On Sunday morning, April 17th, 1864, the consolidated morning report showed eighteen hundred and fifty men for duty. The day was warm and bright, and the men were scattered about the town with no thought of approaching danger. The cavalry had scouted the day before, a distance of twelve or fifteen miles, and found no signs of the enemy, but about 4 p. m., the cavalry pickets on the Washington road were driven in, and the Corporal, named Geo. Wilcox, came tearing through the company quarters of the 85th New York down to cavalry headquarters, with the nose bag still on his horse, which he had not had time to exchange for his bridle, swinging his hat and shouting: “The Rebs are coming! the Rebs are coming!”
By the absence of Capt. Roach, of Company A, and the sickness of Capt. Hock, of Company F, I was in command of the detachment of cavalry, and at once ordered a bugler who happened to be standing near, to sound boots and saddles; sent Lieutenant Russel, who was mounted, having just rode up, to headquarters, to notify General Wessels that our pickets had been driven in and ask for orders for the cavalry. He returned just as I had formed the two companies into line with orders to make a reconnoissance on the Washington road, and, without getting into a fight, ascertain, as near as I could, the strength of the enemy in our front.
I ascertained by a careful reconnoissance that Maj. Gen. Hoke was in front with about eight thousand troops. In this reconnoissance I lost one man, “Amos Fancher,” killed, and one, “Lieut. Russell,” severely wounded. Hoke formed his line and threw out his skirmishers, but made no further demonstrations that night, a few shells from Fort Williams having the effect of checking any further movement.
At 11 o’clock that night, Gen. Wessels sent the steamer Massasoit, carrying the women and other non-combatants, and the wounded, to Newbern. Among the women were Mrs. George H. Hastings, Mrs. Dr. Frick, Mrs. Capt. Hock, Mrs. Bell, Mrs. and Miss Freeman and Mrs. A. Cooper (who had been with me from the 7th of February), and others. Preparations were made for a stout resistance by Gen. Wessels, who was a gallant officer. He established a strong skirmish line nearly two miles in length along our entire front and had everything in readiness to repel any attack that might be made; but the night passed without any further demonstration.
Early on the morning of the 18th there was slight skirmishing commenced along our entire front, and a bombardment was commenced upon Fort Gray, which was our extreme right and about one and one-half miles up the river.
In this bombardment the gunboat Bombshell, which had been sent to the assistance of the fort, was so crippled that she sank immediately upon reaching the wharf.
The attack on Fort Gray was repulsed, and our skirmish line in front maintained its position all day. At 5:30 p. m. I received orders to take the two companies of cavalry, dismounted, up to the breastworks near Fort Williams.
Fortunately I was mounted at the time, and rode up to the front, where, sitting on my horse, I had a splendid view of the battle that ensued.
We had just arrived at the breastworks when the skirmishing became brisk, our boys pushing the enemy’s skirmishers back some distance, when suddenly, as if by magic, a line of battle over a mile in length seemed to spring up out of the ground and charged our skirmish line, driving them back towards the works. As they fell back, firing as they retired, Fort Williams opened with her entire armament, which, in a moment, was joined in by Comphor and Coneby redoubts, Fort Wessels, Cady’s Independent Battery and the entire fleet of gunboats in the river.
Hoke opened on the town with forty-two pieces of artillery; Wessels replied with just about the same number of pieces, but of heavier calibre. From 6 until 8.30 p. m. was kept up a most terrific cannonade, which presented a spectacle awfully grand and magnificent. The gunboats, which were supplied with an armament of very heavy guns, sending immense shell shrieking and bursting over our heads as they were hurled into the lines of the enemy, the forts on our right and left keeping up an incessant roar, a stream of fire belching from the hot throats of Hoke’s forty-two pieces in our front, the comet-like trail of fire from his shells as they hurried on their mission of death towards us, the rattle of grape and cannister as they were hurled against the wooden buildings in our rear, or the woodwork of the forts and earthworks along the line, the loud bray of an immense number of mules, with which Hoke’s artillery was supplied, the groans and shrieks of the wounded, combined to give me such a picture of “grim visaged war” as I had never before beheld.