The Comanches: A History of White's Battalion, Virginia Cavalry

by Frank M. Myers

After the cannonade had continued for perhaps half an hour, and the little line of supports to the battery had melted away almost to nothing, composed now of men from the 11th and White’s battalion, the Colonel resolved to bring such of the men as were lurking to rearward in the woods, into ranks again, and for this purpose ordered Capt. French, of Co. F, to cross the swamp and compel them to return. The Captain demurred to the arrangement, however, fearing that those who saw him ride back would imagine he, too, was running from the fight—but no man who ever saw Marcellus French on a battle-field could possibly have entertained such a thought for even a single moment, no matter what might be the surrounding circumstances, or the business in which he might be engaged, for a more stubbornly brave man never drew a sabre, and he was by long odds the coolest man in the battalion, “as cold as ice,” was the verdict passed upon him by the lamented Capt. Grubb. After a few moments’ consideration, French proceeded to execute the Colonel’s order, and succeeded in bringing several men back to the command.

White himself was riding around arranging his people, who were all dismounted, and here was the only place he was ever seen to dodge. Shells were plunging and bursting in, around, and over the ranks every moment, and when the business of re-organizing the line begun Capt. Myers was placed on the right to rectify the alignment, and stood on a tussock just at the edge of a marsh. When the Colonel had arranged matters to his notion he dismounted immediately in front of Myers and springing over the mud stood face to face with him on the tussock, but scarcely was he located than a shell howled wickedly past and very near their heads, when down went the Colonel’s head in Myers’[Myers’] breast, in such a manner that it was impossible for the latter to bow his acknowledgment to the savage missile, and when, a moment later, the Colonel raised his head Myers was as near laughing in his face as the circumstances would permit. White laughed and shook himself, exclaiming "I golly! I believe I’m demoralized myself;" and every man there felt that they would be willing to exchange places with the famous Light Brigade at Balaklava even, for literally the guns volleyed and thundered on the right, left and front of that little band which was standing—and dying—at ease, without an opportunity to strike a blow or shelter themselves from the murderous fire that was literally ploughing the whole field with cannon shot. By-and-bye the fire became so hot that the Colonel ordered his men to lie down, and just as a party of them had crowded together in a little hollow that seemed to present the best prospect for shelter, a shell shrieked among them and completely tore the head of young Broy, of Company F, from his shoulders, scattering his blood and brains in the faces of his comrades, and killing a horse by its explosion a moment after.

A considerable number of the horses were struck, and the danger from the wounded steeds was almost as great as from the shells, for a horse, as a general thing, becomes much more frantic from a wound by an exploding shell than by a bullet.

Ed. Oxley’s horse was instantly killed, and he walked up to Capt. Myers to report the fact and ask what he must do, when the Captain told him to take his rigging from him and go to the rear, which Oxley at once proceeded to do, but on reaching his horse found that one of the 11th regiment had already performed that duty for him, and his saddle and clothes were nowhere to be found, whereupon Oxley became decidedly the most violently excited man in the field, swearing terribly, in his peculiar style, that “any man who would steal at such a time as that ought to be hung.”

The Rev. Lieut. Strickler, of Co. E, and Capt. French, both consistent members of the Methodist Church, were standing together conversing on the subject of religion when a party of the enemy’s sharpshooters came near enough to add their rifle bullets to the terrible storm of shell that rained around, and during the hottest of it the Lieutenant was heard to remark that whatever was foreordained by the Almighty would be accomplished, and if we were intended to be killed there we couldn’t help it, while, on the other hand, if our time had not yet been fulfilled according to God’s predestined plan, we were safe, although a thousand cannon should open their thunder upon us; and in this comfortable doctrine (under the circumstances) the Captain readily acquiesced, greatly to the gratification of Colonel White, who in religious opinion was an Old School Baptist.

About 2 o’clock the firing ceased, and the war-storm lulled to silence, allowing the soldiers a breathing spell and time to inquire for those who were missing from the ranks, and many of the brave boys who had gone gallantly into the battle that morning never came back again, for their names were dropped from the Company rolls to be recorded in the list of heroes who gave their lives for the “Lost Cause,” but who made it a glorious one by its bloody baptism.

Henry Moore, one of Company A’s best and bravest, and who had been with it from the beginning, had fallen in the front of the fight, shot through the brain. Joseph Hendon, a gallant young soldier, also of Company A, and a native of North Carolina, was killed in the first charge. Samuel W. Crumbaker, Company A, was mortally wounded, and Lieut. Benjamin F. Conrad, who deserved the title of “bravest of the brave,” if any man ever did, was terribly wounded in the thigh, (in the first charge, when Co. A was running over “everything she came to,”) which made amputation necessary, and he was never able to do duty again. Color-Sergeant Thos. N. Torreyson, Company C, also lost a leg, and John Douglass and Hugh S. Thompson, Co. C, were killed, as was also Jacob W. Huffman, of Co. E, and quite a large number wounded, whose names, as far as ascertained, will be found at the close of the volume.

The enemy occupied the battle-ground, and of course had the dead of the Confederate cavalry in their lines, but they buried them and marked their graves so their friends could find them.

The cavalry were not the only troops engaged on that bloody day, for at every lull in the battle on the right the muskets of the infantry could be heard along the lines to the left, and during the day the report came that Gen. Longstreet had been[been] badly wounded by his own men, which was soon confirmed, and the thoughts of the soldiers flew back to “Stonewall” Jackson, while many of them cursed the blundering carelessness of the infantry, and the recklessness of the officers, in the same breath. There was really a vast difference between infantry and cavalry in this respect—the latter, having learned caution from outpost duty, would learn the character of an advancing party before firing, while the former, not being able to travel with the same celerity as the cavalry, nearly always fired first and inquired “Who comes there?” afterwards; a system that cost the Confederate States their independence, for if Jackson had lived, the North would have given up the fight at the close of the battle of Gettysburg.

In about two hours after the battle ended among the cavalry, the enemy fell back, and Maj. McClellan, of Gen. Stuart’s staff, called for Col. White’s people to go with him and establish communication with the infantry of Gen. Longstreet on the left, and marching quietly through the blazing Wilderness, their greatest care was to prevent their own men from firing into them.