Personal Recollections of a Cavalryman / With Custer's Michigan Cavalry Brigade in the Civil War

by James Harvey Kidd

I said to him: "Colonel, what would you do if you were in my place?"

"I think you ought to go too" he replied and, presently, turning in his saddle, continued: "Yes, I will take the responsibility to give you the order," whereat, the two brigades took up the march toward the point where the battle, judging from the sound, seemed to be in progress. How little either of us realized that Lowell was marching to his death. It was into the thickest of the fight that he led the way, Michigan willingly following.[38]

A startling sight presented itself as the long cavalry column came out into the open country overlooking the battle-ground. Guided by the sound, a direction had been taken that would bring us to the pike as directly as possible and at the same time approach the union lines from the rear. This brought us out on a commanding ridge north of Middletown. This ridge as it appears to a participant looking at it from memory, runs to and across the pike. The ground descends to the south a half mile, or more, then gradually rises again to another ridge about on a line with Middletown. The confederate forces were on the last named ridge, along which their batteries were planted, and their lines of infantry could be seen distinctly. Memory may have lost something of the details of the picture, but the outlines remain as vivid, now as then. The valley between was uneven, with spots of timber here and there and broken into patches by fences, some of them of stone.

The full scope of the calamity which had befallen our arms burst suddenly into view. The whole battle field was in sight. The valley and intervening slopes, the fields and woods, were alive with infantry, moving singly and in squads. Some entire regiments were hurrying to the rear, while the confederate artillery was raining shot and shell and spherical case among them to accelerate their speed. Some of the enemy's batteries were the very ones just captured from us. It did not look like a frightened or panic stricken army, but like a disorganized mass that had simply lost the power of cohesion. A line of cavalry skirmishers[39] formed across the country was making ineffectual efforts to stop the stream of fugitives who had stolidly and stubbornly set their faces to the rear. Dazed by the surprise in their camps, they acted like men who had forfeited their self-respect. They were chagrined, mortified, mad at their officers and themselves—demoralized; but, after all, more to be pitied than blamed.

But all these thousands, hurrying from the field, were not the entire army. They were the Eighth corps and a part of the Nineteenth only, a fraction of the army. There, between ourselves and the enemy—between the fugitives and the enemy—was a long line of blue, facing to the front, bravely battling to stem the tide of defeat. How grandly they stood to their work. Neither shot nor shell nor volleys of musketry could break them. It was the old Sixth corps—the "ironsides" from the Potomac army, who learned how to fight under brave John Sedgwick. Slowly, in perfect order, the veterans of the Wilderness and Spottsylvania were falling back, contesting every inch of the way. One position was surrendered only to take another. There was no wavering, no falling out of ranks, except of those who were shot down. The next morning, one passing over the ground where those heroes fought, could see where they successively stood and breasted the storm by the dead men who lay in line where they had fallen. There were two or three lines of these dead skirmishers. The official record shows that the Sixth corps on that day lost 255 men killed and 1600 wounded.

The two brigades had reached a point where the entire field was in view, and were in position to resume their relation to the line of battle, whenever the scattered fragments of the army could be assembled and formed for an organized resistance to the enemy.

In the meantime it had been decided to mass all the cavalry on the left of the line, opposite to where it had been in the morning. The order came from General Merritt to continue the march in that direction, and the long column led by Lowell turned its head toward the left of the Sixth corps[40] and formed on the other side of the pike. Moving across, parallel with the line which had been taken up by that corps, the cavalry was exposed to a galling fire of artillery. One shell took an entire set of fours out of the Sixth Michigan. Not a man left the ranks. The next set closed up the gap. Custer was already there, having been transferred from right to left while the two brigades of the First division were out on the picket line. Crossing the pike, we passed in front of his division. It was formed in line of brigades, each brigade in column of regiments, mounted. It is needless to say that they were faced toward the enemy. Custer, himself, was riding along the front of his command, chafing like a caged lion, eager for the fray. Devin, with Taylor's battery had been there for some time and, under the personal direction of General Merritt, had been most gallantly resisting the advance of the victorious enemy. The Michigan brigade took position in front of Custer, Martin's battery next the pike. Lowell with the Reserve brigade was stationed still farther in advance toward Middletown. The Sixth corps made its final stand on the prolongation of the cavalry alignment and from that moment the attacks of the enemy were feeble and ineffective, the battle resolving itself, for the time being, into an artillery duel in which Martin's battery took a prominent part.

It could not have been much later than nine o'clock when the two brigades of cavalry arrived. Their coming was opportune. Who can say how much it had to do in stopping the further progress of Early's attack? It is now known that Early dreaded a flanking movement by the body of horse which he saw massing in front of his right flank. The gallant Lowell, who so bravely did his duty and who exhibited in every stage of the battle the highest qualities of leadership, a few hours after his arrival on the left laid down his life for the cause he so valiantly served. He was killed by a bullet from the gun of a sharpshooter in Middletown. He did not live to make a report and the story never has been told officially of how he marched from right to left at Cedar Creek.

Sheridan had not yet come up, but after his arrival, which he states in his memoirs was not later than ten o'clock, Custer was moved to the right flank, arriving in time to thwart a threatened flanking movement by Gordon and Kershaw. It is evident that every strategic attempt of the enemy, save the morning surprise, was checkmated by the union cavalry and, it must be remembered, that it was the absence of cavalry on the left which rendered the morning surprise possible.

The First division was now all together with General Merritt personally in command. A part of Lowell's brigade, dismounted, was posted well to the front, the Michigan brigade, mounted, in its rear. While in this position, having occasion to ride up into the battery to speak to Captain Martin, a sharpshooter in Middletown took a shot at us. The bullet narrowly missed the captain and buried itself in my horse's shoulder. Unlike the shell at Winchester, this wound disabled the old fellow, so that he had to go to the rear and give way to a temporary remount,—furnished by the commanding officer of the First Michigan,—much to the regret of the old hero, for he was a horse who loved the excitement of battle and relished its dangers.