the Rebel, intending to slash him with his saber. But a color guard shoots the private through the heart, killing him. Moments later, Sergeant John Coulter —who commands Company K — snatches the flag, then almost instantly gets an enemy bullet through the shoulder. Despite the severe wound, Coulter makes off with the prize.

Post-war image of
Charles Horton,
the 2nd Iowa Cavalry
commander.
(The Iowa Legislature)

A Rebel jams the muzzle of his gun into the chest of Private Thomas Wall, who pushes the barrel past his side. Another soldier rushes to Wall's relief with an empty carbine. Then the Confederate instantly whips out a pistol and discharges it at the cavalryman's head, missing him. In a blur, the Iowan snatches another pistol from the Confederate's belt and kills his antagonist. 

Moments later, Wall shoots another Rebel who had attacked his comrade. Aiming to escape the madness, he becomes a prisoner. But as Wall walks to the rear, Private Henry Hildebrand rushes to his rescue. He aims a gun toward a Rebel's face and ... click. The weapon fails to discharge. Stunningly, the Confederate's weapon does the same. Private William Magee rushes to Hilderbrand's side, but a Rebel whacks him in the head with his musket. Charles Shultz, an 18-year-old, German-born private, kills Magee's attacker.

Another Rebel fires at Levi Lewis Backus, a 21-year-old corporal, after the Iowan demands his surrender. Enraged, Backus refuses to take the man prisoner but misses the Reb with a close-range shot. "Damn you, I'll teach you to shoot at me after I have surrendered," the pistol-packing Confederate shouts as he rushes Backus. The cavalryman smashes the Rebel with his Spencer and kills him with a well-aimed bullet. Then Confederate lead crashes into Backus' hand, tearing off two fingers. Nearby, an Iowa private loses an eye in a brawl with a Confederate officer. 

Somewhere in the maelstrom, McCormack, of Company B, and three other soldiers struggle to capture a Confederate flag. But each suffers a fatal wound. In all, the Iowans' casualty sheet lists seven killed, eight wounded and 13 captured. The Iowans take 50 prisoners. Within a few yards lay eight dead Rebels— testament to the "desperate nature of the conflict," Horton writes.

Confederate counterattacks prove fruitless thanks, in part, to a stubborn defense by the 9th Illinois Cavalry. "I never heard better vollies fired over a grave than these Illinois boys fired that night," the 2nd Iowa Cavalry soldier recalls. 

A view of the seldom-visited West Harpeth (Tenn.) battlefield.

IN THE EVENING, soldiers plunge shovels into Tennessee earth. Someone retrieves money from McCormack's remains before he is lowered into a makeshift grave. No one lingers — there's more fighting ahead.

More than two months later, McCormack's widow receives a three-page letter from Captain John L. Herbert, her husband's commanding officer in Company B. (Letter and transcript below.) The officer discourages travel to Tennessee to recover William's body. "Hardly possible," he writes.

But at least Herbert offers a few comforting words.

"A soldier's grave I think is the most honorable of any, even if in the wilds of India," he writes. "Yet I know it is one of the greatest comforts to have relations or friends (killed in battle) buried in the home churchyard.

"You indeed have lost a noble husband, one that is worthy the love and esteem of every one," the officer adds, "and America has lost one of her bravest sons."  

POSTSCRIPT: William McCormack's remains probably were disinterred from the West Harpeth battlefield and re-buried in Franklin. His final resting place, however, is unknown.

(McCormack widow's pension file | National Archives via fold3.com | WC106421)

Camp 2nd Iowa Cavalry

Eastport, Miss Feb, 25, 1865

Mrs. McCormack

Dear Madam

Yours of the 7th this inst. is just read. I must say that had I thought for an instant that you had not been informed of the particulars of the death of your husband that I would have written you sooner. I had no opportunity for a month after the sad occurrence at which time I was told by boys who had necessary opportunities that the friends and relations of all men killed and wounded were apprized [sic] of it. It is a sorrowful task which is every company commander's duty to perform. I do not wish to harrow up the feelings of an already bleeding heart by a simple repetition of sorrowful facts already known. I will give you the particulars so far as I know. 

On the 17th Dec. while drive the retreating foe from Franklin, Tenn. we came suddenly upon a strong line of infantry and artillery, were ordered to charge the position & if possible take the guns. We bring on the right of our line [and] swing clear around on the flank & rear of the Reb battery. Our line in centre was driven back which made a gap on our left. The enemy took advantage and threw a heavy line in the gap immediately in rear of a part of our line. A portion of the regt. had to fight hand to hand to get out. Mr. McCormack was one of the [unreadable] After extricating himself from the first precarious position he necessarily threw himself into another (as they had him almost immediately surrounded). In the next engagement ....

... he fell mortally wounded and died almost instantly. Had he not been a man of unequalled strength and muscular strength he would have fell sooner. During the time of this sad encounter we were farther advanced. I did not see him at all after we went into the fight. A Capt. [Charles] Hayes of the 7 Ill. gives me this information. "Mr. McCormack was one of the bravest men I ever saw, and was always ready to do his part—either on the battlefield, on the march, or elsewhere." He was killed 6 miles south of Franklin, Tenn. and buried on the field. One of the boys of the Co. attended to his burial. We were not allowed to stop the pursuit of the flying foe. 

I have been told that all the soldiers killed then have since been taken up and buried at Franklin. I think it hardly possible for you to get the body home. It is impossible to get a leave of absence to attend such business. I could not tell you where to find the burial ground without being on the spot. There are so many applications of the same kind that the government in every case grant permits. A soldier's grave I think is the most honorable of any, even if in the wilds of India. Yet I know it is one of the greatest comforts to have relations or friends (killed in battle) buried in the home churchyard. 

You indeed have lost a noble husband, one that is worthy of the love and esteem of every one, and America has lost one of her bravest sons. Alas! How many are swept down, torn from friends, widows, mothers, children, sisters & brothers in the same way. I can only offer you the sympathy of a true friend, The Widow's Friend, The Orphan's Friend, The Mother's Friend, The Friend of anyone who has lost ... 

... a relation or friend while battling for the rights of the true American Citizen. 

He had on his person $135 35/100 dollars which Capt. Hayes got and delivered to me. I sent it by R.A. Carleto Paducah, Ky., with orders to express it to you with the necessary information or explanations. He clothes I gave into the possession of R.R. Elder. He said he would send them the first opportunity to you. There is due him 56 56/100 $ back pay and $240 bounty (probably some money for clothing deducted). In addition to this you are entitled to a portion as the widow of Mr. McCormack. You had better apply to some agent who attends to such business. I think some of the lawyers in Marshall perhaps attend to such. The per cent allowed by law is ten percent of money collected and $10.00 for pentions [sic]. His final statements and inventories of effects have been sent. Any other information, or assistance, in my power I will freely and gladly give. 

Very respectfully

John L. Herbert

Capt. Co. B., 2nd Iowa Cavalry

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— Have something to add (or correct) in this post? E-mail me here.

SOURCES

• Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Dec. 31, 1864.
• Pierce, Lyman B., History of the Second Iowa Cavalry, Burlington, Iowa: Hawkeye Steam Book and Job Printing Establishment, 1865.
• War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Federal and Confederate Armies, Government Printing Office, Washington, D.C., 1886.
• William McCormack widow's pension file, National Archives & Records Service, Washington, via fold3.com (WC106421).

Nashville battle snapshot: 'A living mass' of cavalry, infantry

U.S. Army outer line at Nashville in December 1864. (Library of Congress)

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On Dec. 22, 1864—a week after Day 1 of the Battle of Nashville—The Iowa Transcript, a Toledo, Iowa newspaper, published this account from "T.W.C.," perhaps a nurse or someone associated with the care of soldiers. The U.S. Army had occupied Nashville since early 1862. 

As a major battle loomed miles away against John Bell Hood's Army of Tennessee, "T.W.C." offered a snapshot of frantic military preparations and more: 

Nashville, Tenn.
Dec. 15th, 1864

Editor of The Transcript:

(Read clipping as it appeared in
The Iowa Transcript.)

On the 29th of Oct., at this place by order of surgeon of Hospital 15, where I am now I was granted the pleasure of a short furlough for the purpose of recruiting my health and visiting my friends, many of whom I had not seen for a long time. My health recovered somewhat, and visit made, which was very agreeable, I then returned to Nashville where I found grand change in things since I was here before. It is not only a change to Nashville but to me quite a change. When I arrived in sight of the place the first thing I heard was a very heavy outburst of canonading which sounded very familiar although I don't exactly admire the reality of it. Old Hood and his army are in our front and well intrenched some three miles south between us and Murfreesboro, and everything in the city looks as if something was going to be done soon. The streets are a living mass of mules, dragontrains, battery wagons, infantry and cavalry, but they are all moving to the front, therefore I don't apprehend any danger in Nashville. A soldier just came up from the front says that old Hood and his ragged butternuts were coming to town to night.  I told him that I could not see it in that light but if they do come to town he will come over more dead Yankee soldiers than he has live rebels in his own ranks. 

This place cannot nor never will be evacuated. Its importance as a base of supplies is great. There was some fighting on our left yesterday and some skirmish firing today. They are cleaning out all the hospitals here and sick and wounded are being sent north as fast as possible; this also indicates an early engagement. Five days rations was issued to the troops here last night and that looks like fighting. Our army are in good condition and high spirits. I have seen and talked with a great many men and officers who were in the fight at Franklin, 23 miles from here, and they all agree that our loss in the fight was not less than twenty-five hundred, which would be five times as many as was at first reported. This is too often the case, that our losses are underrated.

Everyday we see in the newspapers our loss very slight, only one killed, five or seven wounded. Everyday the sunlight of some happy home is forever extinguished, a breach made in some family circle, a bright jewel stolen from the treasury of some fond mothers love, yes, every hour some one falls at his post of duty and is thrown from the ramparts of time into eternity. Only one, the careless reader scans the word without a pang. Only one? Who is this only one? Perhaps a boy in years, a mothers darling, a youth whose happy laugh was but yesterday as the gush of a summer rill in a bower of roses, whose young life was the happiness of an aged mother's declining years or [unreadable] was one just entering manhoods years, hopeful and generous, whose brow was crowned with fresh laurels, and whose path was strewn with flowers, whose great soul panted to do great and noble deeds in his country's defense, but that lion heart is still now. Victory will never light that bright eye or flush the bronzed cheek with joy again. 

From your friend,

TWC

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Antietam to Liberty Gap: My favorite photos, road trips of 2021

CROSS KEYS (Va.) BATTLEFIELD, near Harrisonburg, Va. Morning mist.
(CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

FRANKLIN (Tenn.) BATTLEFIELD: Stop light casts eerie glow on field where scores fell.

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While Mrs. B fretted on a tour boat to Fort Sumter as an ominous storm approached, I was stomping around pelican poo-encrusted Castle Pinckney with an Englishman who has an affinity for high ladders and lightning. (He also likes warm Guinness. Ugh!) Real text that day from Mrs. B, who was wondering if her boat was destined for the bottom of Charleston Harbor during a deluge: "Remember that we've had a good 29-year run." 

Mrs. B and I survived Charleston, S.C.

She's funny.

Here are my other favorite experiences—and favorite photos—from 2021 road trips (with sundry details): 

Road miles logged: 3,287 miles.

Battlefields visited: 24, from Antietam and Cross Keys to Gettysburg and Liberty Gap ... and beyond.

Weirdest transportation: A flat-bottom bass boat in Charleston Harbor. 

Biggest "uh-oh" moment: Towel rack falls at 3 a.m. at Widow Pence farmhouse at Cross Keys battlefield, startles lone guest. 

Favorite new battlefield visited: Dug Hill, eastern Tennessee.

Cows and bulls cursed: 10 (Long story). 

Cars damaged: 1. Fixed with duct tape.

Favorite Civil War site that's a golf course: Robbers Row, Hilton Head, S.C.

Weirdest line used in a bar: "Hey, a munitions factory exploded on this site in 1862, and ..." 

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Ruth Hill McAllister, at her great-grandfather
 Sam Watkins' grave, was generous with her time.

Weirdest sight: Framed Oreo cookie hanging on wall, icing shaped like Lincoln, in Sharpsburg, Md., house where U.S. artillery killed Confederates soldiers.

Giant MoonPies observed: 1

Favorite meal: Homemade banana coffee cake with Sam Watkins' great-granddaughter.

Full-circle moments: A visit to the Tennessee site of Leonidas Polk's mansion ... and the Georgia site where "The Fighting Bishop" was nearly sliced in two by U.S. Army artillery.

Most humbling experiences: Visits to Tennessee slave cabins here and here.

Strangest experience: Hypnosis session at Fort Granger by a Penn State graduate.

Visits to Civil War mansion once home of female bootlegger who was married 12 times: 1

Times made bald Confederate sympathizer sing "Battle Hymn of the Republic" on a bus in Georgia: 0, tempted but the United States has outlawed torture.  

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I remained calm before my hypnosis session
at Fort Granger in Franklin, Tenn.

Most epic vibes: Franklin (Tenn.) battlefield on 157th anniversary. 

Favorite forgotten battlefield in middle of suburbia: The "other" Franklin field. 

Cool experiences: Relic hunting (legally) on Culp's Hill at Gettysburg; hiking to Davis Ford, where Army of Tennessee crossed in November 1864; surviving trip to Castle Pinckney in Charleston Harbor and drinking in a bar during a downpour with an Englishman and a woman in a pink and green yoga outfit.

Interviews with a parking enforcement officer on a Segway: 1, in Shepherdstown, W.Va., outside a bakery used as a Confederate hospital post-Antietam.

Best time watching another person work: Cop-turned-maintenance man who mows hallowed ground in the Shenandoah Valley.

Best time watching another person work II: The unforgettable Peggy Snow!

"You want me to carry what?" moment: Hauling the ground-penetrating radar down from top of Shy's Hill, a Battle of Nashville site.

See you down the road. (Dang, I have three more weeks of trips.) 

Let's keep history alive. 👊👊

CHARLESTON, S.C.: Englishman Matthew Locke adjusts the camera at Castle Pinckney.

PHILADELPHIA: Historical marker at U.S. Army General George Meade's residence.

FRANKLIN (Tenn.): View through bullet hole of war-damaged Fountain Carter outbuilding.

LIBERTY GAP (Tenn.): Taylor Agan holds a CDV of his fourth-greatgrandfather on
ground where he fought in 1864.

CHARLESTON (S.C): Market Hall, where Confederate recruits enlisted.

GETTYSBURG: Day 1 field

FRANKLIN (Tenn): Grave of unknown Civil War soldier at Rest Haven Cemetery.

COLUMBIA, TENN: Farmer Campbell Ridley peers into a slave cabin on his property.

GETTYSBURG: 155th Pennsylvania monument on Little Round Top.

ANTIETAM: Historian and relic hunter Richard Clem in field near Philip Pry House.

COLUMBIA (Tenn.): Old Nelson Hotel, where Confederate officer Andrew Wills Gould
died from stab wound inflicted by Nathan Bedford Forrest. 

SPRING HILL (Tenn.): Fingerprints of slaves on brick at Rippavilla plantation.

GETTYSBURG: Union commander John Reynolds monument.

CHARLESTON (S.C.): The Pink House.

FRANKLIN (Tenn.): Illumination event at 157th anniversary of battle.

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 — My favorite photos of 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020
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