THANKSGIVING, 1864
UNDER FIRE AT DUTCH GAP, VIRGINIA
Greatly needing a day’s rest from hospital work, I ordered an
ambulance, good government horses and driver, and invited my guest,
Miss Bain, and two reliable officers of the Corps d’ Afric, stationed
at General Grant’s headquarters, City Point, to accompany us, and
accept an invitation to dinner.
We started for the renowned “Dutch Gap,” which had been excavated
under the supervision of General Benjamin Butler, then in command of
the Army of the James, and it was intended to compel the enemy to
make a complete change of base.
A ride of seven or eight miles, through woods and over bumping
corduroy roads and ditches, brought us to the James River, where we
had been invited to a Thanksgiving dinner of goose (save the mark) on
a commissary barge then anchored opposite the Gap. To my annoyance
and Miss Bain’s consternation, as she was interested only in Captain
Eden, then at the front, we found ten or twelve officers in full
dress waiting to receive us formally on the barge, when we arrived.
It took a great deal of courage and not a little tact to get through
that dinner creditably, while every man craved special attention.
After dinner we rowed on the narrow river to the monitor Onondaga
and another war vessel near by. On board the Onondaga we encountered
another crowd of naval officers, and were urgently invited to inspect
these wonderfully constructed vessels which were stationed here to
protect the Gap, and to prevent the rebel gunboats coming down the
river.
[Illustration: GENERAL BENJAMIN BUTLER]
We landed near this great excavation called “Dutch Gap,” which was
to be Butler’s chef d’œuvre, viz., a channel cut across a long
peninsula dividing the river at the end into two branches running
almost parallel; in front of which the formidable Confederate mortars
were continually sending shells all about this locality. A shell had
dropped directly into the dredging machine, shattering it completely
and it now lay on one side like a huge black mastodon. The channel
lacked about twenty-five feet of successful completion, but owing to
“orders” no further work was accomplished, and thus ended the great
Dutch Gap strategy of Ben Butler.
The small row boat landed us on the muddy shore where little
foliage remained to cover the denuded ground of the rough camp of
an engineering corps and its guard. Despite the almost constant war
courtesy of interchanging shots and shells, roaring on either side
from the forts, and generally passing safely above the heads of
“Yank” and “Johnnie” alike on each side of the river, they enjoyed
many friendly talks across. Thus they broke the monotony of picket
duty and gopher holes, while telling camp stories, true or otherwise,
as the occasion suggested.
A story was told me that bears out on its face the imprint of
possibility during the last days of the rebellion. A daring young
“Reb,” tired of life in the swamp and woods, with insufficient
rations, while waiting for orders to advance, one dark night swam
boldly across the narrow stream and was cordially received.
After enjoying a jolly evening around the camp fire, and especially,
a good “square meal,” he said to the Yankee boys, “You uns have
plenty of good grub any way, and I’m about starved out. I say, Yanks,
suppose you uns just surround me and capture me and march me up to
headquarters as a deserter? I’d rather stay on this side and have
good rations than to starve in the swamp on the other side.”
This the “Yanks” did very cheerfully, and so another deserter was
added to the Union army.
Our party started to walk around what was to have been Ferry Island,
where the tortuous river made a sharp turn at the end, almost
doubling on itself. An officer walking with me constantly changed
from one side to the other. This surprised me and on my asking why
he did this he replied “O nothing!” ignoring the question, though he
continued changing sides as we walked on the uneven path. I insisted
at last upon an explanation. He replied: “Well, you know the rebs are
just across this narrow water in the woods, and it wouldn’t look well
if a lady should get a stray shot!”
“So you’re making a target of yourself, Major, to gratify my
curiosity!” I was insisting on going back, when a “Johnny Reb” called
across the stream in a pleasant tone, “Better take those ladies away!”
Mounting the great hill to look into the abandoned ditch where so
much time and labor had been lost, we made a strikingly conspicuous
group with the officers in uniforms, bright with the sun’s
reflections. Suddenly in the midst of witty talk and badinage a shell
from the Rebel mortar shrieked over our heads, followed quickly by a
second one with a deafening frightful explosion, and for a second we
were stunned and almost paralyzed.
[Illustration: GENERAL BUTLER’S CANAL AT DUTCH GAP.
(By kind permission of Harper’s Weekly: Appeared Febr. 5, 1864.)]
But not a moment was lost. An officer on either side grabbed the
hands of Miss Bain and myself and “sans ceremonie,” ran us quickly
down the hill until we were safe in a large bomb-proof gopher
hole, where we stopped for breath. These gallant officers carried
a quantity of “Sacred Soil” on their spotless white trousers and
polished boots. Here we waited while the shells continued to fall at
some distance.
A large hole had been dug in the side of the hill where a plank floor
and roof had been made to prevent falling in. This served as a mess
room, while around the side of the high bluff, in small gopher holes,
men hived like ants in their earth hills.
Hospitality suggested that a supper be prepared for us, and it was
spread on planks with newspaper tablecloth, tin cups and plates, and
two-tined forks. An old aunty cook waited on us, and served some
rather weighty biscuit. The “pièce de résistance” at this supper and
also at the barge dinner, was a rather opaque tumbler filled with
peppermint sticks, which had been procured from the sutler.
The firing continued, and shells struck the water in the only channel
by which we could return. Night was coming on, and I was at a loss to
know what to do. Not wishing to alarm Miss Bain, I took an officer
aside and consulted him.
They would do the best they could for us with only gophers for
shelter, if we wished to pass the night there. If we attempted to
cross the river it must be at our own risk, as the firing would
probably continue until nightfall.
I decided at once for myself, but Miss Bain was my guest and must be
given a choice. The agency people had always been careful to avoid
even an appearance of evil. “Should we brave the comment of staying
all night in a strange camp, or must we risk our lives in attempting
to escape the shells falling on our route?” Without a moment’s
hesitation the courageous girl said firmly and briefly, “I’d rather
risk the shells and drowning.”
A boat was ordered at a pistol’s point, and the poor pallid rower was
so frightened that he could scarcely hold the oars. We got in with
only our two escorts; the others were evidently not at all eager to
accompany us back, but stood behind the hill anxiously watching our
dangerous passage.
As we passed close by the Onondaga and her companion nothing living
could be seen on these fully manned monitors. They had closed down
their steel decks while the shells struck, ricocheted and fell
harmlessly into the water like great marbles, as we passed by. A few
feet farther on was the barge where we had dined with our military
escort and where busy hands had helped us into the boat. It was now
as deserted as if never occupied, the men had fled for safety to the
woods. As we neared the muddy bank one shell struck a few feet astern
of our boat, sending up a column of water like a geyser; another
passed close overhead with its uncanny blood-curdling shriek, and
struck the shore just ahead of us, where it exploded, driving pieces
of shell and mud in every direction.
On reaching the mud shore, it was almost impossible to mount the
rough improvised dock or float. However, our escorts pushed and we
climbed up, with no formalities, and without loss of time. At first
I could not see my ambulance, but soon it came out of the woods with
the frightened horses dashing down the hill. The driver as he turned,
shouted, “I can’t stop, you must get in somehow!” Certainly it was
“somehow” that our officers tumbled us into the rocking ambulance as
it turned and dashed wildly back into the woods.
No word was spoken until the driver checked his mad race and we were
out of range of the still falling shells, and could congratulate
ourselves on our narrow escape. We reached camp at twilight, a little
excited by our adventure, but quite the heroes of the day; and we
resolved that it would be a long time before we again wandered out of
camp.
Since writing the above experience I have found in General Butler’s
autobiography, the only historical statement of that strategical
attempt on the James River, and it confirms my memory. This work
was considered of the greatest military importance then, and if
accomplished as designed, it would, without doubt, have given to our
navy and land forces the control of the river almost directly in
front of Richmond. This would have shortened by several months the
acute warfare by which hundreds of lives were sacrificed.
That it failed when all was prepared to blow out the bulk head, and
admit our monitors through the canal, was due to the fact that the
original Commander (Smith) was ordered elsewhere, and that the new
Commander begged Commodore Ludlow not to open Dutch Gap because he
feared that the enemies’ fleet would come down, and he did not know
that he could sustain the attack, etc. This Commander was dismissed
for cowardice later, when he took fright while the enemies’ fleet
attempted to come down the river, and, without any attempt at
defense, ordered the Potomac to make all speed, and only stopped when
he knew that an accident to the Confederate vessels had prevented an
assault on the United States Headquarters at City Point, which might
have destroyed the camp and involved an entire change of base.
That one finds little allusion to this engineering attempt is
doubtless due to the fact that most histories of that time were
written by West Point officers, who gave few details outside their
own personal experiences; and regard for the gallant volunteer
service was seldom admitted and too often entirely ignored.
General Butler often fell under this ban, and he lost no opportunity,
when possible, of publicly showing the superior education in tactics
of the volunteer officers and men under his command during the war.
In this personal sketch I do not attempt to write history; but give
only a few selections regarding the expectations then known to
many in that locality of the James River. I have given only a few
selections from “Butler.” These any one may verify, and in doing so
will come across many other details of interest.
“Captain Melantha Smith, of the navy, assured me that it was
impossible for his monitors, drawing sixteen feet of water, to get up
further than Trent’s Reach. We made a reconnaissance to devise a plan
by which he might ascend the James with his vessels, then lying at a
point called Dutch Gap.
“Here is a peculiar formation, the river running up by Trent’s Reach,
bends very sharply to the right and returns again, in an elongated
horseshoe, so directly that while it has passed over a distance of
over seven miles, the waters of the river at a depth of twenty-five
feet, approach so nearly, that there is only about four hundred and
twenty-five feet from the water on the other side across the neck at
Dutch Gap to twenty-five feet of water on the lower side, so a canal
wide and deep enough for our gunboats to get through, would require a
cut less than four hundred feet long, sixteen feet deep, sixty feet
wide at the bottom and ninety feet at the top.
“After having made a reconnaissance with Captain Smith, then in
command of the naval forces of the James River, I went down to City
Point and asked General Grant and Chief Engineer Barnard to come up
with us to examine the premises. This they did and made a careful
examination of the point. This was known as Dutch Gap for the reason
that some enterprising German had cut quite a gap in undertaking
to build a waterway through, many years before. We came to the
conclusion that it was a desirable thing to do, and General Grant
directed me to undertake it.
“Exploration proved it to be of very hard limestone and gravel; in
it was imbedded petrified wood, whole trees being turned into a very
friable stone, easily broken.[1]
“The enemy, appreciating the importance of this strategic
undertaking, and finding that we could not be reached by direct fire
of their artillery, erected some mortar batteries on the other side
of the James River. At a mile and a half distance it is not easy to
drop a shell with any certainty into a space three hundred feet long
by ninety feet wide.
“The first thing to do was to station a couple of well instructed men
at points from which every shell could be watched during its wild
flight. These observers after a little practice could tell almost
precisely where the missile would land--whether it would come into
our excavation. While the men were at work, these men were on the
watch, and if a shell was likely to fall in our way, the watchmen
would call out “Holes,” whereupon the men would rush into the
bomb-proofs, and come out again and resume work as soon as the shell
had struck or exploded without harm.”
Dutch Gap has since been dredged out and is a main channel for
commerce between Richmond and the outer world. The waters of the
James River being directed by the canal, no longer flow around
through any depth at Trench Reach, and that which was the former
channel of the river will soon become marsh land. Dutch Gap is the
only military construction of all that was done by our army, which
remains of use to the country in time of peace;--a monument to its
projector and constructor,--one of “Butler’s failures.”
My army friend of 1864, Mr. J. Yates Peek and his wife, within a few
years, have sailed through Butler’s Gap, remembering the days of its
intended strategy and the great disappointment when the navy caused
its failure.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] I still have a piece of this black stone picked up at
this point, at the time of my visit there in the year
1864. I have also an excellent cut of the gap at this
time, better in some details, I think, than the pictures
in the Butler Autobiography.