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 [195] 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 [196] 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 [197] 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, [198] 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 [199] 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 [200] 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 [201] 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. [202] 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 [203] 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.