Campaign of 1863--Battle of Chancellorsville.
On the morning of April 29th the soldiers were aroused from their
slumbers by the beating of the long roll. What an ominous sound is
the long roll to the soldier wrapped in his blanket and enjoying the
sweets of sleep. It is like a fire bell at night. It denotes battle.
It tells the soldier the enemy is moving; it means haste and active
preparation. A battle is imminent. The soldiers thus roused, as if
from their long sleep since Fredericksburg, feel in a touchous mood.
The frightful scenes of Fredericksburg and Mayree's Hill rise up
before them as a spectre. Soldiers rush out of their tents, asking
questions and making suppositions. Others are busily engaged folding
blankets, tearing down tents, and making preparations to move;
companies formed into regiments and regiments into brigades. The
distant boom of cannon beyond the Rappahannock tells us that the enemy
is to cross the river again and try conclusions with the soldiers of
Lee. All expected a bloody engagement, for the Federal Army had been
greatly recruited, under excellent discipline, and headed by Fighting
Joe Hooker. He was one of the best officers in that army, and he
himself had boasted that his was the "finest army that had ever been
organized upon the planet." It numbered one hundred and thirty-one
thousand men of all arms, while Lee had barely sixty thousand. We
moved rapidly in the direction of Fredericksburg. I never saw Kershaw
look so well. Riding his iron-gray at the head of his columns, one
could not but be impressed with his soldierly appearance. He seemed a
veritable knight of old. Leading his brigade above the city, he took
position in the old entrenchments.
Before reaching the battle line, the enemy had already placed pontoons
near the old place of landing, crossed over a portion of their army,
and was now picketing on the south side of the river. One company from
each regiment was thrown out as sharpshooters or skirmishers, under
Captain Goggans, of the Seventh, and deployed in the valley below,
where we could watch the enemy. My company was of the number. Nothing
was done during the day but a continual change of positions. We
remained on the skirmish line during the night without fire or without
any relief, expecting an advance next morning, or to be relieved at
least. The sun was obscured by the densest fog the following morning I
had almost ever witnessed. When it cleared up, about 10 o'clock, what
was our astonishment?--to find no enemy in our front, nor friends in
our rear. There were, however, some Federals opposite and below the
city, but they belonged to another division. We could hear occasional
cannonading some miles up the Rappahannock. By some staff officers
passing, we ascertained that Hooker had withdrawn during the night in
our front, recrossed the river at Ely's and Raccoon fords, or some of
the fords opposite the Wilderness. This was on Friday, May the first.
After a consultation with the officers of our detachment, it was
agreed to evacuate our position and join our regiments wherever we
could find them. We had no rations, and this was one of the incentives
to move. But had the men been supplied with provisions, and the matter
left to them alone, I doubt very much whether they would have chosen
to leave the ground now occupied, as we were in comparative safety and
no enemy in sight, while to join our commands would add largely to
the chances of getting in battle. I am sorry to say a majority of
the officers were of that opinion, too. Some brought to bear one of
Napoleon's maxims I had heard when a boy, "When a soldier is in doubt
where to go, always go to the place you hear the heaviest firing," and
we could indistinctly hear occasional booming of cannon high up
the river, indicating that a part of the army at least was in that
direction.
So we moved back and over the breastworks, on to the plank road
leading to Orange Court House. Making our way, keeping together as a
battalion, up that road in the direction of the Wilderness, near noon
we could hear the deep bay of cannon, now distant and indistinct, then
again more rapidly and quite distinguishable, showing plainly that Lee
was having a running fight. Later in the day we passed dead horses and
a few dead and wounded soldiers. On every hand were indications of the
effects of shot and shell. Trees were shattered along the road
side, fences torn down and rude breastworks made here and there,
the evidence of heavy skirmishing in our front. Lee was pressing the
advance guard that had crossed at one of the lower fords back on the
main army, crossing then at fords opposite and above the Chancellor's
House. Near sundown the firing was conspicuously heavy, especially
the artillery. The men of most of the companies evinced a desire to
frequently rest, and in every way delay our march as much as possible.
Some of the officers, too, joined with the men and offered objections
to rushing headlong into battle without orders. I knew that our
brigade was somewhere in our front, and from the firing I was
thoroughly convinced a battle was imminent, and in that case our duty
called us to our command. Not through any cowardice, however, did the
men hesitate, for all this fiction written about men's eagerness for
battle, their ungovernable desire to throw themselves upon the enemy,
their great love of hearing the bursting of shells over their heads,
the whizzing of minnie balls through their ranks is all very well for
romance and on paper, but a soldier left free to himself, unless
he seeks notoriety or honors, will not often rush voluntarily into
battle, and if he can escape it honorably, he will do it nine times
out of ten. There are times, however, when officers, whose keen sense
of duty and honorable appreciation of the position they occupy,
will lead their commands into battle unauthorized, when they see the
necessity, but a private who owes no obedience nor allegiance only to
his superiors, and has no responsibility, seldom ever goes voluntarily
into battle; if so, once is enough.
Under these circumstances, as the sun was near setting, we learned
from some wounded soldier that Kershaw was moving in line of battle
to the left of the plank road. Another Captain and myself deserted our
companions and made our way to our regiments with our companies. As we
came upon it, it was just moving out from a thicket into an open field
under a heavy skirmish fire and a fierce fire from a battery in our
front. We marched at a double-quick to rejoin the regiment, and the
proudest moments of my life, and the sweetest words to hear, was as
the other portion of the regiment saw us coming they gave a cheer of
welcome and shouted, "Hurrah! for the Dutch; the Dutch has come;
make way to the left for the Dutch," and such terms of gladness and
welcome, that I thought, even while the "Dutch" and its youthful
commander were but a mere speck of the great army, still some had
missed us, and I was glad to feel the touch of their elbow on the
right and left when a battle was in progress.
Companies in the army, like school boys, almost all have "nick-names."
Mine was called the "Dutch" from the fact of its having been raised in
that section of the country between Saluda River and the Broad, known
as "Dutch Fork." A century or more before, this country, just above
Columbia and in the fork of the two rivers, was settled by German
refugees, hence the name "Dutch Fork."
After joining the regiment, we only advanced a little further and
halted for the night, sleeping with guns in arms, lest a night attack
might find the troops illy prepared were the guns in stack. We were
so near the enemy that fires were not allowed, and none permitted to
speak above a whisper. Two men from each company were detailed to go
to the rear and cook rations. It is not an easy task for two men, who
had been marching and fighting all day, to be up all night cooking
three meals each for thirty or forty men, having to gather their own
fuel, and often going half mile for water. A whole day's ration is
always cooked at one time on marches, as night is the only time
for cooking. The decrees of an order for a detail are inexorable. A
soldier must take it as it comes, for none ever know but what the next
duties may be even worse than the present. As a general rule, soldiers
rarely ever grumble at any detail on the eve of an engagement, for
sometimes it excuses them from a battle, and the old experienced
veteran never refuses that.
At daylight a battery some two hundred yards in our front opened a
furious fire upon us, the shells coming uncomfortably near our heads.
If there were any infantry between the battery and our troops, they
must have laid low to escape the shots over their heads. But after a
few rounds they limbered up and scampered away. We moved slowly along
with heavy skirmishing in our front all the morning of the second.
When near the Chancellor's House, we formed line of battle in a kind
of semi-circle, our right resting on the river and extending over the
plank road, Kershaw being some distance to the left of this road,
the Fifteenth Regiment occupying the right. Here we remained for
the remainder of the day. We heard the word coming up the line, "No
cheering, no cheering." In a few moments General Lee came riding along
the lines, going to the left. He had with him quite a number of his
staff and one or two couriers. He looked straight to the front and
thoughtful, noticing none of the soldiers who rushed to the line to
see him pass. He no doubt was then forming the masterful move, and
one, too, in opposition to all rules or order of military science
or strategy, "the division of his army in the face of the enemy,"
a movement that has caused many armies, before, destruction and the
downfall of its commander. But nothing succeeds like success. The
great disparity in numbers was so great that Lee could only watch
and hope for some mistake or blunder of his adversary, or by some
extraordinary strategic manoeuver on his own part, gain the advantage
by which his opponent would be ruined. Hooker had one hundred and
thirty thousand men, while Lee had only sixty thousand. With
this number it seemed an easy task for Hooker to threaten Lee
at Fredericksburg, then fall upon him with his entire force at
Chancellorsville and crush him before Lee could extricate himself from
the meshes that were surrounding him, and retreat to Richmond. The
dense Wilderness seemed providential for the movement upon which Lee
had now determined to stake the fate of his army and the fortunes of
the Confederacy. Its heavy, thick undergrowth entirely obstructed
the view and hid the movements to be made. Jackson, with Rhodes,
Colston's, and A.P. Hill's Divisions, were to make a detour around
the enemy's right, march by dull roads and bridle paths through
the tangled forest, and fall upon the enemy's rear, while McLaws,
Anderson's, and Early's Divisions were to hold him in check in front.
Pickett's Division had, before this time, been sent to Wilmington,
N.C., while Ransom's Division, with Barksdale's Mississippi
Brigade, of McLaws' Division, were to keep watch of the enemy at
Fredericksburg. The Federal General, Stoneman, with his cavalry, was
then on his famous but disastrous raid to Richmond. Jackson commenced
his march early in the morning, and kept it up all day, turning back
towards the rear of the enemy when sufficiently distant that his
movement could not be detected. By marching eighteen or twenty miles
he was then within three miles of his starting point. But Hooker's
Army stood between him and Lee. Near night Jackson struck the enemy a
terrific blow, near the plank road, just opposite to where we lay, and
the cannonading was simply deafening. The shots fired from some of the
rifled guns of Jackson passed far overhead of the enemy and fell in
our rear. Hooker, bewildered and lost in the meshes of the Wilderness,
had formed his divisions in line of battle in echelon, and moved out
from the river. Great gaps would intervene between the division in
front and the one in rear. Little did he think an enemy was marching
rapidly for his rear, another watching every movement in front, and
those enemies, Jackson and Lee, unknown to Hooker, his flank stood
exposed and the distance between the columns gave an ordinary enemy an
advantage seldom offered by an astute General, but to such an enemy as
Jackson it was more than he had hoped or even dared to expect. As he
sat watching the broken columns of the enemy struggling through
the dense undergrowth, the favorable moment came. Seizing it with
promptness and daring, so characteristic of the man, he, like Napoleon
at Austerlitz, when he saw the Russians passing by his front with
their flanks exposed, rushed upon them like a wild beast upon
its prey, turning the exposed column back upon its rear. Colston,
commanding Jackson's old Division, led the attack, followed by A.P.
Hill. Rhodes then fell like an avalanche upon the unexpectant and
now thoroughly disorganized divisions of the retreating enemy. Volley
after volley was poured into the seething mass of advancing and
receding columns. Not much use could be made of artillery at close
range, so that arm of the service was mainly occupied in shelling
their trains and the woods in rear. Until late in the night did the
battle rage in all its fury. Darkness only added to its intensity,
and the fire was kept up until a shot through mistake lay the great
Chieftain, Stonewall Jackson, low. General A.P. Hill now took command
of the corps, and every preparation was made for the desperate
onslaught of to-morrow. By some strange intuition peculiar to the
soldier, and his ability to gather news, the word that Jackson had
fallen burst through the camp like an explosion, and cast a gloom of
sorrow over all.
As our brother South Carolinians, of McGowan's Brigade, were on the
opposite side of us, and in the heat of the fray, while we remained
idle, I take the liberty of quoting from "Caldwell's History" of that
brigade a description of the terrible scenes being enacted on that
memorable night in the Wilderness in which Jackson fell:
"Now it is night. The moon a day or two past full, rose in cloudless
sky and lighted our way. We were fronted, and then advanced on the
right of the road into a thick growth of pines. Soon a firing of
small arms sprang up before us, and directly afterwards the enemy's
artillery opened furiously, bearing upon us. The scene was terrible.
Volley after volley of musketry was poured by the Confederate line
in front of us upon the enemy. The enemy replied with equal rapidity;
cheer, wild and fierce, rang over the whole woods; officers shouted at
the top of their voices, to make themselves heard; cannon roared and
shells burst continuously. We knew nothing, could see nothing, hedged
in by the matted mass of trees. Night engagements are always dreadful,
but this was the worst I ever knew. To see your danger is bad enough,
but to hear shells whizzing and bursting over you, to hear shrapnell
and iron fragments slapping the trees and cracking off limbs, and not
know from whence death comes to you, is trying beyond all things. And
here it looked so incongruous--below raged, thunder, shout, shriek,
slaughter--above soft, silent, smiling moonlight, peace!"
The next morning A.P. Hill was moving early, but was himself wounded,
and General Jeb. Stuart, of the cavalry, took command. The fighting of
Jackson's Corps to-day surpassed that of the night before, and
after overcoming almost insurmountable obstacles, they succeeded in
dislodging Hooker from his well fortified position.
Kershaw remained in his line of battle, keeping up a constant fire
with his skirmishers. An advance upon the Chancellor's House was
momentarily expected. The long delay between the commencement of
Jackson's movement until we heard the thunder of his guns immediately
in our front and in rear of the enemy, was taken up in conjecturing,
"what move was next." All felt that it was to be no retreat, and as we
failed to advance, the mystery of our inactivity was more confounding.
Early next morning, however, the battle began in earnest. Hooker had
occupied the night in straightening out his lines and establishing a
basis of battle, with the hope of retrieving the blunder of the day
before. Stuart (or rather A.P. Hill, until wounded,) began pressing
him from the very start. We could hear the wild yells of our troops as
line after line of Hooker's were reformed, to be brushed away by the
heroism of the Southern troops. Our skirmishers began their desultory
firing of the day before. The battle seemed to near us as it
progressed, and the opening around Chancellor's House appeared to be
alive with the enemy's artillery. About two o'clock our lines were
ordered forward, and we made our way through the tangled morass, in
direction of our skirmish line. Here one of the bravest men in our
regiment was killed, private John Davis, of the "Quitman Rifles." He
was reckless beyond all reason. He loved danger for danger's sake.
Stepping behind a tree to load (he was on skirmish line) he would
pass out from this cover in plain view, take deliberate aim, and fire.
Again and again he was entreated and urged by his comrades to shield
himself, but in vain. A bullet from the enemy's sharpshooters killed
him instantly.
A singular and touching incident of this family is here recorded.
Davis had an only brother, who was equally as brave as John and
younger, James, the two being the only children of an aged but wealthy
couple, of Newberry County. After the death of John, his mother
exerted herself and hired a substitute for her baby boy, and came on
in a week after the battle for the body of her oldest son and to take
James home with her, as the only hope and solace of the declining
years of this aged father and mother. Much against his will and
wishes, but by mother's entreaties and friends' solicitations, the
young man consented to accompany his mother home. But fate seemed to
follow them here and play them false, for in less than two weeks this
brave, bright, and promising boy lay dead from a malignant disease.
As our brigade was moving through the thicket in the interval between
our main line and the skirmishers, and under a heavy fire, we came
upon a lone stranger sitting quietly upon a log. At first he was
thought an enemy, who in the denseness of the undergrowth had passed
our lines on a tour of observation. He was closely questioned, and it
turned out to be Rev. Boushell, a methodist minister belonging to
one of McGowan's South Carolina regiments, who became lost from his
command in the great flank movement of Jackson (McGowan's Brigade
belonged to Jackson's Corps), and said he came down "to see how the
battle was going and to lend aid and comfort to any wounded soldier
should he chance to find one in need of his services."
The batteries in our front were now raking the matted brush all around
and overhead, and their infantry soon became aware of our presence,
and they, too, began pouring volleys into our advancing column. The
ranks became confused, for in this wilderness we could not see twenty
paces in front. Still we moved forward with such order as was under
the conditions permissible. When near the turn-pike road General
Kershaw gave the command to "charge." The Fifteenth raised the yell;
then the Third dashed forward; the Seventh was somewhat late on
account of the almost impassable condition of the ground, but still it
and the Third Battalion, with the Second on the left, made a mad
rush for the public road, and entered it soon after the Fifteenth and
Third. A perfect sea of fire was in our faces from the many cannon
parked around the Chancellor House and graping in all directions but
the rear. Lee on the one side and Stuart on the other had closed upon
the enemy, their wings joining just in front of the house. Some of the
pieces of the enemy's artillery were not more than fifty yards in
our front, and the discharges seemed to blaze fire in our very ranks.
Infantry, too, was there massed all over the yard, and in rear of this
one vast, mingling, moving body of humanity, dead horses lay in all
directions, while the dead and wounded soldiers lay heaped and strewn
with the living. But a few volleys from our troops in the road soon
silenced all opposition from the infantry, while cannoneers were
hitching up their horses to fly away. Some were trying to drag away
their caissons and light pieces by hand, while thousands of "blue
coats," with and without arms, were running for cover to the rear. In
less than twenty minutes the firing ceased in our front, and men
were ordered to prepare breastworks. Our soldiers, like the beaver in
water, by this time had become accustomed to burrow in the ground as
soon as a "halt" was made. A shovel and a spade were carried at all
times by each company to guard against emergencies. The bursting of a
shell near my company caused a fragment to strike one of my own men on
the shoulder. He claimed to be desperately wounded, and wished to go
to the hospital. I examined him hastily to see if I could give him any
assistance. He claimed his shoulder was broken. Just then the order
was given to "commence to fortify." "G.," the wounded man, was the
first to grasp the shovel, and threw dirt with an energy that caused
my Orderly Sergeant, a brave and faithful soldier, but who never
allowed the comic side of any transaction to pass him, to say:
"Captain, look at the 'wild pigeon;' see how he scratches dirt."
All soldiers carried a "nick-name," a name given by some physical
disability or some error he had made, or from any circumstance in his
life out of the usual order. Hardly had we taken possession of the
turn-pike road and began fortifying, than the sound of shells down the
river was heard, and we were hurriedly marched down the road. McLaws'
and Andersen's Divisions were doubled-quicked down the turn-pike
road and away from the battle to meet Sedgwick, who had crossed the
Rappahannock at Fredericksburg, stormed Mayree's Heights, routed and
captured the most of Barksdale's Mississippi Brigade, and was making
his way rapidly upon Lee's rear.
This Battle of Chancellorsville certainly had its many sides, with its
rapid marching, changing of positions, and generalship of the highest
order. On the day before Jackson had gone around the right flank of
Hooker and fell upon his rear, while to-day we had the novel spectacle
of Sedgwick in the rear of Lee and Stuart in rear of Hooker. No one
can foretell the result of the battle, had Hooker held his position
until Sedgwick came up. But Lee's great mind ran quick and fast. He
knew the country and was well posted by his scouts of every move and
turn of the enemy on the chessboard of battle. Anderson, with his
division, being on our right, led the advance down the road to meet
Sedgwick. We passed great parks of wagons (ordnance and commissary)
on either side of the road. Here and there were the field infirmaries
where their wounded were being attended to and where all the surplus
baggage had been stacked before the battle.
On reaching Zoar Church, some five miles in rear, we encountered
Sedgwick's advance line of skirmishers, and a heavy fusilade began.
Anderson formed line of battle on extreme right, and on right of plank
road, with the purpose of sweeping round on the enemy's left. McLaws
formed on left of the corps, his extreme left reaching out toward the
river and across the road; Kershaw being immediately on right of the
road, with the Second resting on it, then the Fifteenth, the Third
Battalion, the Eighth, the Third, and the Seventh on the right. On
the left of the road leading to Fredericksburg was a large open
field extending to the bluff near the river; on the right was a dense
thicket of pines and undergrowth. In this we had to form. The Seventh
experienced some trouble in getting into line, and many camp rumors
were afloat a few days afterwards of an uncomplimentary nature of the
Seventh's action. But this was all false, for no more gallant
regiment nor better officered, both in courage and ability, was in
the Confederate service than the "Bloody Seventh." But it was the
unfavorable nature of the ground, the difficulties experienced in
forming a line, and the crowding and lapping of the men that caused
the confusion.
Soon after our line of battle was formed and Kershaw awaiting orders
from McLaws to advance, a line of support came up in our rear, and
mistaking us for the enemy, commenced firing upon us. Handkerchiefs
went up, calls of "friends," "friends," but still the firing
continued. One Colonel seeing the danger--the enemy just in front, and
our friends firing on us in the rear--called out, "Who will volunteer
to carry our colors back to our friends in rear?" Up sprang the
handsome and gallant young Sergeant, Copeland, of the "Clinton
Divers," (one of the most magnificent and finest looking companies in
his service, having at its enlistment forty men over six feet tall),
and said, "Colonel, send me." Grasping the colors in his hand, he
carried them, waving and jesticulating in a friendly manner, until he
convinced the troops that they were friends in their front.
While thus waiting for Anderson to swing around the left of the enemy,
a desperate charge was made upon us. The cannonading was exceedingly
heavy and accurate. Great trees all around fell, snapped in twain by
the shell and solid shot, and many men were killed and wounded by the
falling timber. Trees, a foot in diameter, snapped in two like pipe
stems, and fell upon the men. It was growing dark before Anderson
could get in position, and during that time the troops never
experienced a heavier shelling. It was enough to make the stoutest
hearts quake. One of my very bravest men, one who had never failed
before, called to me as I passed, "Captain, if I am not here when the
roll is called, you may know where I am. I don't believe I can stand
this." But he did, and like the man he was, withstood it. Another, a
young recruit, and under his first fire, almost became insane, jumping
upon me and begging "for God's sake" let him go to the rear. I could
not stand this piteous appeal, and knowing he could not be of any
service to us in that condition, told him "to go." It is needless to
say he obeyed my orders. Dr. Evans, our surgeon, told me afterwards
that he came to his quarters and remained three days, perfectly crazy.
At last the order came after night to advance. In a semi-circle we
swept through the thicket; turning, we came into the road, and over
it into the opening in front. The enemy was pushed back into the
breastworks on the bluff at the river. These breastworks had been
built by our troops during the Fredericksburg battle, and afterwards
to guard and protect Raccoon and Ely's fords, just in rear. As night
was upon us, and the enemy huddled before us at the ford, we were
halted and lay on the field all night. This was the ending of the
battle of Chancellorsville.
Next morning the sun was perfectly hidden by a heavy fog, so much so
that one could not see a man twenty yards distant. Skirmishers were
thrown out and our advance made to the river, but nothing was found
on this side of the river but the wounded and the discarded rifles and
munitions of war. The wounded lay in all directions, calling for help
and heaping curses upon their friends, who had abandoned them in their
distress. Guns, tent flies, and cartridge boxes were packed up by the
wagon loads. Hooker's Army was thoroughly beaten, disheartened, and
disorganized. Met and defeated at every turn and move, they were only
too glad to place themselves across the river and under the protection
of their siege guns on Stafford's Heights. Hooker's losses were never
correctly given, but roughly computed at twenty-five thousand, while
those of Lee's were ten thousand two hundred and eighty-one. But the
Confederates counted it a dear victory in the loss of the intrepid
but silent Stonewall Jackson. There was a magic in his name that gave
enthusiasm and confidence to the whole army. To the enemy his name was
a terror and himself an apparition. He had frightened and beaten Banks
out of the Shennandoah Valley, had routed Fremont, and so entangled
and out-generaled Seigle that he was glad to put the Potomac between
himself and this silent, mysterious, and indefatigable chieftain, who
oftened prayed before battle and fought with a Bible in one hand and
a sword in the other. He came like a whirlwind upon the flank of
McClellan at Mechanicsville, and began those series of battles and
victories that terminated with the "Little Giant" being hemmed in
at Drury's Bluff and Malvern Hill. While Pope, the "Braggart," was
sweeping the fields before him in Northern Virginia, and whose boast
was he "saw only the enemy's back," and his "headquarters were in
the saddle," Jackson appeared before him like a lion in his path.
He swings around Pope's right, over the mountains, back through
Thoroughfare Gap; he sweeps through the country like a comet through
space, and falls on Pope's rear on the plains of Manassas, and sent
him flying across the Potomac like McDowell was beaten two years
before. While pursuing the enemy across the river and into Maryland,
he turns suddenly, recrosses the river, and stands before Harper's
Ferry, and captures that stronghold with scarcely a struggle. All this
was enough to give him the sobriquet of the "Silent Man," the man of
"mystery," and it is not too much to say that Jackson to the South
was worth ten thousand soldiers, while the terror of his name wrought
consternation in the ranks of the enemy.
* * * * *