The men inside hesitated a minute, but there was such an air of supreme confidence about McVean that first one and then another and then the whole band of twelve men marched out and followed him back to the Union lines. Once more a brave man had accomplished the impossible.
There were no braver men in all the Union Army than were found in the ranks of the different batteries whose guns did so much to bring about the final victory of the Union arms. The courage of our cannoneers, men who saved the guns in spite of every attack and who often saved them in many a defeat, has never been surpassed. The affection of a gunner for the piece which he has manned and served in many a hard-fought battle is like that which a cavalryman has for his horse. Like the rider, the crew of a battery will risk all to save their gun. At Wilson's Creek, Missouri, on August 10, 1861, Nicholas Broquet, a private in one of the Iowa batteries, showed the spirit that was in him when the gun that he was serving was disabled. The battery-horses had been shot down, all the crew except himself had been killed by the tremendous fire of the enemy and across the field appeared a detachment of the enemy's forces sent to capture the gun. Broquet cut the traces of the dead horses, rushed out between the lines in the face of a fierce fire and succeeded in catching a riderless horse. He rode the animal back to the gun, made him fast to it and just as the enemy's detachment was close upon him, rode off in safety, trundling the rescued gun behind him.
John F. Chase was a cannoneer of the same stamp. At Chancellorsville he was serving as a private in a Maine battery. A shell from one of the enemy's guns struck down the officers and killed or disabled every man of the battery except Chase and one other. They manned the gun, sighted it as best they could and fired three rounds at the approaching enemy. Then as the horses had been killed and it was certain that the gun would be captured in a few minutes, they fastened themselves to the traces and tugged away until they got the gun in motion. Although it was a heavy one which ordinarily took two horses to drag it, yet these two actually pulled the gun across the rough field safe to the main line of the Union forces and saved it from capture.
Three of the most spectacular deeds of the whole war were those of Lieutenant Thomas W. Custer, Private Samuel E. Eddy and Adjutant Eugene W. Ferris. Custer was a lieutenant in the 6th Michigan Cavalry and was present at the spirited engagement at Sailors Creek, Virginia, when the Union forces attacked the entrenched Confederates. Custer's company charged in the face of a heavy fire on the enemy's works. When they reached the entrenchments the order was received to dismount and to continue the charge on foot. Custer was riding a thorough-bred and preferred to continue the charge on horseback. Spurring his horse up to the lowest part of the ramparts, he actually leaped him over and landed in the very midst of the astonished defenders. Making a dash for the color-bearer, Custer cut him down, seized the colors and wheeled and galloped right through the demoralized men to the other end of the works, intending to capture the colors displayed there. As he broke through the ranks of the defenders for the second time, a volley of straggling shots was fired at him. One bullet pierced his thigh and two more struck his horse, killing the latter instantly. Custer rolled over and over with the struggling animal, managed to pull himself loose and still clinging to the captured colors, with the blood streaming down his leg, rushed at the last color-bearer, shot him down with his revolver and seized his colors and with his back to the rampart, fought off all attempts to rescue them. A moment later his companions climbed over the earthworks and rescued him just as he was on the point of fainting from loss of blood.
Eddy was a private in the 37th Massachusetts Infantry and on April 6, 1865, was present at the battle of Sailors Creek, Virginia. While his regiment was fighting desperately to hold their position, Eddy saw that his adjutant lay wounded far out beyond their lines. A little detachment of Confederate soldiers approached and to Eddy's horror, he saw them deliberately shoot down several of the wounded Union men. One of them approached the adjutant to whom Eddy was much attached. He could not bear to see him killed without at least attempting to rescue him and he at once rushed out beyond the protection of his own line. As he approached the adjutant, he saw the leader of the Confederate attachment in the act of taking aim at the wounded officer. Eddy was an excellent shot and at once knelt down and took rapid but accurate aim and killed the Confederate just as he was on the point of firing. He ran forward to his adjutant, but there he encountered three Confederates and had a hand-to-hand bayonet fight with them. Eddy was a man of tremendous strength and reach and managed to kill one of his assailants and severely wound another. While he was so engaged, however, the third ran him through the body with his bayonet and pinned him to the ground. While the enemy was struggling to disengage his bayonet for another fatal thrust, Eddy, by a last desperate effort, managed to slip a cartridge into his gun and just as his opponent was aiming a deadly stab at his throat, shot him through the body. Then wounded as he was, he staggered to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged the wounded adjutant back to the safety of the Union lines where they were both nursed back to health and strength.
Ferris was an adjutant in the 30th Massachusetts Infantry. On April 1, 1865, at Berryville, Virginia, accompanied only by an orderly, he was riding outside the Union lines when he was attacked by five of Mosby's guerrillas. It was not the custom of Mosby's men either to ask or give quarter or to take prisoners. Ferris who was well mounted could probably have escaped, but would have had to leave his orderly behind, as the latter's horse was a slow one. Accordingly, although both the men were armed only with sabres, Ferris made up his mind to fight to the death. Without waiting to be attacked, he spurred his horse at the guerrilla-leader and suddenly executing a demi-volte which is only effective when performed by a good sabre and a trained horse, he whirled like lightning and caught his opponent such a tremendous back-handed slash that he cut him almost to the saddle. As the man toppled over, Ferris slipped one arm around his waist and managed to unbuckle his pistol-belt and seize both of his pistols. He then at once engaged with another one of the band and while parrying and thrusting, saw out of the tail of his eye a third man aiming a revolver at him only a few yards away. Parrying a thrust from his opponent in front, Ferris simultaneously fired with the other hand. Although Ferris was shooting with his left hand, his bullet killed his opponent while the Confederate's fire struck Ferris just above the left knee, inflicting a painful but not dangerous flesh-wound. Ferris pressed his opponent in front still more vigorously and finally succeeded in wounding him so severely that he turned and bolted, leaving Ferris free to go to the rescue of his orderly, who had been putting up a good fight against the other two of the band. Ferris reached him just in time. He had been wounded twice and though fighting bravely, one of his antagonists had managed to reach a position in his rear. There was not much time for Ferris to do anything with his sabre. Everything must depend upon a pistol shot. Stopping his horse, he drew his remaining pistol, took careful aim and shot the man behind his orderly through the body just as the latter had his sabre uplifted for a last blow at the hardly-pressed Union officer. The remaining guerrilla, who had already been slightly wounded by the orderly, wheeled his horse and rode off leaving the two Union men in possession of the field and the spoils of war, consisting of two capital pistols and a magnificent riderless horse which they brought back with them.
One of the most devoted deeds of courage in the war is chronicled last. On July 21, 1861, the first great battle of the war was fought at Bull Run, Virginia, not far from the federal capital. It was a disastrous day. Unorganized, commanded by inexperienced officers, that battle soon became the shameful rout which for a long time was the basis of the belief throughout the South that one Southerner could whip four Northerners.
Charles J. Murphy was quartermaster on that day in the 38th New York Infantry. It was not his business to fight. He was there to feed and look after his men and it was no more his duty to join the battle than that of the surgeons, the band, or any of the other non-combatants which accompany a regiment. When, however, he saw the masses of beaten, discouraged, panic-stricken men straggling back, Murphy made up his mind that the rear was no place for him. Seizing a rifle which one of the retreating men had thrown away, he rushed forward and did all that one man could to stop the retreat, fighting as long and as hard as he could. It was beyond his power. His regiment were bewildered, confused and broke and fled like sheep, leaving hundreds of wounded men on the field. Murphy made up his mind that he would have no part or lot in this rout and also that he would not desert his wounded comrades, for in those days there were terrible tales rife of how the Confederates treated wounded soldiers. The Union fighters had not yet learned that their antagonists were the same brave, fair fighters that they were. Murphy stayed behind. When the victorious Confederate forces marched down the field, they found it held by one man who was giving water to the wounded and doing his clumsy best to staunch the flowing blood from many a ghastly wound.
"Do you surrender?" shouted the first officer who approached him.
"Not if you are going to hurt these wounded men," said Murphy, bringing his bayonet into position.