JOHN BANKS' CIVIL WAR BLOG: Petersburg

Showing posts with label Petersburg. Show all posts

Monday, August 19, 2019

'Where'll I find the Crater?': A visit to Petersburg in 1881

In 1887, six years after reporter George Morgan's Petersburg visit, 57th Massachusetts veterans
pose at The Crater. William Mahone, the Confederate brigadier general who led counterattacks
at The Crater on July 30, 1864, is the man with the cane and long, white beard
in the front row. (William Tipton | Library of Congress)

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On a tour of Southern battlefields in 1881. Philadelphia Times correspondent George Morgan stopped in Petersburg, Va., where citizens weren't especially eager to talk about momentous Civil War events that occurred there. At least one of them, however, profited from the war: The farmer who owned land where the U.S. Army exploded a mine under the Confederates' salient on July 30, 1864, charged visitors a quarter apiece to visit the "historic hole" created by the blast.

Correspondent George Morgan
toured Civil War
battlefields in 1881-1882.

"[H]e was obliged to charge a fee," Morgan wrote about Timothy R. Griffith, who owned The Crater, "as otherwise his visitors, after the reckless manner of Sunday sight-seers, would trample down his cotton and kill his corn."

The Crater served as the feature Civil War attraction in Petersburg, and Morgan unsurprisingly made it one of his first stops. It looked "like an abandoned reservoir," he wrote, "of uneven banks and irregular bottom, overgrown with clumps of briars and bushes. It is one hundred and sixty feet long, sixty feet wide and twenty-five feet deep."

Morgan made no mention of soldier remains at The Crater, where a photograph taken a little more than a decade earlier showed human skulls gruesomely perched on the rim of the giant hole. In visits to forts Damnation, Davis and Rice and elsewhere in the immediate area, the 27-year-old reporter also found plentiful evidence of civil war.

"[E]very rain," he wrote, "washes out Minie balls and grape [shot] on all the farms between the lines."

Here's Morgan's colorful account published by the Times on Sept. 5, 1881:

Special Correspondence of The Times.

Petersburg, September 3

America's Sevastopol, which I make bold to call this place of prolonged siege, seems to me to be a sort of Richmond on a small scale. The streets and stores of this pretty little city on the Appomattox are much like those of the proud beauty on the James: the nooks and crannies of the one suggest those of the other, and there is that in the air here whereby the stranger recognizes the Virginia capital in miniature. In Richmond, however, there may be felt the snap and dash of a lively now South, while at this ancient point of trade there is a hint of Dixie, not altogether unadulterated, but still pleasantly suggestive of the land of "cinnamon seed and sandy bottom."

Though the town is surrounded by the ruins of numerous forts and though many of the people served in the trenches, I find them averse to talking about the siege. Furthermore, those of whom I asked questions apparently fail to appreciate what a big thing they have in the matter of battle-fields. Very likely it is because they have them at their doors and it is the old story of the weather prophet who is not without success save in his own country. It wouldn't be at all wonderful if St. Peter has ceased to admire the golden hinges of his big gate, and no doubt the devil fails to appreciate the interesting section over which he presides.

On the Jerusalem Plank

"Where'll I find the Crater?'' I asked, coming out from the built-up part of the town and emerging upon Jerusalem plank-road.

"Feth, an' am thinkin' yo'll be afther gettin' yer nuff av the crathur beyant there in Jimmy O'Nail's saloon," replied my interlocutor, pointing to a sign whereon "Old Rye," "XX Ale" and things of that kind blazingly figured.

"He don't mean that crater; some other crater," chimed in a small boy; "he moans the big C-r-a-t-e-r, where the Yanks busted a hole in old man Griffith's field."

"Och, bejasus, tho't yo was manin' the livin' liquid herself;" and as I drove on I left the boy telling the citizen how Burnside had wasted his tons of powder. Passing along the Jerusalem road for more than a mile I came to a road that branched off into a field of peanut plants. At the side of the gateway was the sign:

TO THE CRATER, 25 CTS. AHEAD

At the end of the field road, a few hundred yards from the sign, I saw a large, roundish bank of red earth topped by shrubs and small trees. Near by is a two-story frame house in which lives T. R. Griffith, the owner of the farm and the guardian of the historic hole. Mr. Griffith led me up the side of the Crater, explaining as he brushed the weeds from the path that for self-protection he was obliged to charge a fee, as otherwise his visitors, after the reckless manner of Sunday sight-seers, would trample down his cotton and kill his corn.

What the Crater looks like

Present-day view of The Crater, on outskirts of Petersburg. (Photo:Shelly Liebler | Visit her Instagram page)

Tunnel dug by 48th Pennsylvania soldiers for a mine placed under Confederate salient nearby.
(Photo: Shelly Liebler)

The land within a half mile in every direction is clear of woods and at this time is checkered by fields of corn, cotton and peanuts and patches of ground that are fallow. Looking to the north the fields slope downward, and so with the strip to the east, but passing a ravine the slope is upward to the Federal line. To the west and south is rising ground, with the city cemetery on the ridge and the city itself beyond. The crater now looks like an abandoned reservoir, of uneven banks and irregular bottom, overgrown with clumps of briars and bushes. It is one hundred and sixty feet long, sixty feet wide and twenty- five feet deep. The earth is brown, with red blotches, being clay sub-soil.

The parapet of the fort remains and serves as the rim and border of the pit. Pine, peach, apple and atlanthus trees, together with grapevines, blackberry bushes and fruitless briars, grow thickly in the hollows, which look as if a herd of wild boars with hundred-horse-power snouts had rooted them out a dozen years ago. Extending from the northeastern corner of the crater in a straight line down hill to the ravine, two hundred yards away, is a sunken, narrow, ditch-like sink in the earth. This is the surface line of the tunnel dug by Schuylkill county soldiers, who had been brought up in mines and who wormed their way from the ravine until they stored thousands of pounds of powder just under this spot. As I sit in the crotch of a peach tree and look at the points of the field, now little changed from the day when it was the scene of a wonderful episode in war, the picture comes vividly up.

How ten tons of powder spoke

Marker denoting 48th Pennsylania soldiers' role in The Crater explosion.
(Photo: Shelly Liebler)

It is not yet sunrise and the defenders are asleep among the traverses and under the guns of the fort. A match, a touch, a hissing fuse and what a thing of mould and force infernal is now let loose. It is as though a young volcano, held in nature's mystery underground, has burst its bonds. The crust is rent by the up-coming bolt and fire flashes through broken clods of earth that fly to mid-air two hundred feet above. Sand, stones, guns, men, everything within reach of the blast, are blown skyward. A brass piece that weighs a ton is sent whirling over the parapet for a hundred yards.

Young Chandler, who an instant before slept beneath the gun, is hurled so high and so far that his bruised body falls within the Union lines. Men die in the air, never knowing in what unwonted and in what sulphurous guise death has unwrapped itself. Answering to the quake that is felt as far as Richmond and that shakes the steeples at Norfolk, a hundred miles away, come the roll and roar of [Ulysses] Grant's artillery. In redan and redoubt [Robert E.] Lee's men are benumbed and shrink lest the old mole has toothed his blind path under other forts and lest instantly now other death-bolts shall start up from the depths. Lee's batteries to the right and left are deserted; the outburst has broken his line and into it a wedge that may end the war in a week can now be driven. The mine itself is a wonder. It does its work with the swift flight of an electric streak that zig-zags across a bank of clouds in summer time, rendering the thunderous acclaim of its own success.

In the death trap

Granite marker near The Crater. The Federals suffered 504 killed, 1,881 wounded, 1,413 missing
or captured in the battle. Many of the casualties were U.S. Colored Troops. (Photo: Shelly Liebler)

But it is in the driving of the wedge that the gain becomes loss. What thus far has been an immense success now turns to that which is worse than a failure. What is needed is that the wedge shall be driven with Grant's best sledge hammer promptly home. A mass of boasting black men, whose battle-cry of "No quarter!" comes as an echo from Fort Pillow, are sent under a leader unworthy of his uniform to accomplish what only the pick of the army could hope to do. A whole hour is given [Confederate General William] Mahone in which to throw himself into the breech. Lee's artillery is again manned and hotly begins to work.

Union troops advance toward The Crater
after the explosion of the mine.
(Alfred Waud | Library of Congress)
CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE.

Poor devils of black men from shouting "No quarter" now shriek wild prayers for pity. Boasting becomes beseeching. The miserable wretches are bayoneted by friends and shot down by the foe. Without head or order the entrapped victims huddle close about the gap in the ground, seeking shelter behind heaps of upturn earth and even shielding themselves vainly with the bodies of dead comrades. The crater is a death-trap. From many batteries, where lurid gleams come through shrouds of smoke, shot and shell are hailed incessantly, and what was a spot of triumph is now a slaughter-pen a place of torn earth, soaked in the blood of four thousand men.

[Read historian Kevin Levin's detailed account of the Battle of the Crater. Levin's book, Remembering the Battle of the Crater: War as Murder, may be purchased here.]

Forts Hell and Damnation

Monument denoting the role of Fort Stedman, a Union fortification at Petersburg.
(Photo: Shelly Liebler)

The Crater is the main object of interest on the lines of fortifications and it is more frequently visited than Forts Steadman, Haskell and Sedgwick, which lie within sight to the north and cast. There are traces of Fort McGilver far beyond Fort Steadman and the outlines of the latter are just as distinctly marked. All the traverses have been removed and all the covered ways destroyed, for Fort Hell, as the armies nicknamed the Steadman redoubt, is now a garden wherein truck is raised for the Petersburg market. A farm house has been erected in the enclosure and O.P. Hare now peacefully dwells where Gordon and havoc once swept along. [Note: Fort Sedgwick was nicknamed "Fort Hell," not Fort Stedman.]

Fort Haskell is in better preservation than any other of the Federal redoubts. Pine trees grow in and around the enclosure and both the inner and outer works with a little use of the shovel could be made as formidable as in the days of death. Many of the oaks in the vicinity contain bullets. nor is it unusual to pick up rusty reminders of battle anywhere along the line from that point southward to Fort Sedgwick. Only half of that famous place of strength now remains. It was built across the Jerusalem road on two plantations.

The part on Mr. Griger's farm was long ago leveled and is now in corn, but the half on the east side still stands. Mahone's Fort Damnation shows many remnants. Fort Davis is in good condition, and Fort Rice has suffered little from the wear and tear of time. In this way the curious visitor might follow the lines of defense and contravallation down to Hatcher's Run and the Five Forks field. Wherever the land was cultivated before the war the works have been levolod, but where the lines passed through woods the works are very much as they were when abandoned. In the high and rolling lands the woods contain white oak, red oak, poplar and hickory, but in the light, sandy soil grow pines, ash, elm and buttonwood. At points where a link in the chain of fortifications is missing the line may be traced by the color of the sub-soil. Where the land is tilled most of the shells and bits of lead have been picked up, yet every rain washes out Minie balls and grape on all the farms between the lines.

Present-day view of Fort Stedman, better known as Fort Hell. (Photo: Shelly Liebler)

Pink blossoms and white

There is a delightful thing about Petersburg that never before has been mentioned in print. The city is bordered in its suburbs by a long bolt of peach trees which, in the spring, turn myriad white blossoms out to the sun and thus give a beautiful girdle to the place once trussed with bands of iron and cordons of steel. In that long and weary year of watchfulness the Southern soldiers were glad to get fruit and the best things that came to them from the Carolinas were peaches, whereof the pink flesh was sweeter than honey-dew. The kernels were dropped upon the battle-ground; the army tramped sorely on to Appomattox; winter came again, and then from the trenches sprang fruit trees that have flourished to this day. Down in the sunny South there is a kind of peach that shows a white bud; elsewhere the blossom is touched with pink. All other peach trees around Petersburg have the pink flower, and the battle-field peach thus keeps its mark and proud distinction. So now, starting from the river at the north, Lee's line may be traced for six miles or more by the far-reaching orchard planted in blood.

G.M.

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

Monday, January 01, 2018

Gordon Rhea's passions: Overland Campaign and writing

Of Gordon Rhea's five Overland Campaign books, his Cold Harbor work is the only one MIA in my library.

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At a dinner with a Civil War expert last summer, I asked him for a scouting report on Gordon Rhea, whose excellent book on the Battle of the Wilderness, first published in 1994, I had just completed. (I read slowly.) "Great guy ... extremely knowledgeable ... attorney ... terrific battlefield guide ... down to earth," he told me. He emphasized the down-to-earth description.

Gordon Rhea

During a recent road trip to Antietam and South Mountain, I caught up with Rhea on Civil War Talk Radio podcasts here and here. In the November 2017 podcast, the 72-year-old historian discussed with host Gerald Prokopowicz his fifth and final Overland Campaign book, On To Petersburg, Grant and Lee June 4-15, 1864. (If you're not counting, that's 2,506 pages by Rhea on the most crucial period of the war.)

I was impressed with the well-spoken Rhea's knowledge and especially by his passion for writing. That's no accident.

"When I was in college," he told me via e-mail, "the professor who guided me in writing my history honors thesis insisted on a clear and interesting writing style. I have taken to heart his admonition that history must be interesting to read, or no one will read it."

In an e-mail Q&A for my blog, Rhea also writes of the battlefield spot he finds most moving, his hope the National Park Service and relic hunters can work with each other, the greatest myth about the Overland Campaign and more.

Winslow Homer's "Skirmish in the Wilderness" evokes the "dark mood of a confused battle," Rhea says.

Winslow Homer's painting "Skirmish In the Wilderness," in the collection of the New Britain (Conn.) Museum of American Art, appears on the cover of your first Overland Campaign book, The Battle of the Wilderness, May 5-6, 1864. Why was that chosen, and what reaction do you have when you see it?

Rhea: For each of my books, I have tried to select art by a painter of the Civil War generation who best captured the mood of the narrative, Winslow Homer's painting of the Wilderness fighting certainly meets that objective. It evokes the dark mood of a confused battle in a thick woodland where neither soldiers nor generals knew where the enemy might be, a battle of ghostly figures against ghostly figures.

For my book about Spotsylvania Court House, I chose Julian Scott's painting of the death of General John Sedgwick, who was killed by a Confederate sharpshooter. Like Homer, Scott served during the Civil War, and his painting evokes an authentic contemporary mood.

Finding a painting for my book about the North Anna River proved more difficult, as no artists who had experienced the Civil War chose that battle for a painting. However, a modern artist in Fredericksburg -- Donna J. Neary -- painted an excellent piece entitled "Even to Hell Itself" depicting Lieutenant Colonel Charles L. Chandler trying to rally his troops during General James H. Ledlie's ill-fated attack at Ox Ford. Ms. Neary courteously permitted me to use her fine piece for my cover.

For my Cold Harbor book, I returned to Julian Scott, this time using his painting of Theodore Lyman attempting to deliver a message across enemy lines to facilitate the removal of dead and wounded soldiers from the Cold Harbor battlefield.

As with my North Anna book, I could find no paintings of the movement across the James River and the initial assault toward Petersburg. An impressive black-and-white image is an 1897 drawing by Benjamin West Clinedinst depicting Grant watching the Army of the Potomac crossing the James. The drawing appeared in Horace Porter's Campaigning With Grant, and LSU Press used modern technology to colorize if for my cover.

From left, generals James Wadsworth, John Sedgwick and J.E.B.Stuart. Each died from battle wounds.

In your Wilderness book, I was fascinated by the story of the death of Union General James Wadsworth, who was shot in the head and died behind Confederate lines. Of the deaths of soldiers you have told in your books, which story resonates most with you?

Rhea: The story of Wadsworth's death is certainly moving, as are the circumstances of John Sedgwick's death. Perhaps the most heart-rending deathbed scene is that of Jeb Stuart, who was brought back to Richmond following his mortal wounding at Yellow Tavern and died before his wife could reach his side.

Given the access to materials online today, how is the research process different for you for your most recent book compared with the process for your first Overland Campaign book published in 1994?

Rhea: I began working on my Wilderness book in 1986. Then, of course, there were no online resources, so I spent considerable time traveling around the country visiting archives and gathering material. Bob Krick at the Fredericksburg and Spotsylvania National Military Park had done a wonderful job collecting primary sources, and I spent several days working through that treasure trove of information. I also received assistance from researchers such as Bryce Suderow, who introduced me to the world of Civil War-era newspapers. Back then, they were accessible only through microfilm or in the jurisdictions where they had been published.

The Internet has eased the difficulty of researching somewhat, although not entirely. Many Civil War-era newspapers are now online, as are older books and some letters and diaries. While many major repositories have put indexes online, to see the actual documents you generally have to visit the repositories. In short, researching the Civil War still requires lots of travel.

Higgerson Farm, one of the few clearings in the Wilderness. "One cannot fathom the true nature
of a battle without walking the ground," Gordon Rhea says.

WILDERNESS PANORAMA: Where Vermont Brigade made its stand.
(Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)

You believe it's essential to walk the ground of a battlefield before writing about the fighting there. Tell us about that.

Rhea: One cannot fathom the true nature of a battle without walking the ground. The lay of the land explains much about what happened and what did not happen. Years ago, I led a tour of the Wilderness battlefield for the U.S. Army's Training and Doctrine Command. My audience included veterans of Vietnam and of the first Gulf War. After the tour, we gathered around a table and talked about the differences and similarities between modern warfare and warfare in the 1860s. The modern-day warriors were most impressed with the difficulty of managing and maneuvering Civil War armies. Without aerial observations or electronic communications, it was impossible to know if the enemy was 50 miles away or just over the next ridge. And with battle lines stretching for miles, precious minutes -- even hours -- were consumed getting important information to headquarters and receiving instructions back from headquarters. These modern warriors were very impressed that Civil War commanders were able to get anything right with such primitive intelligence gathering and communications systems.

Post-war image looking from Bloody Angle, the battlefield spot that "always moves"
Gordon Rhea, toward the McCoull farm.

Of the major Overland Campaign battlefields, I find Cold Harbor to be the most haunting, especially where the 2nd Connecticut Heavy Artillery fought. Is there a place on any of the battlefields you have written about that "haunts" you?

Rhea: The Bloody Angle at Spotsylvania Court House always moves me. This was the scene of the war's most vicious, prolonged, face-to-face intense combat. Several years ago, I wrote a book entitled Carrying The Flag that told the story of Charles Whilden, who carried the flag of the 1st South Carolina during the Confederate counter-offensive to retake that stretch of earthworks. I can't help thinking about Charles, an aging conscript who suffered from epilepsy, whenever I visit the site.

Rhea says relic hunters were "very useful"
to him at the Wilderness.

The old-timers who live near battlefields -- relic hunters and the like -- often are a rich source of information. Did any provide you with information that aided your storytelling and how were they helpful?

Rhea: I have found relic hunters to be very useful, particularly at the Wilderness battlefield. The only way to accurately determine the position of the various lines in much of that dense woods is to find relics from the battle. Much of the battlefield is outside National Park Service property, and I have spent many hours with relic hunters who showed me where they had determined the battle lines to have been based on the unexpended ammunition (often dropped by soldiers firing and loading as quickly as they could) and expended rounds. I wish that the Park Service could reach an accommodation with relic hunters, permitting them onto NPS lands on designated days on the condition that they share with the park the identity and location of their finds. Seems to me that both parties would benefit from such an arrangement.

What's the greatest misconception about the Overland Campaign?

Rhea: That Ulysses Grant was a butcher who never maneuvered, and that Robert E. Lee possessed the extraordinary ability to accurately predict Grant's next move. As my five books on the campaign demonstrate in detail, Grant relied on a mix of attacks and maneuvers to bring his wily adversary to bay, and Lee frequently misjudged Grant's next move, often putting his army in peril.

Ulysses Grant and
Robert E. Lee.

Excellent narrative storytelling is difficult. Describe your writing process.

Rhea: It takes a long time and is very painful. I prepare folders for each brigade involved in the battle that I am writing about, and put in each folder excerpts from the pertinent published material, such as regimental histories, memoirs, and newspaper accounts, as well as archival material, including letters, diary entries and the like. From that I can construct what happened, who attacked whom, and what it was like to be there. I write on a computer, so I am able to insert new material as I find it as I go along. Unlike some authors, I cannot get it right the first time. I do multiple drafts, and once I am finished, I print out the chapters and read them both single-spaced and double-spaced, working to get the language right. When I was in college, the professor who guided me in writing my history honors thesis insisted on a clear and interesting writing style. I have taken to heart his admonition that history must be interesting to read, or no one will read it.

Of the books you have written on the Overland Campaign, which one do you step back and say, "Dang, I really nailed that one"? And why is that?

Rhea: I have enjoyed them all. When I began writing about the Overland Campaign, I ventured into uncharted territory. There was only one modern book on the Wilderness (Ed Steers' piece) and none about Spotsylvania, the North Anna, Cold Harbor or the movement to the James River.

If you could ask Ulysses Grant or Robert E. Lee one question about the Overland Campaign, what would it be?

Rhea: I would ask each of them if, knowing what we now know, would they have fought their campaign differently. Would Lee still have tried to hold the line of the Rapidan River, or would Grant now wish he had followed the strategy that he initially advocated -- to first sever Lee's supply lines by advancing from the coast into North Carolina, then pursue Lee as he retired, most likely westward? Also, I would very much like to know Grant's candid opinion whether he would have wanted someone other than George Meade commanding the Army of the Potomac, and someone other than Benjamin Butler commanding the Army of the James.

Finally, what is the greatest void in Civil War writing today?

Rhea: While much has been written about battles, there is still much to be said about the home fronts. We have seen some excellent recent studies of the impact of the war on home life in the Confederacy, but I can't recall any modern studies about how the families of soldiers from the North fared and evolved.

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

Saturday, June 10, 2017

'It was folly': Maine regiment's disastrous charge at Petersburg

Near the edge of the woods stands the monument for the 1st Maine Heavy Artillery.

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"Nine hundred men from Maine were we,
As brave and true,
As hot to do,
As any ever wore the blue.
Nine hundred men from Maine!
Where shall their like be found again?"

-- The Charge of the Nine Hundred, unknown author, The First Maine Heavy Artillery, 1862-1865, published 1903.

Of all the Civil War battlefield monuments for individual regiments perhaps none tell as stunning a story as the tall, granite monument for the 1st Maine Heavy Artillery at Petersburg, Va. Two large, bronze tablets -- one listing mortally wounded, the other those killed outright -- honor the 241 soldiers who didn't survive the futile charge against Confederate works on June 18, 1864. In all, the regiment of nearly 900 soldiers suffered 632 casualties in about 10 to 20 minutes in the attack on Colquitt's Salient — the greatest number of losses of any regiment in any single day of battle during the war.

All the death and maiming occurred in a little more than an acre.

Here are historical images — as well as my own photos taken during a recent visit — paired with words from those who were there that late-spring day in 1864:

The Heavies formed in this plank road for the assault. The road no longer exists.
(The 1st Maine Heavy Artillery, 1862-1865)

"A GOOD SHELTER FROM BULLETS AND SHELL"

Horace Shaw:
War-time image of
1st Maine Heavies officer.

In a post-war account, 1st Maine Heavy Artillery officer Horace Shaw described the prelude to the attack:

"The First Maine had been designated as the center or storming column. They were posted in a portion of the old Prince George Courthouse road, where that road made a sharp turn to the right, running northwest past old New Market Race Course and nearly parallel with the enemy's line of works, and about five hundred yards distant from them. At this point this road, partly a plank road [above], was dug into the ground, the dirt thrown up at the sides (a common method of making roads in Virginia), the embankments being covered with small trees and bushes a portion of the way, thus affording a good shelter from bullets and shell during the period of waiting for orders."

SOURCE: Shaw, Horace H. and House, Charles J., The First Maine Heavy Artillery, 1862-1865, Portland, Maine, 1903.

PANORAMA: The remains of Colquitt's Salient, the Heavies' objective.
(Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)

"I SAW THE BLINDING FLASH OF RED FLAME"

Nearly 30 years after the battle, Joel Brown, a private in Company I of the 1st Maine Heavy Artillery, wrote a searing, and eloquent, account of the charge:

Private Joel Brown:
"What a sight
was before us ..."

"As we scrambled up out of the road, what a sight was before us: about ten or fifteen hundred yards away, across an open field having a little rise and covered with old corn stubble, were the rebel works, bristling with artillery, still as death, awaiting our onslaught. We had become somewhat broken in climbing up out of the road and the sight before us, together with a few stray shots from the sharpshooters along our front, did not tend to steady the line, so our old colonel [Daniel Chaplin], who was I believe, the coolest man that it would be possible to find, gave the command to halt, took his station as on dress parade, ordered his guides on a line, dressed up the regiment, and then put us through the manual of arms as quietly as though we were still in the defences of Washington, and all the while the bullets from the sharpshooters humming about his ears like bees.

"Then came the word, 'Forward, Double Quick, Charge,' and with a wild cheer which seemed to me more like the bitter cry wrung out in a death agony, we sprang forward. I saw the works plainly before me. I saw the blinding flash of red flame run along the crest of those works and heard the deafening crash as the awful work began; then the air seemed filled with all the sounds it was possible for it to contain, the hiss of the deadly minie, the scream of the shell, the crackle, crash and roar of every conceivable missile, and through it all that red blaze along the crest of that work which we must cross, as we, with bowed heads, breasted that storm."

SOURCE: "The Charge of the Heavy Artillery" by Joel Brown, The Maine Bugle, April 1894.

PANORAMA: The 1st Maine Heavies charged from right to left across this field.
(Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)

"IT WAS FOLLY"

Lt. Samuel W. Crowell:
Mortally wounded
during charge.

In a post-war account, George Washburn, a private in the 108th New York, described how veteran regiments huddled for cover rather than join the attack with the Maine Heavies against the well-entrenched Confederates at Colquitt's Salient.

"While engaged in the frequent fierce contests about Petersburg, our Brigade, which was lying upon I think the Jerusalem road screening themselves as much as possible from rebel sharpshooters, were ordered to support the 1st Maine Heavy Artillery in a charge. The charge was to be made across or into a large field of corn beyond which was a rising eminence and on the left of the field was a wooded acclivity.

"So experienced were the old veterans in such matters in espying masked batteries and concealed musketry that the deadly issue was easily noticed by them, and General [Thomas] Smyth remarked that it was folly for the old boys to be sacrificed in such a place, but as orders must be obeyed, 'Fall in and we ll do our duty.' The Maine's being in line started into the field, the corn being three or four feet in height, and with a ringing shout advanced double quick, and when within the range, the rebels desired a terrible fire from masked batteries and infantry swept through the Maine's line. Our Brigade in support, the 108th being on the left, dropped at once upon the ground face downward, by so doing the furious storm of shot passed over them. It was their only salvation."

SOURCE: Washburn, George H. A Complete Military History and Record of 108th Regt. N.Y. Vols., from 1862 to 1894, Rochester, N.Y., 1894.

Colquitt's Salient, stormed by 1st Maine Heavy Artillery on June 18, 1864.

"EXCEPT AT COLD HARBOR I NEVER SAW SUCH SLAUGHTER"

An unknown Confederate veteran wrote of the attack by "Lincoln's pets" in this post-war account:

Capt. Andrew Jaquith:
Mortally wounded
during charge.

"...Then ... Lincoln's pets, 1,950 strong [sic], the Maine battery charged us and went back with 250. I can realize that this was so, for except at Cold Harbor I never saw such slaughter ..."

"... In one of these charges while the shells were flying, I peeped up to see the approaching Federals. Just in front of me there suddenly appeared something like a black, buzzing bee. It was a shell. I knew what it was and down I ducked behind the breastwork. The shell burst in the breastwork right in front of me and covered me with dirt all to my protruding legs. I was pulled out and my head bandaged where a piece of the shell had struck me. It was my duty to report the casualties. I did not report myself. How is this, asked Major Rion? I told him it was slight and I did not want my wife to be unnecessarily alarmed. 'Wounds, sir. are honorable to a soldier and his command. A wound is any blood letting. Don t let this occur again.' I told him, 'I hoped it would not.' "

SOURCE: Charleston (S.C.) Sunday News, July 25, 1897.

An acre of death: 241 soldiers in the 1st Maine Heavy Artillery were killed/mortally wounded here.

"THE OLD HERO ... CRIED LIKE A CHILD"

Like General George Pickett at Gettysburg, the 1st Maine Heavy Artillery's colonel was shattered by his losses. Here is Private Joel Brown's heart-rending, post-war account:

Colonel Daniel Chaplin:
Mortally wounded at
Deep Bottom on
Aug. 17, 1864.

"History says that Gen. [David] Birney massed the Second Corps and made a desperate charge that day. So he did, but it was the First Maine Heavy Artillery that made the charge alone. The rest of the corps never crossed the sunken road. I went up the road towards the left to where the colonel [Daniel Chaplin] was, just as Gen. Birney rode up, and heard him say, 'Col. Chaplin, where are your men?' and I shall never forget his answer: 'There they are, out on that field where your tried veterans dared not go. Here, you can take my sword; I have no use for it now;' and the old hero sat down in the road and cried like a child.

"Just as night began to close in, the adjutant came along and told us to get together and call the roll. We did. Company I got together; we had gone in with seventy-five men; six privates had come out. There was no roll call in that company that night; one of our number wrote the names on a piece of paper and with tears running down his cheeks handed it to the adjutant; that was all. Out of the nine hundred men of the regiment about seven hundred had fallen. Late that night Lieut. Sam Oakes came to us. He had been knocked senseless on the field, but at night revived and crawled off. How we hugged him and cried over him! His coming saved our company from being wiped out, but the bruises he got that day cost him his life within one short year. Our colonel was broken hearted over his loss and threw his life away at Deep Bottom soon after. He seemed not to care to live after his regiment was gone."

SOURCE: "The Charge of the Heavy Artillery" by Joel Brown, The Maine Bugle, April 1894.

Two plaques on the 1st Maine Heavy Artillery monument at Petersburg show the awful toll.

"GHASTLY EVIDENCE OF THE INHUMANITY OF MAN TO MAN!"

Lt. Gardner Ruggles, 23:
Killed at Petersburg.

A post-war account from Horace Shaw, an officer in Company F of the 1st Maine Heavies:

"In the gray dawn of the morning of the 19th the writer [Horace Shaw], accompanied by comrades [James] Dole and [Ephraim] Drew of Company F, attempted to rescue Lieutenant [Gardner] Ruggles and some other comrades, who were believed to be wounded not far from the enemy's lines. Taking advantage of the dense fog, they approached to where he was supposed to have fallen, within one hundred yards of the enemy's breastworks and not far from where the monument [above] now stands. The fog suddenly lifted, they were discovered by the enemy and fire blazed from their guns. They were obliged to drop into the field gullies where the dead were piled and to make a most perilous run to the cover of the breastworks, when the fog again shut down.

"So terrible was the fire for days at this point that no further attempt was made, either to bring any off or to bury the dead, except in the darkness of the night. It was an appalling sight, to take a desperate chance for life and peer over the breastworks across this field of slaughter, strewn thick with the blue-coated bodies of those sterling sons of Maine, decomposing in the fierce rays of a Southern sun. What ghastly evidence of the inhumanity of man to man!"

Ruggles was found dead; his remains were returned to Maine, where he was buried in a family cemetery. Dole, Drew and Shaw survived the war.

SOURCE: Shaw, Horace H. and House, Charles J., The First Maine Heavy Artillery, 1862-1865, Portland, Maine, 1903.

1st Maine Heavy Artillery veterans, others at Petersburg monument dedication on Sept. 14, 1894.
(The First Maine Heavy Artillery, 1862-1865)

"THE CHARGE OF YOUR OWN PICKETT ... WAS NO LESS BRILLIANT"

On Sept. 14, 1894, Horace Shaw, author of the Maine Heavies' regimental history, addressed a gathering of veterans at the dedication of the monument to the regiment at Petersburg. Confederate vets also were present.

Horace Shaw:
A post-war image.

“I find myself oppressed with conflicting sentiments of sorrow and gladness, of confidence and fear. We come to this spot sacred to us to dedicate this simple stone which tells of the great sacrifice our comrades made here. The only sentiment upon the stone is in our motto of three links binding Maine and Virginia together in union and peace. This is expressive of our sincere desire. We come from distant states to honor and perpetuate the memory of dead who gave their lives and poured their blood out here. We cannot honor them without expressing our admiration for courage and soldierly qualities of those opposed to us here. The unsuccessful assault is always a fatal one. The charge of your own Pickett at Gettysburg was no less brilliant because unsuccessful. We cannot come here to honor our own loyal dead without paying tribute to the courage of [John] Gordon’s men, who made a gallant, though unsuccessful, charge over the same ground on the following 25th of March. This ground is the more sacred to us because the blood of your sons mingled with ours, has made this spot sacred to you."

SOURCE: Petersburg (Va.) Index Appeal, Sept. 15, 1894.

"Comrades will recognize many familiar faces here," reads the caption for this image in the
Heavies' regimental history. "The empty sleeves and trousers legs tell the story. 27 of
these lost an arm or leg, nearly every one had been wounded in battle." The photo was
taken at a gathering at Horace Shaw's house in Maine in 1885. (CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE.)

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Thursday, June 08, 2017

Virginia road trip: Prom photos, vultures and a 'horrible hole'

5th Alabama Infantry Batallion Private James Tompkins "returned" to Gaines' Mill battlefield,
where he was mortally wounded. (CLICK ON ALL IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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Nearly 155 years after scores of young people died near the Watt House on the Gaines' Mill battlefield, teenagers and their parents gathered on the same ground for an American tradition: prom photos.

Just steps away, I photographed an albumen of 5th Alabama Infantry Batallion Private James Tompkins next to an old (and dirty), black-and-gray painted historical sign that briefly explained what happened at Gaines' Mill on June 27, 1862. A "bright and promising boy," Tompkins, wounded in the leg, lay on the Gaines' Mill battlefield for hours until he was carried to a makeshift field hospital, where he died that night.

His life cut short at 20, James was"just budding into manhood," a post-war account noted, "when, with so many of his generation, he was called from the school room to the battlefield; called to exchange his books for the haversack, the promise of a bright future for almost certain death at the hands of a countless, overwhelming foe."

It was a strange experience during a three-day road trip through Virginia that also included visits to the battlefields of Cold Harbor, Petersburg, Chancellorsville, the Wilderness, North Anna River and elsewhere in the Civil War-torn state.

Deep in the woods of Cold Harbor, a South Carolina reenactor poses by a torch during
a 153rd anniversary commemoration candleight walk.

A well-preserved Confederate trench near the visitors' center at Cold Harbor.

COLD HARBOR: As I stared into the deep-blue sky Saturday afternoon, the 153rd anniversary of the slaughter that took place at this most eerie of battlefields, a turkey vulture circled, circled, circled over ground still pockmarked by trenches dug by soldiers on both sides. For me, it was just another reminder of the morning of June 3, 1864, and Ulysses Grant's infamous charge across a seven-mile front.

"Black against the pale, hot sky," author Ernest B. Furgurson wrote of the birds that circled above the Cold Harbor battlefield in early June 1864, "they drifted into sight by ones and twos, floating high above the overgrown creek bottoms and zigzag trenches. Gradually there were dozens of them, wheeling, banking, slowly spiraling lower, slipping down toward the fields so thickly dotted with Union blue."

The black vultures had come to feast on the wounded and dead.

Carmel Baptist Church was used as a Union headquarters. The Civil War-era church burned in 1874.

A painting that hangs in a Carmel Baptist Church side building shows what the church may
have looked like during the Civil War.

Ulysses Grant and George Meade plotted strategy at the church during the Overland Campaign in 1864.

CARMEL BAPTIST CHURCH: On historic Route 1, the old Telegraph Road, history lurks around every bend. After failing to solve the mysteries of the Battle of North Anna River, a stop at this church in rural Ruther Glen proved revealing. In late May 1864, Grant and George Meade hatched plans for the rest of the Overland Campaign at Carmel Church, just north of the North Anna River. (The Civil War-era church burned down in 1874; it was replaced by the red-brick building on the site today.) Theodore Lyman, an aide to Meade, described the scene:

"If you want a horrible hole for a halt, just pick out a Virginia church, at a Virginia cross-roads, after the bulk of an army has passed, on a hot, dusty Virginia day! There was something rather funny, too. For in the broad aisle they had laid across some boards and made a table, round which sat Meade, Grant, General [Seth] Williams, etc., writing on little slips of paper. It looked precisely like a town-hall, where people are coming to vote, only the people had unaccountably put on very dusty uniforms."

During a brief visit, Gerald Castlebury, the 65-year-old pastor who's originally from Louisiana, gave me a tour of the small interior of his church. On a good Sunday, he said, Carmel Church draws 100 or so faithful to a service. (The church was known as Mount Carmel Church during the Civil War.)

On display in a side building, Castlebury pointed out a small box of Civil War relics found in the immediate area as well as an old set of Carmel Church bibles in a large, glass case. According to local lore, Caroline County was so devastated by the war that residents would pick corn kernels from the manure of horses used by Union soldiers in the hope the seeds would reap rewards during harvest season.

SOURCE: Lyman, Theodore, With Grant and Meade From the Wilderness to Appomattox, George R. Agassiz, editor, Atlantic Monthly Press, 1922.

Historic Blanford Church, a Confederate memorial, survived the Siege of Petersburg.

Grave of George Guy Johnson, a Petersburg Reserves adjutant who originally was from Connecticut.

PETERSBURG: Throughout sprawling Blandford Cemetery, Confederate flags are planted next to the graves of those who served in the Southern army. Among them is the ornate gravestone for George Guy Johnson, a 59-year-old adjutant in the Petersburg Reserves and a native of Stamford, Conn. Johnson is one of 30,000 Confederates buried in the ancient cemetery who died during the Siege of Petersburg. A tobacconist, Johnson was wounded at the Battle of Rive's Farm on June 9, 1864; he died the next day from "effects of wounds received in defence of his adopted city," according to words carved into his marker.

PANORAMA: Of 1,192 Union soldiers buried at Glendale Cemetery, 234 are known.
(Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)

Gravestone for three unknowns at Cold Harbor National Cemetery.

PANORAMA: Poplar Grove Cemetery, near Petersburg battlefield (Western Front).
(Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)

BIVOUACS OF THE DEAD: No one else was around as I examined pearl-white gravestones at Cold Harbor, Glendale and Poplar Grove national cemeteries. At Cold Harbor, pennies -- Lincoln side up -- had been placed atop markers toward the back of the cemetery. Before I left there Saturday afternoon, I photographed the grave of John Coakley of the 16th Maine, hoping to find out a little more about him later.

An immigrant from Ireland, Coakley, a 22-year-old day laborer from Rockland, originally enlisted in the 4th Maine in 1861. He was transferred to 38th New York, but was discharged after he was wounded in battle. He couldn't escape the war for long, however. On Aug. 7, 1863, the unmarried son of Catherine Coakley was drafted into the 16th Maine.

Gravestone for 16th Maine Private John Coakley,
an Irish immigrant, at Cold Harbor National Cemetery.

Before he left home, John gave his hometown's mayor $140 from his bounty to help take care of his widowed mother. Catherine's husband, John, had died in Ireland in the late 1840s; she and her son John journeyed to America about 1852.

After John's "instant death" by gunshot at Cold Harbor on June 2, 1864, Catherine filed for a dependent pension. She had nine other children, "some of whom are dead," according to a document in her pension application. The "whereabouts of others, if any, she knows nothing, not having heard from them in many years; they having married and settled in distant parts of the country and unable to write."

Catherine was "entirely dependent" on financial support from John, who frequently sent money home to his mother while he was in the army.

"I knew his mother to have been unable to do but little work herself," Rockland Mayor George Wiggins noted in Coakley's claim for government assistance, "and [was] entirely without means or income of her own and no other children to render her any aid." After John joined the army, the town of Rockland allocated Catherine $3 a month for her support. Coakley's pension claim was approved, providing her $8 a month from the U.S. government.

Whether Catherine Coakley ever visited her son's grave in far-off Virginia is unknown.

SOURCE: John Coakley pension file, National Archives & Records Service, Washington, D.C., via fold3.com.

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Sunday, April 16, 2017

Dying 108th N.Y. soldier: 'Tell Charlie I tried to do my duty'

Rifle pits at Petersburg, Va. Private John W. Bailey was mortally wounded at Petersburg
on June 18, 1864. (Library of Congress collection)

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In the spring of 1864, the hardfighting 108th New York struggled to replenish it ranks after brutal battles at Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville and Gettysburg. "Difficulty was experienced in getting recruits to join our regiment," a soldier in the regiment recalled, "as they said it was sure death to join the 108th."

Chaplain Thomas Grassie, probably in a post-war photo.
He wrote a letter to Charles Bailey about his brother's
final hours after he was shot at Petersburg.

But when a call went out in Monroe County, N.Y., for men to join the 108th, John W. Bailey was all-in. And so, on Feb. 25, 1864, the 20-year-old orphan from Webster mustered into the regiment as a private, joining his brother Charles in Company F. (More than a decade earlier, the brothers' parents had died, leaving sister Lydia as their guardian. John leased a farm of "about 75 acres" in Webster, using income from his labors to help support Lydia and another sister.)

It didn't take long for Charles and John to participate in relentless, terrible fighting together. On May 6, 1864, Corporal Charles S. Bailey, a color-bearer, was wounded at the Wilderness, knocking him out of the war. At Spotsylvania Courthouse six days later, John was severely wounded, but he recovered in time to re-join the regiment at the front at Petersburg.

On the morning of June 18, the 108th New York came under fire near Petersburg, the strategic town about 25 miles south of Richmond, the Rebel capital. According to Thomas G. Grassie, the regiment's 32-year-old, Scottish-born chaplain, John was shot in the back when he "left the breastworks to go toward" Confederate fire. Another soldier recalled a slightly different scenario.

"... while the regiment was reposing upon a roadside, much annoyed by sharp-shooters," he recalled, "[Bailey] was struck by a ball on his spine. In his excruciating agony he partially raised upon his elbow, and seeing us across the road, cried out, 'Haven't I done my duty? I can die happy that I have done so.' We responded, 'Yes, yes, John you have truly and unflinchingly done heroic duty.' "

John Bailey's grave in City Point National Cemetery
in Hopewell, Va.
(Find A Grave)

John was transported to a hospital, where he "bore the pain with admirable fortitude and with Christian resignation," Grassie recalled in a poignant, six-page letter to Charles. (See complete transcription below.)

"I gave him a soothing medicine which soon eased his pain & lulled him to sleep," the chaplain remembered. But even though John's pain apparently briefly subsided, there wasn't much that could be done for the severely wounded private, who said he was unafraid to die.

In his final hours, Bailey told Grassie he had expected to be killed when he joined the army -- and spoke frequently about his brother, Charlie.

"Tell [him] I thought of him when I was dying -- and my sisters too," John said, according to the chaplain. "Tell Charlie I tried to do my duty to my country & tell him I hope he will be spared to his friends. Tell him I was ready to die & expect to see him again. Tell all our folks not to feel bad for me."

Two hours later, at about 10 a.m. on June 19, 1864, John W. Bailey died. "I had to go to the Regt. & had not returned before his brave spirit was released," wrote Grassie, who added John was buried in a II Corps graveyard near Petersburg. After the war, Bailey's body was recovered and re-interred in City Point National Cemetery in Hopewell, Va., where the remains of more than 5,000 other Civil War soldiers are buried.