Incidents of the Battle--Comparisons With Other Engagements.
The Battle of Fredericksburg was not the most desperate nor bloody of
the war, nor was it so fruitful of events as others in its bearing
on future results. Really neither side gained nor lost any great
advantage; nor was the battle any more to the Confederate side than a
great victory barren of ulterior results; the loss to the Federals no
more than the loss of a number of men and the lowering of the morale
among the troops. Within a day or two both armies occupied the same
positions as before the battle. Not wishing to attempt any invidious
comparisons or reflections upon troops in wars of other periods, but
for the information of those who are not conversant with the magnitude
of the Civil War, as compared with the Revolution and Mexican War,
I will here give a few statistics. The reader then can draw his own
conclusions as to the sanguinary effects and extent of some of our
battles. Of course the different kinds of weapons used in the late
war--their deadly effect, long range, better mode of firing--will have
to be considered in comparison to the old.
As the Revolutionary War was more of a guerilla than actual war, I
will speak more directly of the Mexican War. It will be noticed the
difference in the killed to the wounded was far out of proportion in
favor of the latter. This I attribute to the smallness of the gun's
calibre, and in many instances buck-shot were used in connection with
larger balls by the soldiers of the old wars, while the Mexicans used
swords and lances, as well as pistols. During the three days' battle
at Molino del Rey, Chapultepec, and the storming of the City of
Mexico, considered the most bloody and sanguinary of that war, the
four divisions of Scott's Army, of two thousand each, lost as follows:
Pillow lost one officer killed and fourteen wounded, twenty-one
privates killed and ninety-seven wounded. Worth lost two officers
killed and nine wounded, twenty-three privates killed and ninety-five
wounded. Quitman lost four officers killed and thirty wounded,
thirty-seven privates killed and two hundred and thirty-seven
wounded. Smith's Brigade, with Quitman, lost ten officers wounded
and none killed, twenty-four privates killed and one hundred and
twenty-six wounded. Twigg's Division lost three officers killed and
twelve wounded, fifteen privates killed and seventy-seven wounded.
This, with some few missing, making a grand total loss, out of Scott's
Army of nine to ten thousand men, of between six hundred and fifty and
seven hundred killed, wounded, and missing--a number that Kershaw's
Brigade alone frequently lost in three or four hours.
The heaviest casualties in the three days' battle of Mexico in
regiments were in the Palmetto Regiment and the Kentucky Rifles,
where the former lost two officers killed and nine wounded, fourteen
privates killed and seventy-five wounded; the latter lost six officers
wounded and none killed, nine privates killed and sixty-four wounded.
When it is remembered that the Third Regiment in the battle with
about three hundred and fifty and four hundred men in line lost six
regimental commanders killed and wounded, not less than three times
that number of other officers killed and wounded, and more than one
hundred and fifty men killed and wounded, some idea can be had of its
bloody crisis and deadly struggle, in which our troops were engaged,
in comparison to the patriots in Mexico.
But considering the close proximity of the troops engaged at
Fredericksburg, the narrow compass in which they were massed, the
number of elevated positions suitable for artillery on either
side, and the number of troops on the field, the wonder is why
the casualties were not even greater than the reports make them.
Burnsides, from the nature of the ground, could not handle more than
half his army, as by official returns not more than fifty thousand
were in line of battle and in actual combat. There were only two
points at which he could extend his line, and if at one he found a
"Scylla," he was equally sure to find a "Charybdis" at the other.
On his left flank Jackson's whole corps was massed, at Hamilton's
Crossing; at his right was the stone wall and Mayree's Hill. To meet
Hood and Pickett he would have had to advance between a quarter and
half mile through a plain, where his army could be enfiladed by the
guns of Longstreet and Jackson, and in front by the batteries of
Hood and Pickett. It seems from reports since come to light that
the authorities at Washington apprehended more danger in Burnsides
crossing the river than in the battle that was to follow. Lincoln in
giving him orders as to his movements instructed his Secretary of War,
Stanton, to write Burnsides to be very careful in the crossing, to
guard his flanks well, and not allow Lee to fall upon one part that
had crossed and crush it before the other part could come to the
rescue; nor allow that wing of the army yet remaining on the Northern
side to be attacked and destroyed while the other had crossed to the
Southern side. It is said Stanton wrote the order couched in the
best of English, and phrased in elegant terms the instructions above,
telling him to guard his flanks, etc., then read the order to Lincoln
for his approval. Taking up the pen, the President endorsed it, and
wrote underneath, in his own hand: "In crossing the river don't allow
yourself to be caught in the fix of a cow, hurried by dogs, in jumping
a fence, get hung in the middle, so that she can't either use her
horns in front, nor her heels behind."
Many incidents of courage and pathos could be written of this, as
well as many other battles, but one that I think the crowning act of
courage and sympathy for an enemy in distress is due was that of a
Georgian behind the wall. In one of the first charges made during the
day a Federal had fallen, and to protect himself as much as possible
from the bullets of his enemies, he had by sheer force of will pulled
his body along until he had neared the wall. Then he failed through
pure exhaustion. From loss of blood and the exposure of the sun's
rays, he called loudly for water. "Oh, somebody bring me a drink of
water!--water! water!!" was the piteous appeals heard by those behind
the stone wall. To go to his rescue was to court certain death, as
the housetops to the left were lined with sharpshooters, ready to fire
upon anyone showing his head above the wall. But one brave soldier
from Georgia dared all, and during the lull in the firing leaped the
walls, rushed to the wounded soldier, and raising his head in his
arms, gave him a drink of water, then made his way back and over the
wall amid a hail of bullets knocking the dirt up all around him.
The soldier, like the sailor, is proverbial for his superstition. But
at times certain incidents or coincidents take place in the life
of the soldier that are inexplainable, to say the least. Now it is
certain that every soldier going into battle has some dread of death.
It is the nature of man to dread that long lost sleep at any time and
in any place. He knows that death is a master of all, and all must
yield to its inexorable summons, and that summons is more likely
to come in battle than on ordinary occasions. That at certain times
soldiers do have a premonition of their coming death, has been proven
on many occasions. Not that I say all soldiers foretell their end
by some kind of secret monitor, but that some do, or seem to do so.
Captain Summer, of my company, was an unusually good-humored and
lively man, and while he was not what could be called profane, yet he
had little predilection toward piety or the Church. In other battles
he advanced to the front as light-hearted and free from care as if
going on drill or inspection. When we were drawn up in line of battle
at Fredericksburg the first morning an order came for the Captain.
He was not present, and on enquiry, I was told that he had gone to
a cluster of bushes in the rear. Thinking the order might be of
importance, I hastened to the place, and there I found Captain Summer
on his knees in prayer. I rallied him about his "sudden piety," and
in a jesting manner accused him of "weakening." "After rising from his
kneeling posture, I saw he was calm, pale, and serious--so different
from his former moods in going into battle. I began teasing him in a
bantering way about being a coward." "No," said he, "I am no coward,
and will show I have as much nerve, if not more, than most men in the
army, for all have doubts of death, but I have none. I will be killed
in this battle. I feel it as plainly as I feel I am living, but I am
no coward, and shall go in this battle and fight with the same spirit
that I have always shown." This was true. He acted bravely, and for
the few moments that he commanded the regiment he exhibited all the
daring a brave man could, but he fell shot through the brains with a
minnie ball. He had given me messages to his young wife, to whom he
had been married only about two months, before entering the services,
as to the disposition of his effects, as well as his body after death.
Another instance was that of Lieutenant Hill, of Company G, Third
South Carolina Regiment. The day before the battle he asked permission
to return to camp that night, a distance perhaps of three miles. With
a companion he returned to the camp, procured water, bathed himself,
and changed his under-clothing. On being asked by his companion why
he wished to walk three miles at night to simply bathe and change his
clothing, with perfect unconcern he replied: "In the coming battle I
feel that I will be killed, and such being the case, I could not bear
the idea of dying and being buried in soiled clothes." He fell dead
at the first volley. Was there ever such courage as this--to feel
that death was so certain and that it could be prevented by absenting
themselves from battle, but allowed their pride, patriotism, and moral
courage to carry them on to sure death?
In the case of a private in Company C, Third Regiment, it was
different. He did not have the moral courage to resist the "secret
monitor," that silent whisperer of death. He had always asserted
that he would be killed in the first battle, and so strong was this
conviction upon him, that he failed to keep in line of battle on
another occasion, and had been censured by his officers for
cowardice. In this battle he was ordered in charge of a Sergeant, with
instructions that he be carried in battle at the point of the bayonet.
However, it required no force to make him keep his place in line,
still he continued true to his convictions, that his death was
certain. He went willingly, if not cheerfully, in line. As the column
was moving to take position on Mayree's Hill, he gave instructions
to his companions as he advanced what messages should be sent to
his wife, and while giving those instructions and before the command
reached its position he fell pierced through the heart.
Another instance that came under my own observation, that which some
chose to call "presentiment," was of a member in my company in East
Tennessee. He was an exceptionally good soldier and the very picture
of an ideal hero, tall, erect, and physically well developed, over six
feet in height, and always stood in the front rank at the head of the
company. While Longstreet was moving upon Knoxville, the morning
he crossed the Tennessee River before dawn and before there was any
indication of a battle, this man said to me, with as much coolness and
composure, as if on an ordinary subject, without a falter in his tone
or any emotion whatever: "Captain, I will be killed to-day. I have,
some money in my pocket which I want you to take and also to draw my
four months' wages now due, and send by some trusty man to my wife.
Tell her also--" but here I stopped him, told him it was childish to
entertain such nonsense, to be a man as his conduct had so often
in the past shown him to be. I joked and laughed at him, and in a
good-natured way told him the East Tennessee climate gave him that
disease known among soldiers as "crawfishing." This I did to withdraw
his mind from this gloomy brooding. We had no real battle, but a
continual skirmish with the enemy, with stray shots throughout the
day. As we were moving along in line of battle, I heard that peculiar
buzzing noise of a bullet, as if in ricochet, coming in our direction,
but high in the air. As it neared the column it seemed to lower
and come with a more hissing sound. It struck the man square in the
breast, then reeling out of ranks he made a few strides towards where
I was marching, his pocket-book in hand, and fell dead at my feet
without a word or groan. He was the only man killed during the day in
the brigade, and not even then on the firing line. Of course all will
say these are only "coincidences," but be what they may, I give them
as facts coming under my own eyes, and facts of the same nature came
to the knowledge of hundreds and thousands of soldiers during every
campaign, which none endeavor to explain, other than the facts
themselves. But as the soldier is nothing more than a small fraction
of the whole of a great machine, so much happens that he cannot fathom
nor explain, that it naturally makes a great number of soldiers,
like the sailor, somewhat superstitious. But when we speak of moral
courage, where is there a courage more sublime than the soldier
marching, as he thinks, to his certain death, while all his comrades
are taking their chances at the hazard of war?
There are many unaccountable incidents and coincidents in a soldier's
experience. Then, again, how differently men enter battle and how
differently they act when wounded. Some men, on the eve of battle, the
most trying time in a soldier's life, will stand calm and impassive,
awaiting the command, "forward," while his next neighbor will tremble
and shake, as with a great chill, praying, meditating, and almost in
despair, awaiting the orders to advance. Then when in the heat of the
conflict both men seem metamorphosed. The former, almost frightened
out of his wits, loses his head and is just as apt to fire backwards
as forwards; while the latter seems to have lost all fear, reckless
of his life, and fights like a hero. I have known men who at home were
perfect cowards, whom a schoolboy could run away with a walking cane,
become fearless and brave as lions in battle; while on the other
hand men who were called "game cocks" at home and great "crossroads
bullies," were abject cowards in battle. As to being wounded, some men
will look on a mortal wound, feel his life ebbing away, perfectly calm
and without concern, and give his dying messages with the composure
of an every day occurrence; while others, if the tip of the finger is
touched, or his shin-bone grazed, will "yell like a hyena or holler
like a loon," and raise such a rumpus as to alarm the whole army. I
saw a man running out of battle once (an officer) at such a gait as
only fright could give, and when I asked him if he was wounded, he
replied, "Yes, my leg is broken in two places," when, as a matter of
fact, he had only a slight flesh wound. These incidents the reader
may think merely fiction, but they are real facts. A man in Company E,
Third South Carolina Regiment, having a minnie ball lodged between the
two bones of his arm, made such a racket when the surgeons undertook
to push it out, that they had to turn him loose; while a private in
Company G, of the same regiment, being shot in the chest, when the
surgeon was probing for the ball with his finger, looked on with
unconcern, only remarking, "Make the hole a little larger, doctor, and
put your whole hand in it." In a few days he was dead. I could give
the names of all these parties, but for obvious reasons omit them. I
merely single out these cases to show how differently men's nervous
systems are constructed. And I might add, too, an instance of a member
of my company at the third day of the battle of Gettysburg. Lying
under the heavy cannonading while Pickett was making his famous
charge, and most of the men asleep, this man had his foot in the fork
of a little bush, to better rest himself. In this position a shot
struck him above the ankle; he looked at the wound a moment, then
said: "Boys, I'll be ---- if that ain't a thirty days' furlough." Next
day his foot had to be amputated, and to this day he wears a cork.
Such is the difference in soldiers, and you cannot judge them by
outward appearance.
I here insert a few paragraphs from the pen of Adjutant Y.J. Pope, of
the Third, to show that there was mirth in the camps, notwithstanding
the cold and hardships:
* * * * *
PLAYING "ANTHONY OVER" AT HEADQUARTERS ON THE SEVENTH OF DECEMBER,
1862.
There was one thing that always attracted my attention during the war
and that was the warm fellowship which existed amongst the soldiers.
If a man got a trunk or box laden with good things from home, there
was no selfishness about it; the comrades were expected and did share
in the feast. While out on picket on the banks of the Rappahannock
River, when we were told that another regiment had come to relieve
ours, at the same time we were told that Colonel Rutherford had come
back to us; he had been absent since September, and we were all very
anxious to see him, for he was a charming fellow--whole-souled, witty,
and always an addition to any party. We knew, too, that he would
bring something good to eat from home. My feathers fell, though, when
Colonel Nance said to me, "Go yourself and see that every company is
relieved from picket duty, and bring them to the regiment." I knew
what this meant. It was at night, the ground was covered with snow,
and the companies would take a long time to march back to camp. A
soldier is made to obey orders, whether pleasant or unpleasant, so
I rode at the head of the battalion; I was chilled through; my ears
felt--well I rubbed a little feeling into them. At last we reached
camp. Before I did so I could hear the merry laughter of the group
about our regimental headquarter fire. Rutherford greeted me with the
utmost cordiality, and had my supper served, having had the servants
to keep it hot. But I could not forget my having to ride three miles
at the head of the four companies, and how cold I had got in doing so.
Therefore, I was in a bad humor, and refusing to join the merry group
around the fire, went to bed at once. About twelve o'clock that night
I heard the voices in the game of "Anthony over," and was obliged to
laugh. Of course the merry cup had circulated. We lived in a Sibley
tent that had a cap to fit over the top. And that night, as it was
very cold, it had been determined to put the cap on the tent. So the
merry-makers formed themselves into two groups, and pitched the cap
to the top, and when it failed to lodge the other side would try its
hand. One side would call out, "Anthony," to which call the other
party would reply, "over." Then the first crowd would sing out, "Here
she comes," throwing the cap with the uttering of those words. The
peals of laughter from both sides, when the effort to lodge the cap
would fail and the teasing of each side, made me laugh whether
I wished to do so or not. After awhile it lodged alright, then
"good-nights" were exchanged, and then to bed.
I need not add that on the next day all was good humor at
headquarters, and in six days afterwards Colonel Nance, Colonel
Rutherford, and Major Maffett were all painfully wounded in battle.
* * * * *
IN DECEMBER, 1862.
While Longstreet's troops occupied the City of Fredericksburg in the
winter of 1862, I had learned that at night one of the quartermasters
of McLaws' Division was in the habit of going across to an island in
the Rappahannock River, just above the city, to obtain hay and corn,
and to come down to the main incentive, that there was a very charming
old Virginia family who lived there, and that a bright-eyed daughter
was of that family. I set about getting a sight of this "Island
enchantress," and at last Captain Franks, who was Quartermaster of the
Seventeenth Regiment of Barksdale's Brigade, agreed to take me with
him one night. Here I was, the Adjutant of a Regiment, going over to
an island without leave, with the enemy in strong force just across
the river, and therefore liable to be captured. Nevertheless, the hope
of a peep at bright eyes has got many a man into dangerous ventures,
and my case was not different from the rest. So I went. I saw the fair
maid. She was not only beautiful, but very interesting. After it
was all over prudence whispered to me not to tempt my fate
again--especially as a fair lady in another State would have had a
right to except to such conduct on my part. I never regretted my visit
to the island, though!
* * * * *
AN ACT OF HEROIC FIDELITY OF A NEGRO SLAVE IN THE WAR.
In looking back at the incidents of the War Between the States, it is
with great pleasure that an incident highly honorable to the African
slave race is recalled.
It was on the 13th of December, 1862, when the Third South Carolina
Regiment of Infantry was ordered from the position at the foot of
Lee's Hill, at Fredericksburg, Va., to Mayree's House, near but to the
right of the sunken road protected by the rock fence, that in going
down the Telegraph Road the regiment was for a time exposed to the
fire of the Federal batteries on the Stafford Heights. A shell from
those batteries was so accurately directed that it burst near
by Company C, of that regiment, and one of the results was that
Lieutenant James Spencer Piester, of that company, was instantly
killed. His body lay in that road and his faithful body servant,
Simpson Piester, went to the body of his master and tenderly taking
it into his arms, bore it to the rear, so that it might be sent to his
relatives in Newberry, South Carolina. Anyone who had occasion to go
upon the Telegraph Road in that day must appreciate the courage and
fidelity involved in the act performed by Simpson Piester.
* * * * *