A Slight Demonstration (4)

[Greyhawk]

May 6, 1861: The Honorable Francis Boardman Crowninshield of Boston arrived in London after transiting from New York to Liverpool via the steamer Persia. The pride of Britain's Cunard line, the ship had crossed the Atlantic in remarkable time, having departed New York on April 25th. This was to be expected; she'd set the current speed record for the Atlantic crossing (both directions) in April 1856, in spite of having struck an iceberg on her earlier maiden voyage - her survival being proof that stout construction practices had not been sacrificed on the altar of Mercury. Crowninshield could very much appreciate that; much of his family's appreciable fortune had been made in the shipping business generations before.

There had been a slight delay in departing, however. "I am detained till this forenoon for despatches from the British minister," Crowninshield wrote Massachusetts Governor John Andrew from New York on the 25th. "I learn that he has telegraphed to Halifax for a fleet to go to Washington to protect him and save the archives of their Government. I believe it." Certainly the British had reason for concern regarding the security of Washington DC. Besides the fact that it was situated on the border between Virginia and Maryland - one seceded and the other likely to follow - they'd successfully taken the city themselves not fifty years before during the War of 1812. Crowninshield was only a child at that time, but his father had been appointed Secretary of the Navy near the end of that war, so he'd heard a bit about it over the years. To this day the family's influence remained well-established, and considerable in Boston and beyond. While the Crowninshield men could opt to be gentlemen of leisure if so inclined, they did not decline opportunities to provide service to their state or their nation when called.

He now arrived on the shores of the nation until recently the premier enemy of the United States to perform a mission primarily in the service of his home state of Massachusetts. While he might have preferred to act with an element of secrecy, he could read all about it in an announcement in that day's London Times, declaring that purchasing agents from the United States (and the so-called "Confederate States," too) had come to obtain large quantities of rifles. This news caused "great excitement" among those involved in the manufacture and trade of arms.

Quite true. And as far as seeing it in print, quite unfortunate. In fact, Crowninshield carried with him a letter of credit to the amount of fifty thousand pounds sterling for that purpose - and that just for the needs of Massachusetts. Other states had requested he act as their agent, too, and some quick work among the governors involved had established an impromptu consortium of sorts for that end. Clearly still other states - including those who'd left the Union and precipitated this crisis - would be planning likewise, thus the need to travel via the fastest ship possible. But even during the voyage it became apparent to Crowninshield that the best result he could hope for in this particular race was a draw; among his fellow passengers were several private speculators anticipating the enhanced value of British rifled muskets on American shores, and as it turned out, still another traveler was an agent for New York. All in all, the purchasing power of fifty thousand pounds sterling in the British arms market had diminished considerably the moment the Persia had docked.

Much, therefore, would depend on the man sent to make the deal, and Francis B. Crowninshield of Boston, though no expert on arms, was entrusted with this mission as a man who could deal with fellow gentlemen on this side of the Atlantic. (A man of many talents, when Massachusetts sent delegates to Washington to participate in the Peace Conference earlier that year, he had been among the chosen.) As for weapons expertise, accompanying him to England was a Mr Charles McFarland of the federal armory at Springfield, Massachusetts, who had been dispatched on short notice following a personal request from Governor Andrew to the superintendent there. They'd been busy at the armory lately, converting operations to the manufacture of rifled muskets, but it would be several months - perhaps even longer than the duration of the war, if the more optimistic predictions were accurate - before production would support demand. Further contributing to shortage, or at least anticipation thereof, Springfield was one of only two US armories equipped to manufacture rifles (after all, it didn't take much to maintain support to a standing army of less than 20,000 men and assorted state militias), and the other, at Harper's Ferry Virginia, had an uncertain future at best. The British market was the obvious short-term solution, it never hurt to send a well-versed representative to see what might be new in the works overseas, and thus McFarland could be spared from direct federal service for a bit.

Recognizing the increased urgency associated with competition, upon arriving at Liverpool the two men split up to accomplish their task. McFarland headed for Birmingham, where he discovered "about twenty-five thousand Enfield rifles, of excellent quality, which could be delivered in a very short time." Although the asking price had recently been sixty shillings sterling each, he was ensured "a party stood ready to give one hundred shillings each for the lot to go South" - though the seller would certainly give preference to Mr. Crowninshield if he would meet that price. He would, and did (as did the New York agent) - though not for the full 25,000 pieces, as some better bargains were still to be found elsewhere. Two thousand eight hundred rifles, at seventy shillings each were purchased in London, and two hundred more from the London Armory at a mere sixty-five shillings each. (Though he did not approach the British government, and instead dealt with private manufacturers and dealers, he was assured by friends in London that certain preliminary and entirely unofficial inquiries would be made in that direction on his behalf. Crowninshield also reported to the governor that he'd met Colonel Fremont in Britain, who had assured him he'd have no further luck expanding his search to France.)

In spite of the ever-increasing competition, before returning home in August Crowninshield had secured purchase of nearly 20,000 Enfields from various sources in Britain. An impressive number, certainly far from anything anyone could describe as failure, but still not one that would meet demand. Distribution of these first fruits would not be universal or equal, and for the early months of the war members of any regiments marching south with coveted Enfields would consider themselves fortunate indeed.

All that remained was to contract for delivery. The initial plan was to send the first batch of a thousand immediately on the return voyage of the Persia. However, to the dismay of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, the Persia declined the opportunity to participate to that extent in the international arms business, and other, slower arrangements had to be made.

August 19, 1861: Orders came from Washington; the 20th Massachusetts Infantry was going to war. The unit had formed just weeks before, was still recruiting, significantly understrength and had hardly had time to prepare, but men were needed desperately (by some accounts the Confederates outnumbered federal troops around Washington by a 3 to 1 margin!) and everything was urgent now. By the end of the month Governor Andrew himself came out to camp to present a beautiful silk standard, along "with remarks that were undoubtedly grand and appropriate," the regiment's history would record, "but which were lost to most of us in consequence of the high wind then blowing."

He had something else special for them, too: "Soon afterwards our old smooth-bore muskets were exchanged for Enfield rifles which were carried for the remainder of the war. These were the regulation muskets of the English Army, bought in England by an agent sent there by Massachusetts immediately after the firing on Sumter."

Many, even of the Massachusetts troops, had only old smooth-bore Springfield muskets, recently altered from flint-lock to percussion, owing to the impossibility of getting a sufficient number of rifles of any kind.

Then, "On September 2 we received orders to leave for the front two days later." There would be no farewell parade with their new Enfields displayed on their shoulders, there was hardly even time enough available for the proud sons of Boston to bid farewell to their families (at homes from Beacon Hill to the waterfront), thank them for their support, and promise to write often before embarking on their great adventure.

But when they arrived at the front, "Colonel Lee was asked by the Commanding General if he had arms, uniforms, accoutrements, etc.," and "he answered proudly, 'My regiment, sir, came from Massachusetts!'" - a response perceived as entirely sufficient. Though he certainly wasn't the sort to acknowledge it, at that particular moment Captain Caspar Crowninshield (Harvard, '60 and nephew of the Honorable Francis Boardman Crowninshield of Boston), commanding Company D, had reason to be proudest of all.

Postscript: By early October, the men of the 20th were learning to use their long-traveled, highly coveted Enfields, familiarizing themselves with the weapon's advanced capabilities and features - like the flip up sight, adjustable from 100-900 yards. (Though even in the hands of a skilled marksman accuracy at over 500 yards was a matter of luck.) At a time when members of most regiments considered themselves fortunate to have smoothbore Springfields converted from flintlocks rather than the also-common Belgian muskets (that often proved as dangerous to the shooter as his target), those who saw the 20th pass by in formation with these modern marvels would be envious, indeed.

The boys from Boston were determined to become deadly proficient in the use of the finest weapons money could buy.

"We had now begun drilling in platoon firing from twelve to two o'clock daily to improve the shooting of the men. Many of them, we found, shut their eyes when they pulled the trigger, and bang went the gun, northeast or southwest as accident determined."

Just across the Potomac from their practice field rose Ball's Bluff. They didn't know it yet, but in two weeks they would climb it and see what was there.

(Part five is here...)

Bibliography:

Crowninshield mission:

William Schouler, A history of Massachusetts in the Civil War, 1861-1865 (1868)

Banks/McClellan/Stone correspondence:

The war of the rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies; Series 1 - Volume 5 (Pages 565-569)

The Twentieth Massachusetts:

George Anson Bruce, The Twentieth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, 1861-1865 (1906)

Richard F. Miller, Harvard's Civil War: The History of the Twentieth Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry (2005)

 

Scraps

[Greyhawk]

A Slight Demonstration (3)

[Greyhawk]

Sunday, 20 October 1861: The Commanding General of the Army of the Potomac would return to his Washington headquarters reinvigorated after spending a couple of days in the field with his troops.

Major General George Brinton McClellan commanded the largest military force assembled in modern history. Approaching 150,000 men strong (with additional regiments still arriving) he had at his disposal in the area around Washington DC an army that outnumbered Napoleon's and Wellington's at Waterloo combined. He was quite confident that someday he could begin a campaign that, like Waterloo, would bring on the epic battle that would end this war; that he, George McClellan, would restore the Union, much as it was before his misguided friends from the South had elected to depart. He had more than a few Northern friends who already looked back on those days with great longing - and all their hopes for their return rested on George Brinton McClellan.

He had no intention of letting them down. Just "Help me dodge the nigger," he wrote Samuel Barlow, an old friend and influential New Yorker. "I am fighting to preserve the integrity of the Union & the power of the Govt - on no other issue. To gain that end we cannot afford to raise up the negro question..." ("I hope some time next week to have a review of from 30,000 to 50,000 good troops," he added. "Can you not bring Madame on to it?")

He was just 34 years old when summoned to Washington and given command of what was soon called the Army of the Potomac, younger than most commanders of divisions, brigades, and regiments below him. Short of stature, newspapers had taken to calling him "The Young Napoleon" at that time, when all perceived him as the savior of both the Union and its capital city. Arrayed against him that summer and fall of 1861 were a mere 45,000 Confederate troops in what the South also (and first) called the "Army of the Potomac." Although comprised of men every bit as inexperienced as McClellan's, that was still not an insignificant force - but, given the rapidly growing federal numbers, it was nothing that could stop a qualified and determined general from achieving a world-shaping victory that would indeed rival Waterloo as the greatest and most significant of the modern era.

In McClellan's thinking, however, one thing above all others prevented him from doing just that. He'd expressed that concern not long after he'd been placed in command of an army then numbering a mere 50,000 men: "I am induced to believe that the enemy has at least 100,000 men in our front..." While by no means an otherwise humble man, McClellan would insist to anyone who mattered that he commanded merely the second largest army of modern times, and that as fast as it was growing, the enemy's grew faster. "I am here in a terrible place," he wrote his wife Ellen in mid-August, "- the enemy have from 3 to 4 times my force - the Presdt is an idiot, the old General in his dotage - they cannot or will not see the true state of affairs..."

The "Presdt" was Lincoln; the "old General" was Winfield Scott, McClellan's only superior in the US Army. Normally a confident man, McClellan was uncertain, he confessed to his wife in another letter, whether Scott was "a dotard or a traitor!" - but was convinced he was "a perfect imbecile" who "understands nothing, appreciates nothing & is ever in my way." Scott, 75 years old (with most of them spent in military service - he was first commissioned 18 years before McClellan was born), did not believe it possible that the Confederates had achieved anything close to numerical parity with the federals - much less superiority - in the weeks since Bull Run. Even after McClellan brought in a rebel deserter who confirmed his estimates Scott remained unconvinced. Thus by September McClellan was warning that the Confederates were sure to attack soon with 170,000 troops, against only 60-80,000 he'd have available (depending on their line of march) to meet them.

A West Pointer (class of '46 - he'd been admitted via waiver while still one year under the minimum age of 16) who'd left the Army for a successful stint in the railroad business, his contempt for General Scott didn't extend to all career soldiers. McClellan deeply respected the Generals in gray, many of whom were once either West Point classmates or fellow officers from his earlier period of active duty. In fact, "All my associates, indeed all of them - are Southerners," the youthful but studious George had written home to Philadelphia during his West Point days. "The manners, feelings, & opinions of the Southerners are far, far preferable to those of the majority of the Northerners." Those days were well in the past now, but "I know full well the capacity of the Generals opposed to me," he assured Barlow in 1861, "for by singular chance they were once my most intimate friends."

They were good generals - but George Brinton McClellan had hit the books and been at the top of the class. And while he respected his old friends, they couldn't fool him. He knew exactly what they were up to because as good generals they were doing exactly what he would do. "Were I in Beauregard's place," he'd declared in the first days of his new command - having assessed his opponent's strength at 100,000 men - "with that force at my disposal I would attack the positions on the other side of the Potomac and at the same time cross the river above the city in force." Perhaps he would have, but that such a blow never fell never led McClellan to conclude his opponent didn't actually have 100,000 men. To the contrary, each passing day meant only that the Confederates were delaying because they were gathering an even more overwhelming force, and on September 13th he sent that urgent message to Secretary of War Simon Cameron, warning him they were about to be crushed by 170,000 men.

"The movement of the enemy so far as discovered by us and information reaching us from many directions and sources all indicate that the enemy intend at a very early day to advance;" he wrote Cameron, "even that he has already commenced that movement." He left little doubt that "the decisive battle of the War is soon to be fought in this vicinity" - and while he rather liked being compared to Napoleon, when McClellan's one great battle came he intended to be the victor. He was convinced the Confederates were reinforcing in Virginia with troops formerly operating in Missouri and Mississippi, which presented both a crisis and a means of addressing it: "the safety of the nation requires" that half of General Fremont's federal troops in Missouri be transferred to his command, McClellan insisted, "without one day's delay."

"Unless the force of the enemy is greatly overrated and all the information I have received concerning it be erroneous it will be found when we meet in the field, that their Active Army outnumbers ours by nearly two to one."

He'd hinted with some degree of subtlety that any fault with the estimates of enemy strength wasn't his, but enclosed his own figures to emphasize his concern.

"T.W. Sherman's rgts," much-needed right here, were soon to set sail on a secret mission to South Carolina - a foolish example of Scott's continued influence. And though McClellan had overlooked a minor subtraction error in his "Present at Washington belonging there" line (93,226 - 8,000 = 85,226) that rendered it and all subsequent totals on that sheet he'd provided the Secretary of War 1,000 men low, even correct figures couldn't change the fact that imminent danger was obvious, it was right there in black and white!

On September 28th, just two weeks after McClellan delivered that assessment, the Confederates pulled back from their positions nearest Washington. Desperately outnumbered, they couldn't afford to hold a front in that proximity to enemy forces, thus they elected to concentrate their available manpower around Centreville. Their now-abandoned strongpoints included Munson's Hill in Virginia, a height prominent enough that a large rebel flag flown from its crest could be seen from nearby Washington. More disturbingly, with the aid of an eyeglass one could also discern the forms of cannon jutting out from the fortifications on the peak. Remarkably, the latter were left behind when the secessionists abruptly departed - and General McClellan's Army of the Potomac moved out to claim them, along with a large stretch of now-undisputed ground, almost immediately thereafter.

They were accompanied by members of the press, many of whom had a field day of a different sort when it was discovered the cannon that had terrified Washingtonians for so long were actually logs painted black - decoys nicknamed "Quaker Guns." They couldn't fire rounds, but they'd proven highly effective at striking fear (or perhaps, in hindsight, merely deep concern) into the hearts of residents of the nation's capital - including those in the White House, Congress, and the Headquarters of the Army of the Potomac.

Only those in the latter group, however, were expected to be experts on armaments.

Soon the discovery was ridiculed across the nation in cartoons and song, and some began raising more serious questions about The Young Napoleon's qualifications and motivations - and why was it again that the army they'd sent him hadn't yet gone to war? He could take that - he had previous assurances from that idiot in the White House himself that he wouldn't be pressured into some premature campaign ending in a repeat of Bull Run, albeit with casualty figures commensurate with the larger numbers of men participating on both sides. As for the rest of the armchair generals, they couldn't see what was immediately obvious to McClellan - the Confederates would have burned those logs if they hadn't wanted him to find them. It was all part of the lure in their new plan to get him to underestimate them, and march recklessly forward from his recently completed fortifications to attack them where their numerical advantage would be even further enhanced by his lengthy movement against their own well-constructed defensive positions.

Gloomy times - but at last he'd received uplifting news, and yesterday, while out riding among his troops in the field he'd taken a few moments to share it with his wife in a brief letter: "It seems to be pretty well settled that I will be Comdr in Chf...

"Genl Scott proposes to retire in favor of Halleck. The Presdt and Cabinet have decided to accept his retirement, but not in favor of Halleck. The old ___'s antiquity is wonderful and lasting."

It didn't solve all his problems, but at last that worn out old man, so often condemned by McClellan as the greatest impediment to achieving his goals, was getting out of the way.

Besides the BIG news, he had other strategic planning to share with her, too. "The enemy have fallen back on Manassas - probably to draw me into the old error." If by late October he was thoroughly induced to believe that rather than assaulting him with their overwhelming numbers they were now intent on leading him into a trap, (after all, as good generals they were doing exactly what he would do) he wasn't taking their bait. He would, however, take advantage of their pullback to advance in another direction. He hadn't planned on it, but it might just fall into his hands: "I hope to make them abandon Leesburg tomorrow."

It was all going according to his plan - which he might not have realized until expanding on it in another letter to Ellen the following day:

I yesterday advanced a division to Dranesville, some ten miles beyond its old place, and feel obliged to take advantage of the opportunity to make numerous reconnoissances to obtain information as to the country, which is very beautiful at Dranesville, where I was yesterday. The weather is delightful. The enemy has fallen back to Centreville and Manassas, expecting us to attack there. My object in moving to Dranesville yesterday and remaining there to-day was to force them to evacuate Leesburg, which I think they did last night.

If done with the proper timing (and railroad men, soldiers, and politicians could all agree that timing was everything), that (hopefully bloodless) triumph at Leesburg would be immediately followed by the public announcement of Scott's departure and McClellan's promotion. (Though he was certain the people of his nation - and especially his soldiers - would be relieved to know he fully intended to maintain his current command, too. After all, its true full name would always be McClellan's Army of the Potomac to him.) "I was called to it;" he assured Ellen regarding his God-given destiny to save his nation, "my previous life seems to have been unwittingly directed to this great end." And though he could quickly list all the "difficulties in my path" ("the impatience of the people, the venality and bad faith of the politicians, the gross neglect that has occurred in obtaining arms, clothing, etc...") he knew he would overcome them; he was convinced he could do it all.

Several busy days followed. When he found time to write home once again...

"That affair of Leesburg on Monday last was a horrible butchery. The men fought nobly, but were penned up by a vastly superior force in a place where they had no retreat. The whole thing took place some forty miles from here, without my orders or knowledge. It was entirely unauthorized by me, and I am in no manner responsible for it...

(Part four is here...)

 

Bibliography:

George Brinton McClellan, McClellan's Own Story : The War for the Union, the Soldiers who Fought it, the Civilians who Directed it and his Relations to it and to Them

Stephen W. Sears, George B. McClellan: The Young Napoleon and The Civil War Papers Of George B. Mcclellan: Selected Correspondence, 1860-1865

Thomas W. Cutrer, The Mexican War Diary and Correspondence of George B. McClellan

Ethan Sepp Rafuse, McClellan's War: The Failure of Moderation in the Struggle for the Union

 

A Slight Demonstration (2)

[Greyhawk]

(Part one here.)

Saturday, 19 October, 1861: The men of the 15th Massachusetts could proudly claim their regiment had the finest band in their division of the Army of the Potomac.

Their commander, Colonel Charles Devens, hoped they'd have other things to be proud of before this war was over and done with, but he was enjoying the music provided by that band just now. Once they finished he'd offer a few words on this, the occasion of the opening of their new camp hospital, then it was on to the next item on his agenda. If nothing unexpected came up, that is.

And it seemed that something unexpected always did. Earlier this month, for example, he thought he'd issued a simple order. Per General McClellan's order, all members of regimental bands were to be proficient in the ambulance drill; learn to set up and dismantle stretchers, the proper methods of transporting wounded for their least amount of discomfort, etc. etc. A fine idea; however, the finest band in his army believed that sort of thing wasn't within the scope of their rightful duties, and declined to participate in the training. So they soon found themselves under arrest, and confined without rations. As another member of the Fifteenth described the circumstances, "They were all spunky, and would die first, but before twenty-four hours were over they came to terms." Since then, they'd devoted an hour a day to such drills, and their musicianship hadn't seemed to suffer from it in the least.

That wasn't the only contentious issue he'd had to deal with since arriving here at this camp in late August. In another example that still rankled many of his men, General Stone had recently issued an order to soldiers in his command not "to incite and encourage insubordination among the colored servants in the neighborhood of the camps." This was something more than a delicate situation. Maryland was a slave state, still loyal to the Union, but just barely so - and it wouldn't do to tip the balance in the wrong direction. Beyond inciting and encouraging, there was a difference in appropriate ways to handle runaway slaves depending upon which side of the Potomac their run began, but some of the more ardent antislavery men (and in a point of pride, Massachusetts had an abundance of those) were reluctant to acknowledge that.

He wondered if Colonel Morse, commanding the other regiment from Worcester - now stationed at Annapolis on the other end of Maryland - was confronting any of the same challenges... It was a position of great responsibility, marching off to war at the head of a column of men. But Devens had to admit - to himself, at least - he hadn't anticipated the number and variety of things he'd found himself responsible for since he'd done just that.

Take the clipping someone had recently sent him from the Fitchburg Sentinel, a piece attributed to one of the soldiers in his regiment:

"We have agreed with the pickets on the opposite shore, who are Mississippians, not to fire at each other, but be on friendly terms as long as they are posted as pickets. .... Yesterday, one of our boys agreed to meet one of the Mississippians half-way across the river and exchange newspapers. They met in the middle of the stream where the water is but waist deep, and after shaking hands and exchanging the "Boston Herald" for the "Mobile Tribune," they held a social chat. They are of the opinion that the shooting of pickets is all foolishness. I have just learned that one of the Mississipians is coming over in a boat to take dinner with the Leominster boys today."

The informal "cease fire" seemed like a fine idea (not that he personally would officially approve of it, had he officially been told), considering the boys over on the Virginia side of the Potomac had weapons with range to shoot all the way across while his men were still toting smooth-bore muskets, and rounds splashing into the river short of midstream might give the enemy some bad ideas about the capabilities of the Yankees occupying this side. (In fact, an earlier letter written to the Worcester Palladium from someone somewhere near here aired bitter complaints regarding the quality of the guns furnished the Fifteenth: "This regiment, as you well know, is armed with the old smooth-bore muskets of the pattern of 1842, altered from the flint to the percussion lock. With these miserable weapons we are expected to victoriously contend with an army that have arms of more than three times the length of range of our own.") But the remainder of the account in the Sentinel (and news from Fitchburg, as with any town in Worcester County, tended to spread through the county and the state remarkably fast) indicated a level of developing friendship among members of opposing armies that was altogether unacceptable under the circumstances, and seemed much worse in newsprint than when whispered as mere camp rumor. (Come to think of it, that earlier letter arguably revealed a bit too much about the limited usefulness of federal arms, but hopefully that shortfall would be fixed before it mattered.)

There were examples of more significant infractions of that nature from other units (and just about every company had someone along who would act as "special correspondent" for the hometown paper - if they didn't have an actual reporter at the front) so not long afterward Colonel Devens - and his fellow regimental commanders - had to pass this caution down their respective chains of command:

Sept. 10, 1861. The General commanding, desires to caution all under his command against the unmilitary and treasonable practice, too much followed in some corps of the army, of writing private reports of military movements and operations which may find their way into the newspapers and thence to the enemies of the country.

Hopefully in the future the men would be a bit more guarded in what they wrote in letters home or to the newspapers (and the first often became the second, as proud parents seemed to enjoy seeing their boy's writing in print) but the business of how far these fine young Americans, here defending the very Union that guaranteed free speech and freedom of the press, could exercise those freedoms themselves was as yet unresolved.

In the balance, however, there was more good to report than bad - and now that the band had concluded their performance he was about to highlight some of that. He opened with words in praise of a nation capable of providing such a hospital facility to men here on the front lines, added some remarks on the great progress they'd made at becoming soldiers in the weeks since they'd departed their distant Worcester County homes, and offered special praise to the efforts of his surgeons. They'd yet to have their abilities at treating combat wounds tested, but they'd certainly had some experience treating the sick. No surprise in a group this size - at about 800 men the authorized strength of the 15th Massachusetts was greater than that of many small towns. Their losses to illness had been few, though each regrettable, and most importantly, their efforts in making sanitary improvements to the camp had assured the numbers of solders falling ill in this outfit were small compared to many others. He could spend the day listing the positives, but kept his remarks brief. It was a Saturday, but he still had plenty of business to attend to that day.

The next day was Sunday, and there would be work to do that day, too - but he fully intended to attend church. On the Sabbath all drills were suspended. They'd have a morning inspection, and after that a reading of the Articles of War, but the afternoon was given over to divine services which all in the regiment would attend. "You would hardly think," one of his soldiers wrote home in a letter higher headquarters would no doubt approve of wholeheartedly, "to look at the camp of the Fifteenth on Sunday evenings, that it was the encampment of a body of men whose purpose is what it is."

"Everything is tranquil, and from many of the quarters songs of praise to God float out upon the air. It puts one in mind of a camp-meeting more than it does of a military encampment, which is thought to be, by a large number, the abode of all that is contaminating and impure. In some of the tents the boys make a practice of reading a chapter every night from the Testaments presented to them."

That was the sort of thing the Army liked the folks back home to hear. All in all, Colonel Devens supposed, he had much to be thankful for in this so far bloodless (for his regiment, at least) war. He hoped it remained just so, and certainly saw Sunday services as the place to offer those thanks, and pray for continued blessings.

It occurred to Devens that if any of his men were wounded, they could now depend on being transported to a fine new hospital, by well-trained members of the best band in the army. For just a moment he regretted not thinking of that in time to use it as the opening line of his speech... but only for a moment.

The next day was Sunday, October 20th, and unplanned events would indeed occupy much of the day.

(Part three is here...)

 

Bibliography:

Andrew Ford, The Story of the Fifteenth Regiment Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry in the Civil War 1861-1864

(1898)

 

A Slight Demonstration

[Greyhawk]

"It was now the middle of October; the oppressive heat of summer had been succeeded by those lovely autumnal days in which a peculiar haze like a thin smoke marks the early hours -- days calm and balmy, followed by nights marvelously bright and clear. At that season, known by the name of Indian summer, the dryness renders the worst roads passable, and reduces the streams to their smallest volume..."

- Louis-Philippe-Albert d'Orléans, Comte de Paris,
History of the Civil War in America,
Vol. 1 chap. 11, "Ball's Bluff"

Saturday, 19 October, 1861:

"Look lively, boys," someone called out, "we're about to get a visit from the rightful King o' France."

It might seem strange to welcome royalty into a US Army bivouac in northern Virginia, but Brigadier General George McCall was becoming accustomed to strange things. He took a few steps to the edge of his hilltop campsite, where a lookout was peering through field glasses at two approaching riders. He offered the glasses to his general, but at this point they were close enough that even in the fading light of sunset McCall felt certain they'd been identified correctly. Still, he accepted the offer and took a quick scan.

He couldn't see their shoulder straps from this distance but knew them to be captains - though more importantly they were also members of General McClellan's staff. Albert V. Colburn was an adjutant. His traveling companion was listed on the U.S. Army rolls as Captain Philippe d'Orleans, though most Americans referred to him as the Count of Paris. Over in Europe they called him Prince Louis-Philippe Albert d'Orléans, Comte de Paris. Grandson of the last King of France, he was indeed heir to his country's throne.

McCall returned the field glasses to the watch. "General," the soldier asked him, "you reckon they're coming out to see if we found any of those Quaker guns?" McCall pretended to ignore the question. "Keep a sharp eye out," he said, "there are men out there with real ones." A word from McCall was usually sufficient; he could claim more military experience than any hundred other men in his division of the Army of the Potomac combined. A West Point graduate and veteran of the Mexican War, he had retired after 31 years of active duty service back in 1853. Eight years later he was in the US Army once again, performing duty much more active than most...

He strode back to his headquarters tent, arriving even as a soldier drove the last stake into the ground. He looked it over quickly, it met his approval. He let the men see him test the tautness of one of the ropes, then gave a quick "good work, Sergeant" to the man in charge of the detail on his way in. They were good troops. A few months earlier the federal government hadn't even wanted his Pennsylvania Volunteers; the state had already filled its quota of men. That changed after Bull Run. Fortunately, Pennsylvania had seen fit to equip his outfit anyway, so they were ready when the call finally came. He could be proud of his state's response to the crisis. So many Pennsylvanians had volunteered that they even had a brigade serving as the First California, currently under command of Senator Baker and part of Stone's Division, stationed not far away from this very spot.

McCall entered his tent. "Make sure there's plenty of coffee brewing," he told his adjutant. "We're entertaining visitors tonight." "Already started, sir," came the reply.

It had been a long day. He'd received orders that morning from General McClellan to march his division westward from his Langley area headquarters and survey the area. Combat wasn't expected, and thus far hadn't been found. All along the line the secessionists appeared to be pulling back - they'd even abandoned Leesburg. At least, that's what McClellan had assured McCall at their morning meeting. As the Pennsylvanians passed through Dranesville this day residents there gave the same report - that Evan's Division had left Leesburg for Manassas earlier that week. It was good to know, but McCall was not to go that far forward on this mission; his brief expedition would confirm their absence from this vicinity and also give his men much needed practice in movement through enemy territory. And while his purpose wasn't to hold the ground, the survey was essential and more than cursory. Once completed they'd have up to date maps of a region expected to be either a future battlefield or the route to one.

The sound of horses drew him back outside to greet his guests. "Gentlemen," he announced as they dismounted, "we are honored by your visit." The captains saluted and dusted themselves off a bit before following him back into the tent. "General McClellan sends his regards, sir," said Colburn. "He was somewhat surprised to find you weren't in Dranesville."

McCall paused a moment, rapidly collecting his thoughts, as Colburn added "He sent us on to locate you."

"There wasn't enough water there to encamp this number of men," McCall stated. He had nearly 5,000 just about finished setting up camp in the immediate vicinity, and that many again not far away. "I take it the General requires me in Dranesville?" It was a very few miles back, a brief ride. At a nod from Colburn he gave orders to his adjutant to have his horse made ready, the younger officer quickly departed the tent. "We should have coffee ready shortly," McCall told his guests. "If you gentlemen believe we have time for a cup before we go."

"Sir," Colburn replied, and there was a bit of hesitation in his voice, "General McClellan's advice is that if you believe your position here is not a strong one you should pull back and establish camp at Dranesville."

"We're secure here," McCall explained. "I don't believe there are more than a handful of rebel soldiers in the area. Scouts, not even pickets. My scouts encountered very few in their preliminary reconnaissance - and you might see a riderless horse or two during your travels as a result. But this is good ground and I've enough men here to defend it."

"Very good sir," Colburn replied. "But to be clear, General McClellan wants you to understand that if you believe your position here is not a strong one you should return to Dranesville and establish camp there."

"I understand, Captain," said McCall - and certainly he was beginning to... "I'll reassure the General on the appropriateness of this site when we speak tonight." He kept his eyes locked with Colburn's, who remained silent a moment, looking uncomfortable, until the Count of Paris cleared his throat. "General," Colburn said quietly, a note of sympathy in his voice, "the Commanding General would be better satisfied if you and your men returned to Dranesville."

It was going to be a very long night.

His adjutant returned. "Coffee's ready, General."

(Part two is here...)

Bibliography:

Report of the United States Congress Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War, Vol 2, pages 257-264, Testimony of Brigadier General George A. McCall.

 

The Long Roll (7)

[Greyhawk]

(Continuing a story begun here.)

October 21, 1861: As Colonel Augustus Morse waited with his esteemed guest, the Honorable Thomas Holliday Hicks, Governor of Maryland, he took the opportunity to thank him once again for his efforts on behalf of the regiment. That very day an expedition was departing Annapolis for Hampton Roads, thence to South Carolina (though destination officially unknown) for purpose accurately supposed to be actual battle. Morse's 21st Massachusetts had been selected to go, too - in fact, his men had worked diligently at loading stores on the ships, and actually seemed to be looking forward to seeing some real action. But the Governor had contacted General Dix and the War Department, requesting they be retained at Annapolis - the exemplary conduct of the men when dealing with the local citizens, he argued, made them best fit for the crucial mission they had here: protecting the railroad from sabotage and stopping smugglers bound for Virginia - all while maintaining good terms with the local citizenry. This suited Colonel Morse just fine; if asked he'd state his belief that his troops had become quite proficient at their current mission, and though making progress in that direction really weren't combat ready just yet. Worse still, they were currently dealing with a smallpox outbreak among the men. (If pressed, he'd have to admit there was only one case so far - but clearly a major concern...)

So, shortly before the expedition was to depart, the 21st was replaced by another regiment. If that "vexed" many of the officers and men - as they claimed it did - (some, Morse had heard, said they "much preferred taking a hand in the conciliation of the fiery State of South Carolina, to winning the golden opinions of the people of Annapolis by our pacific behavior") so be it. Just another example of their lack of proper military discipline. If these days he seemed to be getting the same sorts of looks they'd given him during the dress parade back in Baltimore, as they passed in review in the rain while he stood watching under his umbrella, he could take it. For now he could even pretend not to notice - but obviously this lot of men still had much to learn about real soldiering before they'd be ready for real war, and, thanks to Governor Hicks, Morse would have the chance to teach them.

Of course, the Governor hadn't come to receive thanks or praise...

The Colonel's runner found one of the company commanders inspecting his troops. "Colonel Morse's orders," he began - but the Captain kept his focus on the musket he'd just been presented by a private in the lines. The weapon was little more than junk, but he could find no fault with his soldier's care and maintenance of it. Thus satisfied, he returned it, then moved to the next man in formation, but also directed a question to the messenger. "What is it this time? Another man shot by our own guards?"

He accepted the weapon from his next soldier in line and began his examination. Their muskets left much to be desired - heavy, bulky, smooth-bored and "altered from flint locks," they had limited range compared to modern weapons said to be in the possession of every Confederate soldier - but two members of the regiment already had confirmed kills with them. Such a record might normally be cause for some unit pride, as that was two more than most other regiments of the Army of the Potomac combined, but since the men they'd killed had also been members of this regiment, it wasn't.

The first incident had happened about a month before. Corporal Hayden was Corporal of the Guard that night. He'd posted his men, then returned along the line to check on them. As he approached one at his station - guarding a headquarters building - he was slightly annoyed to hear him demand the countersign. Hayden stopped. He was only a few feet away, the moon was shining brightly, and he knew that he was recognized. "Good on you for being alert," he told him, "but this is an interior post, and that's not required." He began to move on toward his next post. The guard took his assigned mission seriously - he was determined to be a good soldier. Not having received the proper countersign, he did his duty as he saw it.

The sound of the shot drew a crowd. No surprise there, but the now thoroughly rattled guard didn't expect the response from those who'd gathered around Hayden as he lay dying on the ground. Corporal Hayden was well liked, and those who saw him bleeding there seemed angry enough to kill his shooter on the spot; the only thing that saved him was the protection of the other guards who'd come running at the sound of the fatal shot, too. As it was, they later conducted a "Court Martial," which was what the army called a trial. (The army had its own name for everything, it seemed, so you had to learn everything you knew all over again before you could be a good soldier.) There, three considerations led to his acquittal. One, he thought he was doing his duty - because two, he'd never been properly instructed in what his duty was. Anyone unconvinced by those arguments couldn't deny the truth of the third: the accused was only 15 years old. He'd learned a hard lesson, but deserved a second chance.

The regiment learned from that tragedy, too. "After this sad affair," one member later recalled, "the interior sentinels at Post Naval School, a place as safe as Boston Common, were not posted with loaded guns."

Nearly two weeks passed before they had another such incident. This time a lieutenant was killed by one of the pickets placed around the perimeter. As the hapless soldier explained it...

"I ordered him to halt four times before I fired; he made no answer, and did not stop; when I first halted him he was twenty or thirty feet off, the last time he was nearly at the point of my bayonet; he had on an overcoat buttoned up to the chin, and I did not know him, but thought he was a secessionist, and was afraid of my life. I fired and he fell, his coat flew open and I saw who it was. I fell down beside him and took his hand and said, 'Why didn't you answer.' I should not have killed him if I had known him; he was my best friend. I thought I was doing my duty and no more."

Fortunately for him, the lieutenant was gut shot, and lived long enough to confirm his story before witnesses. "Tell the colonel that I exonerate the man from all blame," he begged the surgeon (serendipitously named Dr Calvin Cutter), adding "give my love to all the officers of the regiment and to my folks." If there were lessons learned from this second fatal mishap, you don't want to die from a gut wound would be among them.

On an every two weeks basis, the regiment was due for another such incident. The Captain returned the musket to his soldier, then asked him a quick question on the duties of a guard posted on the perimeter lines. The satisfactory answer earned a "well down, soldier" response. He then turned the company over to the care of his First Lieutenant, and stepped off a few yards to speak with the man sent to fetch him. He would rather have been sailing for South Carolina that day; now he was being interrupted from even continuing the endless stream of routine tasks necessary to prepare his men for war - should they ever get another opportunity to join one somewhere.

"The Colonel wants you to lead a search for a runaway slave supposed to be hiding somewhere around here," the orderly told him. Both men glanced in the direction they'd last seen the topic of their discussion, but he wasn't there now. "I'll be damned if I came South to hunt slaves," the Captain declared. "Captain Walker gave the same response," came the reply, "and Colonel Morse is not a happy camper today." The Captain looked as if he was about to say more - but he checked himself, and turned a full circle where he stood. "There," he announced on completing his manhunt, "give Colonel Morse my regrets, tell him you saw me search the area to no avail." The orderly smiled, saluted, and with a crisp "sir, yes sir" moved on to the next company area, where much the same dialog was repeated.

"You know, sir," the Colonel said proudly to the Governor, "my troops really have come a long way since that day we first arrived here in your fair city." The Colonel accepted the Governor's silence as encouragement to go on. "Why, we had something of a first-class alarm the first night we were here. A sentinel in the dark fired at some phantom he claimed he saw 'creeping towards him.' My men were untested back then, and nervous at being in a new place, and in fairness, they'd been taken in by so much misinformation they'd received as to the good nature of the people of your fine State. So the alarm spread rapidly, and soon enough all our sentinels were loading and firing as fast as possible in all directions, and bullets were hissing about everywhere even as the rest of the men were forming up in response. Fortunately the guards exhausted their ammunition before anyone was hit. It could have been a tragedy, but I'm proud to say this was the last entirely causeless alarm to occur in the 21st. I've since done quite well at instilling some discipline in them, if I say so myself."

He went on to remind his guest - subtly, of course - that he was actually a Major General in the Massachusetts Militia, and had accepted a federal commission as a mere colonel because he believed he could best serve his nation by guiding these green young men in the war to reunite the Republic - much as we might abhor the necessity of such a thing. Not to say, however, that he didn't have certain talents for larger tasks. He withdrew a comb from his pocket, and handed it to the Governor, who looked curiously upon it.

"That was manufactured by the G & A Morse Company, of Leominster," he said with pride, pointing to the maker's mark. "My brother and I built that company into one of the largest such in America, and there's not a finer comb made anywhere in the world. There's not a man from Massachusetts in this army who didn't march off without a G & A Morse comb in his haversack."

"It's quite nice," the Governor acknowledged, handing it back. "Oh, no sir," declared the Colonel, "you keep that one. If you'll accept my compliment... you, sir, have a fine head of hair, and deserve nothing but the best." Hicks examined it closely, after seeing nothing moving on it slid it into his own pocket. "A man can never have too many combs," he remarked - and the Colonel quickly agreed, adding "And I couldn't help but notice by your close inspection you're a man with an appreciative eye for fine craftsmanship."

"I would presume the Maryland Regiments have already been so outfitted..." the Colonel continued, but the return of his orderly cut short the conversation. "Sir," he announced, "I engaged every company commander in the search. There are no runaways to be found in this camp."

The Governor, however, was unsatisfied. He'd been quite certain of the accuracy of the intel he'd received on the whereabouts of his man. "Well, Colonel," he announced, "I won't be taking more of your time today. Perhaps another letter to General Dix will yield better results. Good day, sir." And with that, he departed. The Colonel believed the Governor's suspicions well-founded and his response understandable - and potentially disastrous. He began to regret having ignored rumors he'd heard of earlier incidents of this nature involving less prominent local property owners. He turned to his orderly. "Have the captains assemble here immediately after the evening mess," he ordered. The orderly saluted smartly and left before the Colonel had a chance to return it. Had Morse noticed he might have corrected that discrepancy on the spot, but he had to hurry off himself to have a final word with the Governor before he got away.

"Gentlemen," the Colonel addressed his officers. "You may believe you want to join the battle immediately - but I urge you to reconsider. That time will come soon enough when you, too might have the opportunity to request Dr Cutter send your love to all the officers of the regiment and to your folks back home. But mark my words - the more we prepare for it, the less likely that will be. And the man who came here today, seeking only the return of his own lawful property, is a man who has done much to save you from the red hot shells awaiting you down south."

He paused for a moment to let that sink in. "And what was your response to his kindness?" Another pause, during which no answer was expected. "Base ingratitude. Nothing but base ingratitude. I can assure you, - because this the Governor told me himself - you will be sorry for this day's work..."

Meanwhile, as another soldier would recall the day's end, "the innocent cause of this pleasing little episode was hidden in a chimney of one of the buildings, and escaped as soon as it was dark, in a boat which some of the men kindly stole for him in the town." They'd done this a good many times during their stay in Maryland, he boasted, but "we had more fun out of this case than any other."

The fun wore off.

"October 24th. We heard the exaggerated first reports of the battle of Ball's Bluff, and of the fearful slaughter in our brother Worcester County regiment, the 15th Massachusetts. The rebels were reported to have killed hundreds of them with long-range rifles, while they themselves were beyond the reach of the smooth-bores carried by the 15th, and to have massacred most of the rest of them with bowie knives on the precipitous river bank, or while trying to swim the river. As we were armed with smooth-bores of the poorest description, the men began to complain bitterly because our wealthy government did not arm us as well as the rebels. It was also rumored in the city that ten thousand rebels had crossed the Potomac and were marching on Annapolis. Fearing a rising of the rebel element, twenty rounds of ball cartridges a man were issued, and the regiment held ready throughout the night to act at a moment's notice."

"In the morning," however, "the alarm was found to be entirely groundless."

Postscript: shortly after, "we were greatly pleased when we heard Governor Andrew [of Massachusetts] had been at Annapolis, had promised us new guns, and that we had been assigned to the Ninth Army Corps and were to go on the Burnside Expedition" to North Carolina, wrote James Madison Stone. By the time they deployed, the men of the 21st Massachusetts not only had new rifled guns, but a new commander as well. Thus, when they finally shipped out, Colonel Morse was with them only long enough to bid them a fond farewell...

The regiment formed line at nine o'clock A. M., ready to embark, and Colonel Morse bade us good-by (for he was to remain at Annapolis in command of the post), telling us if we got into a fight to stay till we "lost some men."

(Next: A Slight Demonstration)

The Long Roll (6)

[Greyhawk]

May, 1861: The drum sounded the long roll. It was just a drill - but the men stopped what they were otherwise doing and hurried into formation. Their previous tasks might have been important enough in the moment - but collectively they were protecting Boston from an attack by the Confederate Navy. Should the Confederates ever build ships and man them and send them this way, they'd find the garrison at Ft Warren protecting Boston Harbor a well-drilled group, ready to repel their assault.

Except for the one empty space in the formation... ahh - the sound of one set of hurrying footsteps and then panting - music to a First Sergeant's ear. "Glad you could join us, Brown," he deadpanned - then pondered having them fall out to do it all over again.

He was about to give his troops a demonstration of his prodigious talent as an extemporaneous speaker, but this time a soldier standing somewhere near Brown in the formation beat him to it. Men in the ranks always made sport of each other, and some had names that were easy targets for their comrades' sense of humor. This late arrival had a common name, ordinarily he'd be as immune to such jabs as "Joe Smith" or "Tom Adams" or "Zebediah Crane" - but this unfortunate soldier shared his name with a notorious dead abolitionist: John Brown. Whichever of the many barracks wits spoke up in that moment spoke quietly, but in the otherwise silence the voice carried: "Brown, you just gotta be faster than that if you're goin'ta help us free the slaves."

The men tried not to laugh; many succeeded. "As you were," - the First Sergeant had no need to muffle his voice - "You all better be faster next time you hear that call." He offered them a bit more advice on better living, then dismissed them. A few slapped Brown on the back as they wandered away, whatever taunts they might have delivered he could send back in kind - and all were smiling, their senior NCO noted. Brown was a good soldier - or at least, had the makings of one. Nearly all of them did. This was a good group, his company. He believed they could make a real contribution to this coming war - if only they could get off this damned island before it was done.

Mrs Holmes opened the letter just delivered from Wendell... "My Dear Mother.." he'd begun. She smiled. Her boy had been at Ft Independence out on Castle Island for only a day or two - and already he was writing home.

May 1, 1861
Fort Independence

My Dear Mother

I have just time to write you a word that I'm in bully condition and have got to enjoying the life much - I've a slight cold in the head but not annoying. I've had my hair cut by a combination of G. Perry and Niles in regular Jail-bird stile...

Turning to page two she stared speechless for a moment at the sketch he'd so courteously provided, presuming (correctly, of course) she wasn't familiar with "jail bird stile."

"Moustache cut like hair." he added. To that he appended a list of items he'd like sent out to the island - fresh meat, several pounds of butter, olives, "etc"... handkerchiefs, towels, a carpet bag with plenty of space in it - "Send the big one quickly..."

That will grow out a bit before he comes home off that island, she thought to herself as she began her search for the carpet bag she'd told him to take in the first place...

On a quiet evening Holmes gazed from Ft Independence out towards Ft Warren, on Georges Island. The faint but unmistakable sound of singing had drawn his attention. "Serenading us again," he remarked to his companion on the watch. "They never tire of that song," came the reply. It seemed odd at first, a few lines of song followed by a like period of silence, then the identical lines of song again - repeated and repeated... Then one of the other men had recognized it. "Why that's 'Say brothers will you meet us?'," he declared - a song recently popular in the camp meeting-type religious revivals. "We're only hearing the chorus," he explained. "One man's over there singing the verses - stuff about 'brothers will you meet us on Canaan's happy shore', and 'by the grace of God we'll meet you where parting is no more' and 'Jesus lives and reigns forever' and such. We can't hear him, but when the entire host joins in on the chorus it carries."

"Devout lot, aren't they?" Holmes murmured, pulling off his cap and running his fingers through his hair. "The country's going to war, and they're out there holding all day religious revivals."

"You might get a bit of the old time religion yourself one of these days, Holmes," his friend replied. "Wait 'til we're charging rebel guns somewhere..."

"I might pray to get off his island before the war ends," Holmes vowed. They strained to listen to another distant chorus."As for the rest of it, father and I have discussed that sort of deathbed recantation, and we agreed that it generally means nothing but a cowardly giving way to fear." Holmes seemed to be issuing a challenge.

"Those boys seem to be true believers," his friend responded, nodding toward Ft Warren. Indeed, the latest chorus sounded loudest of all. "They do have fine voices, too," he added after a moment's reflection. And it is a catchy tune, he thought. He'd heard the men in this fort humming it from time to time. In fact, he saw Holmes' foot tapping even now...

In Ft Warren the other members of the "glee club" were waiting on one last singer - and here he came now. "Gentlemen," one called, "welcome the late John Brown."

"Why, that can't be John Brown," chimed in another. He removed his hat and placed it over his heart in mock solemnity. "John Brown is... dead."

"He's dead?" asked another, joining the performance and feigning shock and sadness.

"Yes, dead." Replied the first, then in a dramatic tone he added, "John Brown's dead, and his body lies mouldering in the grave." He said it again, drawing out the words for emphasis, like a camp meeting preacher would. "Mooouuldering in the graaaaave." They all doffed their hats - including John Brown - and stood in a silent circle.

One began to sing, in a mournful voice. This was their ritual - and entertainment for themselves and the camp. They'd take a well-known song and twist their own words into it, and the previous line had inspired one to improvise a new verse to a favorite. To the tune of "Say brothers will you meet us?" he began slowly, like a funeral dirge: "John Brown's body lies a' mouldering in the grave..." and the men in the circle made weeping noises, while others gathered for the show. "John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave," repeated another. Then a third "John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave..." and the small group in the circle raised their voices together for the last line - sung at the normal marching tempo of the song - "as we go marching on."

Everyone in earshot joined in the chorus. Then each member of the circle was required to start a new verse in turn. If, like the first, it had never been sung before, all the better. If it would make the chaplain blush, better still. Tonight the early verses were all about John Brown - not the one whose body actually was mouldering in the grave, but the one singing right there with them. He'd gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord, they sang, he'd gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord, he'd gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord, and we go marching on. The crowd grew, and increasing numbers meant a louder chorus, and still more joining in. Those who couldn't gather round would sing where they were, while they worked. (Supposedly the contractor had finished this place years before - but there was plenty of work waiting for them when they'd arrived. Many of the men thus employed shared the sentiment expressed by John Brown himself: "I did not enlist to hang around some fort; I want to be a real soldier!")

They'd pretty much beat the John Brown theme to death after "John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back," - so it was time for a new topic for the verses. "We'll hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree!" someone shouted, and that went around. As usual, with each verse the song became further and further removed from what the folks who sang it at the camp revivals would recognize - or find acceptable. Except that - in a sort of extra profane fashion - each verse was followed by the same camp meeting chorus, that everyone seemed to love to sing. After pledging to hang the Confederate President, they came up with a real corker: "We'll feed him sour apples 'till he gets the diarrhee, feed him sour apples 'till he gets the diarrhee (laughter and whooping from the crowd on this one - it was a favorite) feed him sour apples 'till he gets the diarrhee - as we go marching on!

Their lyrics could get much worse... "C'mon boys," someone shouted just before launching into a chorus, "let's sing so loud they hear us back in Boston!" And their voices boomed. "Now let's wake those idlers on Castle Island," someone shouted, and they sang that next repetition of the chorus even louder:

Glory, glory halelujah!
Glory, glory halelujah!
Glory, glory halelujah,
    as we go marching on!

(Part seven is here...)

 

More on the origin of "The John Brown Song"

George Kimball, "Origin of the John Brown Song", The New England Magazine Volume 7 Issue 4 (December 1889) [pp. 371-377]

Frederick Morse Cutler, The 55th artillery (C.A.C.) in the American expeditionary forces, France, 1918 (pp 261-264)

Robert W. Allen, "Say Brother, Who Wrote This Melody?"

Benjamin Soskis and John Stauffer, "John Brown Marches On," The New York Times, July 17 2011

 

The Long Roll (5)

[Greyhawk]

October 21, 1861: Perhaps he was too small to be seen - perhaps he was an unremarkable sight, or perhaps the bloody corpse carried on a stretcher he was accompanying drew the full attention of the men going the opposite way - toward the battle. Whatever the case, when John Adams wrote of his experience at Ball's Bluff he didn't mention Ithiel Johnson of Oxford, Massachusetts.

Johnson was serving with Colonel Charles Deven's 15th Massachusetts - that morning, as he later remembered the story, he'd been awakened by the long roll...

On the 21st of October, 1861, occurred the battle of Ball's Bluff, and we were awakened at two in the morning by the beating of drums and the regiment was ordered out and told to march to Conrad's Ferry, nine miles away. We reached the banks of the Potomac river in the early morning. I had been told not to cross the river, but when I heard the firing of guns, boy like, I was anxious to go and watched for a chance to cross...

The 15th had abandoned him in Maryland - but soon enough Colonel Baker arrived with his California Regiment...

While Col. Baker was waiting to cross I saw his staff gathered about him, and I listened and heard him say that Stone had ordered him to move his troops to the island, and to remain there until fighting should begin at Edwards' Ferry, and for him to then cross and take Leesburg so as to cut off the rebels' retreat. He disregarded this order for I crossed over in the boat with Baker, and after landing on the island, he walked over to the opposite side and I followed him, here he ordered his troops transported by small boats to the Virginia shore, but I remained on the island. While I stood there I saw the troops cross amid a shower of bullets from Col. Evans' Confederate troops...

Though vividly described, Johnson's memories of that day might have become clouded over the years - but Colonel Baker, who was also a US Senator, certainly didn't have to worry too much about any fallout from disobeying orders from a General. For different reasons, Johnson, too, could get away with disobeying orders and going wherever he might choose. He was 12 years old when his adventure began, and though he was wearing a uniform like the big boys he wasn't a soldier - the only reason he was there at all was because he'd disobeyed his parents' orders and run off to war.

At home, however, my parents informed me I could not go, and when I continued to tease for permission, they took away my good jacket, trousers and boots, thinking I would be ashamed to return to the camp in my shabby barn clothes. But I was determined to go, so I slipped away, barefoot and destitute, ready and willing to help reunite the precious union...

I hid in the baggage as the regiment boarded the train, and it wasn't until we started to move that I dared to jump on. As we passed through Oxford the townspeople were out to say farewell to the soldiers. I peered from my hiding place and saw mother among the faces, but she didn't see me. I was sure that one of mother's friends saw me however, and I was sure she told mother I was gone.

He was a determined boy - but eventually something drove him from his hiding place: "In Philadelphia the citizens fed our regiment and I chose to come out of hiding, suffering from a powerful hunger...."

We reached the boat landing at Norwich late in the evening and were loaded to the transport steamers for New York City. Here Capt. Watson called me to him and gave me a severe reprimand for running away from home and ordered me to take the next boat back. Of course I did not obey him but kept myself hid, being sure not to be seen until we reached Philadelphia. I do not remember of having anything to eat since we started except hardtack given to me by the teamsters, but here in Philadelphia the people of the city fed the entire regiment in the "Old Cooper Shop," and I got my share.

We left for Washington about 2 p. m., and as we passed through Baltimore, orders were given to load our guns and be ready for an attack, as the 6th Massachusetts had been fired upon by a mob just before this. We, however, were not molested, but some hooted and yelled insulting remarks...

Once in camp near Washington the officers of the 15th had time to turn their attention to their young stowaway. By then, "I must have been a sight to behold," he later acknowledged, "still bare foot and wearing my tattered overalls."

I was brought before the officers, consisting of Capt. Charles H. Watson, 1st Lieut. Bartholomew, 2nd Lieut. Bernard Vassal, to decide what to do with me. ...Lieut. Bartholomew asked me if I wanted to be a soldier, and when I told him I did, he said, "Well, if you are to be a soldier you must be dressed like one," so he took me into the city and bought me a boy's soldier suit...

In the meantime they sent word to his parents, assuring them their boy would be well cared for, and "escorted home at the earliest possible date." Such opportunities must have been rare; when the 15th moved west along the Potomac Ithiel was still with them, performing odd jobs for the officers who'd adopted him as their mascot, and generally enjoying his grand adventure.

And then came October.

The men crossing to the Virginia side came under heavy fire from Col. Even's confederate troops. The men were in open boats and were showered with bullets. Many were hit, it was a sight never to be forgotten. Bullets fell around me like hail.

I ran to the middle of the island, stray bullets striking all around me. I crawled under a fence for shelter, and was there when the chaplain came by and asked me why I was on the island. I wanted to tell him I was afraid, but just then a bullet slammed into the post by my head. I came out of there rather lively, never stopping to finish my talk with the chaplain.

I walked down to a house the surgeons had converted to a field hospital . . . and I saw my friend Capt. Ward, who had been shot in the leg and had to have it amputated as I watched.

The doctors were all very hard at work, the wounded pouring in steadily from the front. I saw a pile of amputated arms and legs outside a window of the house, the pile measured more than five feet tall, and made me sick to look at it...

"About 3:40 p.m.," he recalled, "I saw Col. Baker's staff rowing his body back to the island" from Virginia - and Ithiel Johnson realized he'd had enough of war. He would return to Maryland the same way he departed, at Colonel Baker's side.

I left the island on the same boat used to carry Baker's body and a number of wounded men back to the Maryland shore. ... As I neared the boat, the chaplain stood by with drawn revolver, vowing to shoot the first man who tried to get aboard if he was not wounded.

Just then I saw Antonne Phillips limping toward the boat. I had not heard that he had been injured, so I asked him, and he said he had been shot. I took him by one arm, the Chaplain took the other, and we helped him into the boat. I slipped in beside him.

When we reached the Maryland shore, to my surprise Antonne Phillips leaped from the boat, slapped his leg and ran into the trees saying, "Antonne is saved again."

The survivors took stock in the days to come. "Our ranks as a company, had been so decimated that Sergeant Shumway was ordered back to Oxford to enlist recruits. As soon as I heard this, I asked permission to return with him, and that permission was granted."

Once back in Oxford he found himself with a final duty to perform. "When I landed in town I was beset on every hand by mothers, lovers, sisters and wives, all asking for the latest news from their men at the front. To some I was obliged to recount the death of a loved one, and to others I had to tell of hospital beds, and of some who were known to be prisoners." That sad task accomplished, he soon reached his journey's end.

I lived about a mile from the station, and while I was talking with the people, a boy preceded me home shouting through the streets, "Ithiel has come, Ithiel has come." So when I came in sight of my house, my precious mother stood in the doorway, weeping for joy at the thought of her boy returning to her whole and safe.

She came down the walk to meet me, put her great loving arms about me and gave me a great kiss of welcome. She said, "Ithiel my boy, I am glad you have come." She never once mentioned my running away from home.

(Part six is here...)

Bibliography:

The Story of my Life: or, Forty Busy Years (1912) Ithiel Town Johnson

Ithiel Johnson: Civil War Boy Soldier, Bowdoinham, Maine Historical Society

 

The Long Roll (4)

[Greyhawk]

October 21, 1861: After hearing musket fire all day the men of the 19th Massachusetts were finally going to war.

Two other regiments from their home state had been the first to cross the Potomac during the pre-dawn hours of that day. Then Company A of the 19th had been tasked as ferry boat pilots - delivering Colonel Baker's California Regiment (that was a confusing name for the outfit; Baker was a Senator from Oregon, and all the men they'd met from the unit were from Pennsylvania) and the 42nd New York from the Maryland shore to Harrison's Island - all while being serenaded by the sound of shooting from the Virginia side of the river. Corporal John Adams and the other men of Company A had become familiar with Colonel Baker that day - he'd spent a bit of time on this side getting things organized.

"At first we pushed the boats over with long poles," Adams recalled, "but the current being very strong they drifted down the river and it was hard to land. After one or two trips a rope was obtained from a passing canal boat and stretched across the river, making transportation much easier."

And back and forth they went, until finally, near the end of the day, it was time for the men of the 19th to cross over to stay. Marching to the sound of the guns they tried to banish from their thoughts whatever visions they'd conjured up to illustrate the scene; they were about to see reality for themselves.

Once on Harrison's Island they were in range of rebel marksmen, close enough to the action that along with the sound of firing "the sound of the minie balls greeted us for the first time." The first thing Adams saw on landing wasn't encouraging, either. "We met four men bearing a stretcher, on which was the lifeless form of Colonel Baker of the 1st California. He was the first man we had seen killed in battle." He'd been shot multiple times - at least one in the head. It must have been quite a sight.

They were still learning to be soldiers, these young men of the 19th, and until this day their biggest battles had been with some of the locals on the Maryland side, contests the men from Massachusetts tended to win. After only a few weeks of army life, Adams already had some good stories to tell the folks at home - if he ever made it back there. "Many incidents occurred at Camp Benton that are pleasant to recall," he wrote. "We were in a country where there were many slaves, all anxious to serve our officers..."

...and nearly every day some citizen would come into camp hunting for his runaway negro. One day a man came to the colonel and was sure one of his negroes was in our camp. Colonel Hincks sent for Sergeant McGinnis of Company K and ordered him to assist in the search. By the look the colonel gave McGinnis it was understood that the slave was not to be found. McGinnis went into the woods with the man. As soon as they were out of sight he halted and cut a switch. "Look here!" said McGinnis, "do you suppose we left Massachusetts and came out here to hunt negroes?" and to add force to his argument he touched the old fellow up with the switch. The man was indignant and said he would report McGinnis to the colonel. " Go ahead and I will go with you." Both went to the colonel, and the citizen told his story with tears in his eyes. Colonel Hincks turned to McGinnis and said, " Sergeant McGinnis, is this true?" "Colonel, do you think I would be seen doing such a thing?" was the reply. "No," said the colonel; "Sergeant McGinnis is a man of truth and I must take his word. You have deceived me, sir; leave this camp and never enter it again." The man, fearing McGinnis might get another chance at him, left as quickly as possible.

There was no cutting of switches today; their opponents were a bit more tenacious. "We were marched across the island, meeting wounded and half-naked men who swam the river," Adams recalled - apparently there weren't many boats for use on the far side of the island, either. They saw that for themselves soon enough; they got there in time to witness the remaining men on the Virginia shore "stampeded."

They rushed down the hill and into the boat. The little craft being overloaded was soon swamped, men were swimming the river to escape, and many a poor fellow, not able to swim, went down before our eyes; others were shot by the rebels when almost within our lines.

Too late for the thick of the battle, the men of the 19th went no further that day - but more was expected. Now tasked to guard against a possible rebel assault, they dug in on Harrison's Island, under fire from the enemy across the river perched above them on Ball's Bluff. The sound of battle became the sound of aftermath - they could hear the cries of wounded comrades on the far shore, and others calling for boats that didn't exist. Then, to top everything off, that night "A drenching rain set in and without overcoats or blankets we remained shivering until morning."

(Part five is here...)

 

The Long Roll (3)

[Greyhawk]

April, 1861 - Clarissa, along with those other residents of Washington D.C. whose sympathies didn't lie with the South, was glad to hear the first regiments of troops called for by President Lincoln had arrived. With Virginia out of the Union and Maryland tilting away, the fate of the city was uncertain, at best, in the weeks after Sumter. Yet in a letter to a friend sent not long after those first regiments arrived she downplayed any earlier sense of peril. "As yet we have had no cause for alarm, if indeed we were disposed to feel any. The city is filling up with troops..."

Another acquaintance had described her as "confident, even enthusiastic" in the wake of Sumter. Where others might be motivated - or discouraged - by preservation of the Union, Clarissa's stance was built on a firm anti-slavery foundation. For her the war began not with secession, or Sumter, but in 1856 when Charles Sumner delivered his "The Crime Against Kansas" speech in the Senate. She was ready - the rest of the nation could now catch up to her. "She had feared that the Southern aristocracy, by their close combination and superior political training, might succeed in gradually subjugating the whole country;" her friend later recalled, "but of that there was no longer any danger..."

"...The war might be long and bloody, but the rebels had abandoned a policy on which the odds were in favor of their ultimate success, for one in which they had no chance at all. For herself, she had saved a little in time of peace, and she intended to devote it and herself to the service of her country and humanity. If war must be, she neither expected nor desired to come out of it with a dollar. If she survived, she could no doubt earn a living. And if she died, it was no matter."

If she seemed rather dismissive of ever having had cause for alarm in the light of day after the troops had arrived, then her earlier pronouncements reveal someone rather difficult to alarm. "I think the city will be attacked within the next sixty days," she'd written her niece just after Sumter. "If it must be, let it come, and when there is no longer a soldier's arm to raise the Stars and Stripes above our Capitol, may God give strength to mine."

Clarissa wasn't typical of her times. She'd been a school teacher in Massachusetts, but had determined that as noble a calling as it was, that wasn't the life for her. Now, in 1861, she was working in the US Patent Office in Washington. On hearing that the 6th Massachusetts had arrived from her home state - and that they'd had to fight their way through Baltimore to get there - images of her former students no doubt came to mind. They were quartered in the Capitol Building - at least, those who weren't in the infirmary. She made her way to both in those days, determined to bind their wounds and feed them, and described that experience in her no cause for alarm letter to a friend.

"The wounded at the Infirmary are all improving -- some of them recovered and joined the regiment. We visited the regiment yesterday at the Capitol and found some old friends and acquaintances from Worcester. Their baggage was all seized and they have nothing but their heavy woolen clothes -- not a cotton shirt -- and many of them not even a pocket handkerchief. We of course emptied our pockets and came home to tear up old sheets for towels and handkerchiefs, and have filled a large box with all manner of serving utensils, thread, needles, thimbles, scissors, pins, buttons, strings, salves, tallow, etc., etc., -- have filled the largest market basket in the house and it will go to them in the next hour.

"But don't tell us they are not determined -- just fighting mad -- They had just one Worcester Spy of the 22d and all were so anxious to know the contents that they begged me to read it aloud to them, which I did. You would have smiled to see me and my audience in the Senate Chamber of the U.S. Oh! but it was better attention than I have been accustomed to see there in the old times. Ber writes his mother that Oxford is raising a company. God bless her and the noble fellows who may leave their quiet happy homes to come at the call of their country. So far as our poor efforts can reach they shall never lack a kindly hand or a sister's sympathy if they come."

She would soon exhaust all resources she had - but it occurred to her that with a letter or an advertisement in the Worcester Spy calling for donations from the folks back home she might be able to keep her efforts going a bit longer. Clarissa wasn't the sort to wonder 'what could one woman do?' - she was the sort to do.

My friends call me Clara, she might tell the youthful troops while changing their bandages or serving them a meal through the years to come. But the more formal among them would insist on "Miss Barton" - though all would declare her an angel.

(Part four here...)

 

The Long Roll (2)

[Greyhawk]

(Part one here.)

As James Madison Stone recalled the passage of the 21st Massachusetts Volunteers to Baltimore, "All the way through New Jersey the people were out in the streets waving their handkerchiefs and bidding us goodbye. So much goodbye-saying annoyed me after a time, and I withdrew inside the car out of sight and engaged my mind with other thoughts."

He wasn't yet completely jaded on the whole experience - Philadelphia, in particular, left a good impression on the young would-be warrior:

Here we were marched to the Cooper Shop saloon and were given a fine supper. We were very hungry and that supper was so good. We were made so welcome and everything connected with it was so kindly and so genuine that through all our lives this was one of the incidents we looked back to with a feeling of grateful appreciation.

From that point on, however, they got less of a welcome. Their next stop was Maryland.

Havre-de-Grace, where we arrived the next morning, August 25th, will always be remembered as the place where we received our first ammunition and where for the first time, we loaded our muskets with real ball cartridges. We were nearing Baltimore and would soon be on the edge of Rebeldom, but when we arrived in Baltimore, nothing occurred out of the ordinary. We marched unmolested and unnoticed through the city to Patterson Park, where we went into camp.

The regiment's history provides a few more dramatic details of the last leg of their journey.

We parted from our kind friends after midnight, and reached Havre-de-Grace at about five o clock on the morning of Sunday, the 25th. Here, the report spread through the regiment that a message had come from Baltimore that we would have to fight our way through the city, and as ball cartridges were served out to us for the first time we thought that it was probably true. We arrived in Baltimore early in the fore noon, and filed quietly from the cars into the street. Though we had not been at all alarmed at the prospect of having a chance to deal with a Baltimore mob, we, of course, were very glad to be received in a peaceful if not friendly manner. Nobody appeared to have us on their minds for either good or ill.

Colonel Morse went to report to General Dix, in command at Baltimore, for orders; and we waited hour after hour in the hot sun for his return; at last he came and informed us that we were to stay in Baltimore... we left the railroad station at half-past three in the afternoon, and with fixed bayonets and loaded guns marched through the crowded streets of the city to Patterson Park, receiving neither welcome nor insult on the way.

It's possible that during those hours with General Dix he'd been briefed on the experiences of others who'd passed through Patterson Park recently, including Rufus Dawes' Lemonweir Minute Men - at last mustered into federal service as part of the 6th Regiment, Wisconsin Volunteers. They, too, had received a ceremonial presentation of the colors and a rousing send-off (six thousand patriotic visitors gathered at Camp Randall, near Madison, to cheer their boys off to war) - followed by an even longer trek to Baltimore.

"Our journey through from Madison to Harrisburg was like a triumphal march," Dawes recalled.

Men, women and children, crowded in hundreds and thousands at every town and city, to hail us and to cheer us on our way to help rescue the down trodden flag. This shows how the people are aroused. At Milwaukee an abundant table was spread for us. At Racine, Kenosha, and Chicago the haversacks of our men were crammed with every delicacy...

And so it went - until they arrived in Baltimore.

We marched several miles through the streets of Baltimore last night, without arms. We were escorted by two hundred armed police. Our boys were well supplied with brick bats. The rebel Plug Uglies commenced an attack on Bragg's Company, "E," which marched just in front of my company, but it was promptly suppressed by the police. The streets were jammed with people, as we marched, and the excitement was very great. The sentiments expressed were spitefully hostile. There is a slumbering Volcano in Baltimore ready to break out at any success of the Rebellion. Your imagination cannot picture with what unction they would roll under their tongues such morsels as, "Bull Run you blue bellies!" "How do you like Bull Run?" "It was Yankees Run." We have come into a different atmosphere.

Nonetheless, "I hope we may remain here awhile," Dawes said of Patterson Park. "We need drill badly."

Drill is a fine thing for instilling teamwork and discipline - but if they intended to convince their southern cousins to rejoin the Union, they'd also need guns.

August, 5th 1861 - "Our camp was attacked about midnight by the Plug-Uglies of Baltimore. A fire was opened on our Guards, who promptly replied, and the bullets whistled occasionally through the camp. Several companies were turned out and quiet soon restored. Fortunately none of our men were struck." This little affair was our first contact with rebels who would shoot. In some respects it was a very laughable experience. When the firing began, which was after midnight, I formed my men in the company street and loaded up with brick bats. We had no guns. Companies "A" and "B" only had been armed as yet, and they were on guard duty contending with the foe. I sent Lieutenant Kellogg to the Colonel for instructions. This was super serviceable as the Colonel would have sent for us if he had needed our brick bats. Lieutenant Kellogg wandered around in the dark night and found the Colonel in the back part of the camp where the firing was the hottest. What instructions he received we never learned, as he fell into a dreadful hole in his reckless rush to bring them to us, and his condition of body and mind was such that he did nothing but swear a blue streak about his own mishap. With us the tragedy ended with a roaring farce.

The reader is left to imagine to what purpose dreadful holes might be dug in large army camps... however, Dawes concluded, "Lieut. Kellogg was of quick blood and it was not always safe to congratulate him as the only man wounded in the Battle of Patterson Park."

Their stay in Baltimore was brief, but before leaving they were issued replacements for their brickbats.

On the seventh day of August we moved on to Washington. The order came while the regiment was engaged in the evening Dress Parade, and it was received with enthusiasm. Our orders were to move at once, and there was hurrying in hot haste. The regiment had been armed, while at Patterson Park, with Belgian muskets, a heavy, clumsy gun, of large caliber, and not to be compared with the Springfield rifled musket.

Whatever their shortcomings, the Belgian muskets were effective enough at one task: "We again marched through the streets of Baltimore at night." Dawes recalled. "Our muskets were loaded and my letter says, 'at half cock,' and we received from all citizens the compliment of respectful silence."

Weeks later, after his regiment arrived unmolested at Patterson Park, Colonel Morse strove to impress upon his soldiers the gravity of the threat confronting them - and urged them not to let their thus-far uneventful travel lull them into letting their guard down.

They were unimpressed.

On the 26th [August], the colonel impressed upon the regiment the fact that we were now in the enemy's country, and the necessity of constant vigilance against attack. To make it certain in case of a night attack that we should have an understood signal for prompt turning out, he gave us the word "Boston" as an alarm cry, to be used only in a case of real necessity. As a natural result, the silence of midnight was broken by the cry "Boston;" then a gun was fired; the sentinels all yelled "Boston," and so did the men generally as they tumbled out of their tents to form line, with the long roll beating vigorously. It wasn't a scary alarm, and when the colonel found that most of the men were laughing in the ranks he sent the regiment back to quarters. The colonel suspected Captain Rogers of starting the alarm, but could not prove it; whoever did it had reason to be proud of his success.

(Part three here...)

 

The Long Roll

[Greyhawk]

October 21st, 1861, the day two of his fellow Massachusetts regimental commanders led their troops in close combat with enemy forces at Ball's Bluff, Colonel Augustus Morse, commander of the 21st Massachusetts Infantry found himself in a different sort of battle. His unit was camped at Annapolis, capital of Maryland and home of the US Naval Academy. Far removed from the western regions of the state where observation was the order of the day, the 21st was very much in the expected center of things - near enough to Baltimore and Washington and northern Virgina, where any piece of ground was a potential battlefield just a short march away, if one didn't erupt right where they were.

Thus far one hadn't. But exchanging bullets and blood for real estate was not the only way to win or lose a war, and now Morse was confronted with something that, while potentially explosive, was a situation no tactics manual addressed. He was entertaining a visitor that day, a local slave owner who'd come on an unpleasant task. It seemed one of his slaves had run off, and was reportedly seen sneaking into this very camp - and now he left no doubt he expected the full cooperation of these Massachusetts soldiers in getting his property back. Morse might have preferred to tell the fine gentleman that he had more important things to deal with that day - but since the aggrieved property owner in this case was the Governor of Maryland he'd probably have a tough time convincing him. So the Colonel summoned his officers - while elsewhere other members of the regiment helped the Governor's runaway hide in the chimney of another building in the camp.

The Colonel glanced at his regimental colors. This sort of thing was not what Morse had in mind when he'd listened to the stirring departure speech delivered to his regiment back home in Massachusetts just a few weeks before. "Colonel Morse, officers, and soldiers of the Twenty-first," began Alexander Hamilton Bullock, of late mayor of Worcester but now their voice in the Massachusetts House of Representatives, "I have been requested by the patriotic ladies of Worcester to present from their hands these regimental colors."

Summoned to the field sooner than you or we had expected, in the haste of your departure it is only fit that I should detain you long enough to commit to your keeping this proof of the interest which the city of your first encampment cherishes in your welfare, and of the devotion of her heart of hearts to the cause which your arms defend.

Indeed, they hadn't expected to leave quite so soon - though not a man among them wasn't eager to get going. Bullock wouldn't emphasize it, but the disaster that befell the Union army at Bull Run had heightened the sense of urgency in Washington, and in the wake of that battle no one would argue against newly-arrived General McClellan's perception that the forces he had available to defend the nation's capital were hopelessly outnumbered by the secessionists surrounding it.

Thus regiments were always hurrying off sooner than expected these days - another hastily assembled Worcester unit, the 15th, had departed just a few days in advance of the 21st. So it had been since Sumter, when the first to go found war sooner than they expected it - having to fight their way through Baltimore to get to Washington, rebuilding sabotaged bridges on the way. But that bloody welcome had only served to further inspire the citizens of Massachusetts (and elsewhere north of the Mason-Dixon), who were more determined than ever to answer their nation's call. The response to Sumter was men, to Baltimore, more - and to Bull Run faster. By autumn 1861 George McClellan would have an army of over 150,000 camped in and around Washington - more than triple the number of inexperienced troops unprepared for combat than his predecessor.

Like the 15th before them, the 21st was heading for Maryland - and in his sendoff Bullock made reference to what might await them there. "Men of Franklin, and Berkshire, and Hampden, and Worcester, I invoke you to contemplate the position of the proud Commonwealth you represent..."

"The muse of history has with a new title assigned the Nineteenth of April, among the holy days of her calendar. The genius of her people reopened the highway to the capital. The gallantry of her sons will ever be repeated at the gates of Baltimore, never again to be closed, because our dead speak trumpet-tongued to the ear and the heart of the nation. Massachusetts in her age is retreading the pathways of her youth. As it was in the beginning, so now again her men are found at every disposable post of service and danger under the government; and wherever that flag shall be unfurled there they will be found to-day and henceforth till this war shall terminate..."

In his turn Colonel Morse assured the gathered citizens that they wouldn't return until that flag flew once again over every point in the nation, that not a man among them would dishonor it - and that it "shall be the herald of our charge upon the traitors, and be held up to inspire us to fight the battles of our country, in defence of its glorious institutions." Then off they marched - if not ready at least willing - and hoping to get ready somewhere down the road.

Now weeks later Colonel Morse waited, eyes on that flag, pondering how he might phrase the order informing his men that slavery was the first of those institutions they'd be expected to defend.

(Part two here)

 

Julia Cutler's Journal

[Greyhawk]

Julia Cutler's journal entry for Saturday, April 13, 1861 is brief.

"Lucy who has been here two or three days went home this morning. Little Jennie is very sick with erysipelas, very little hope of her recovery. Sister Sarah came this morning and will stay a few days. It is reported that Fort Sumpter is taken by Confederate Forces. We cannot believe it."

In the days to come she would provide additional details of little Jennie's struggle with erysipelas, and the nation's efforts to confront a potentially terminal affliction of its own.

Julia was 47, unmarried, and living with relatives in southeast Ohio, near the river border with Virginia; a few days after Sumter she documented her neighboring state's departure from the Union. However, she noted, "At present Western Virginia manifests a disposition to be loyal," - so there was some hope the border wouldn't become a battlefield. That hope would prove well-founded, but her journal entry for the last day of April reflects the mood of the times:

Rained this morning, after which, I planted some flower seeds, thinking perhaps I might not be here to see them blossoming. Mrs. Greenless called & talked of the war.

Confederate armies didn't march into Ohio, but early in May the war took a different route to her back yard - her nephew wrote of his intention to serve. "Lucy has just received a letter from her brother Rufus in Wisconsin," Julia recorded. "He has raised a company of seventy-eight men and received every vote for captain." Rufus Dawes was Julia's sister's son. By his Aunt Julia's assessment, "If called into the active service Rufus will prove himself a true soldier and a true man." One might suspect her of allowing a maiden aunt's affection to cloud her reason - but time would prove her judgment correct.

Likewise Rufus' words would serve as a tonic to those who fretted that war might soon erupt in their streets. In his letter to his sister he expressed his desire to bring his Wisconsin men to the aid of his friends and relatives now suddenly "on the border."

I have been so wholly engrossed with my work for the last week or I should have responded sooner to your question: "Are you going?" If a kind Providence and President Lincoln will permit, I am. I am Captain of as good, and true a band of patriots as ever rallied under the star spangled banner. We hope to get into the third or fourth regiment, and if old Abe will but give a fair and merited share in the struggle to Wisconsin, we will see active service. The men expect and earnestly desire to go, and wait impatiently their turn. I shall esteem it an honor, worth a better life than mine, to be permitted to lead them in this glorious struggle. I am in hourly dread of hearing of some violence offered you on the border, and wish I might be permitted to bring to you, in your peril, some as strong hands and as true hearts as the Badger State can boast.

Rufus Dawes' company had formed before the end of April, in the enthusiasm following the attack on Ft Sumter. After electing their officers, they turned their attentions to deciding what their unit was to be called - some name that would hopefully one day become legendary, and strike fear into the hearts of foes. "After a discussion in which Badgers and other typical beasts and birds were considered for an appropriate name," Rufus later reported, "we adopted the mellifluous title of "The Lemonweir Minute Men" from the peaceful and gently flowing river, in the beautiful valley of which most of our men resided. It would 'remind us of home' said one, and this argument carried the day."

In combat they would later earn that sort of reputation men of courage and imagination everywhere believed was theirs for the taking in that spring of 1861. They'd find it somewhere other than Ohio, as part of a brigade with its own nickname - and few enough of the men who elected Rufus Dawes their Captain that April day would live to share whatever benefits came with such fame. Those who did would insist - as Americans who marched to war and back time and again for decades to come would in their turn, too - that those who had earned it were dead. But in April 1861 all the blood and glory was yet to come; first Rufus had to fight a battle he later called "two months of incessant, aggravating and provoking labor" - he had his work cut out for him just getting his company mustered in for federal service...

He also had an Aunt Julia who was clearly proud of him. She continued to update her daily journal, documenting the passage of some of the most critical days in her nation's history, and how the news of those days was received in her Ohio town. In the same entry in which she'd noted Virginia's secession she reported the first bloodshed of the war - a deadly mob assault on a Massachusetts regiment passing through Baltimore en route to Washington DC: "The 6th Massachusetts regiment was assailed and three of their number killed, and several wounded. The Gov. of Massachusetts has today telegraphed the Mayor of Baltimore to have the bodies of the slain preserved in ice and sent home."

"We can imagine the effect upon our Yankee kinsman, when they look upon the first blood shed by traitorous hands," Julia concluded. "In the place of each dead soldier ten thousand living ones will start forth." She was right again. To add insult to injury, the attack in Baltimore happened on the 19th of April - the anniversary of the battles of Lexington and Concord. If Sumter had lit a fire in the hearts of northern men, the attack on one of their units had fanned those flames - and no where did they burn hotter than Massachusetts.

Though like many Americans in the 1860s, Julia and several of her Ohio neighbors could claim Massachusetts as their ancestral home, and trace their family history back to that state in the days of the American Revolution (More). Among those who'd later come west, the Dawes family - whose forefather's contribution to American independence was both significant and (outside the family) unheralded. On the 18th of April in 1775, when Dr Joseph Warren of Boston called on two riders to warn the countryside of the British march for Concord, one was William Dawes*, great-grandfather of Rufus Dawes, he who had so clearly demonstrated such patriotic flames still burned in the hearts of Americans three generations removed from the men who'd first lit them.

And the sorts of things they read in their local papers would fan them even further. "Today's Gazette says that gentlemen from Va. & Maryland waited on President Lincoln," Julia related just days after the Baltimore riot, "and proposed an armistice until the meeting of Congress --"

" -- which the President promptly negatived. They then said "Twenty-five thousand troops could be raised to dispute the passage of government troops across Maryland." Lincoln replied, he presumed "that there was room in Maryland to bury twenty-five thousand men".

Next: The Long Roll

Postscript: Julia Cutler's previously unpublished Civil War journal is now appearing online as a blog, with each day's entry published on its 150th anniversary. Follow along with her story here.

*Footnote: "...one was William Dawes..." - the other, of course, was Paul Revere.

Hours of Darkness (2)

[Greyhawk]

(Part one here)

18 April, 1775: Two men stood in the moonlit darkness on the shore of the Charles River, gazing across the water towards Boston, their eyes searching for a boat...

21 October, 1861: Two men stood in the pre-dawn darkness on the Virginia side of the Potomac, their eyes turned back across the water, looking for boats. Today there could be battle...

18 April, 1775: Tomorrow there could be battle. They'd already seen the signal from the opposite shore - two lights in the tower of the old North Church - meaning the British soldiers would be crossing the river this night. Not on the boat they were waiting for - the good Lord willing, that craft would deliver the man who'd arranged that signal with them a few days before: Paul Revere - whose crossing wouldn't be made without danger; not far off floated the Somerset, a British man-of-war...

21 October, 1861: The men were colonels, commanders of the two Massachusetts regiments from which elements had crossed the Potomac from Maryland on this small-scale invasion of Virginia. A raid was probably a better word for it. The mission was simple - take out a rebel camp and return to Maryland. Unless, the orders added (with a significant amount of room for interpretation), a strong position was found in Virginia that could be held until reinforcements arrived.

The older of the two men, Col. William Lee, of Marblehead, commanded the 20th Massachusetts Infantry. His unit's role in this mission was support - only two companies of his regiment were here - but he'd elected to accompany them, leaving his number two man in charge at camp in Maryland. His counterpart here on the Virginia shore had more troops and the main mission - to lead five companies of his 15th Massachusetts Regiment inland to take out that camp; Lee's smaller force was to remain on Ball's Bluff to cover any retreat. But back on Harrison's Island, perhaps one hundred yards out in the river from where they now stood, were five more companies of Lee's 20th - the designated reinforcements, under Major Paul Revere.

The sun was beginning to rise. It was time for the 15th to move out, and the 20th to take their positions. Lee followed his counterpart to the top of the bluff.

If only there were more boats... it had taken most of the previous night for even this small combined force to cross the water in the few they had available. They might have hoped to discover one or two additional tucked away somewhere here on the Virginia side, but there were none to be seen. They would have to make do with what they had... though Lee would prefer having more men on this mission - and knew that once any real battle began it would be too late for them to be sent; Revere crossing over would be a welcome sight indeed.

18 April, 1775: Revere crossing over would be a welcome sight, thought Richard Devens as he waited. He wondered if he'd been captured, or delayed... Earlier that day Devens, while returning to Charlestown from a joint meeting of the Committee of Public Safety and the Committee of Supplies (among the members: Col. Jeremiah Lee of Marblehead) at a town called Menotomy, had encountered a suspicious number of British soldiers on the road. That they were out and about somewhere along his route - and likely waiting for riders spreading the alarm - was information Revere would need.

"On the 18th of April, '75, Tuesday," Devens recorded, "the committee of safety, of which I was then a member, and the committee of supplies, sat at Newell's tavern, at Menotomy. A great number of British officers dined at Cambridge. After we had finished the business of the day, we adjourned to meet at Woburn on the morrow. Left to lodge at Newell's: Gerry, Orne, and Lee. Mr. Watson and myself came off in my chaise at sunset. On the road we met a great number of B. O. [British officers] and their servants on horseback, who had dined that day at Cambridge. We rode some way after we met them, and then turned back and rode through them, went and informed our friends at Newell's." Thus informed, Gerry (Elbridge Gerry - later the fifth Vice President of the United States under James Madison) sent a messenger to alert John Hancock and Sam Adams at Lexington; Devens resumed his trip back to Charlestown, where his suspicion that the soldiers he'd encountered were something more than curious sightseers was confirmed by the warning signal from Boston. Now he waited for Paul Revere.

In his own testimony on the night's events, Revere would tell a simple tale of his crossing:

"I then went Home, took my Boots and Surtout, and went to the North part of the Town, where I had kept a Boat; two friends rowed me across Charles River, a little to the eastward where the Somerset Man of War lay. It was then young flood, the Ship was winding, & the moon was Rising. They landed me on Charlestown side..."

But others would offer the sort of details that build legends - "that while Paul and his two comrades were on their way to the boat, it was suddenly remembered that they had nothing with which to muffle the sound of their oars. One of the two stopped before a certain house at the North End of the town, and made a peculiar signal. An upper window was softly raised, and a hurried colloquy took place in whispers, at the end of which something white fell noiselessly to the ground. It proved to be a woolen undergarment, still warm from contact with the person of the little rebel."

On the opposite shore Richard Devens waited in the moonlight - not knowing if the first boat he'd see would contain Revere or the vanguard of the British army the two lanterns had told him were coming by sea. Devens had dispatched another rider upon sighting those signal lamps, but Revere would get here, too, he was sure. For now there was little to do but wait.

21 October, 1861: Paul Revere knew if his five companies on Harrison's Island were needed on the Virginia shore they'd be needed quickly - and for that they'd need more boats. Besides the problem of numbers, none of the few available here looked capable of transporting the cannon he was expected to bring along. It wasn't in his nature to accept delays - so he sent some of his men back to the Maryland side of the island to fetch a larger one left there. Beyond that, there was little to do but wait.

The sun rose. Not long after he thought he heard shots fired from somewhere beyond Ball's Bluff...

April, 1775: Devens wasn't the only member of the revolutionary committees to lose sleep that night. Back in Menotomy, others would, too.

The great man of Marblehead in the colonial day was Colonel Jeremiah Lee, whose still elegant mansion is to be seen there. Unlike many of the gentry of his time, Colonel Lee was a thorough-going patriot. He was, with Orne and Gerry, a delegate to the first and second Provincial Congresses of 1774. When the famous Revolutionary Committee of Safety and Supplies was formed, he became and continued a member until his death in May, 1775. Colonel Lee was with the committee on the day before the battle of Lexington, and with Gerry and Orne remained to pass the night at the Black Horse tavern in Menotomy, now Arlington. When the British advance reached this house it was surrounded, the halfdressed patriots having barely time to escape to a neighboring corn-field, where they threw themselves upon the ground until the search was over. From the exposure incident to this adventure Lee got his death.

"He furthered the cause of independence in risky, undercover capacities - including the clandestine procurement of weapons from France and Spain," reads this brief modern biography. "His covert activities, the secrecy of his meetings with John Hancock and Sam Adams, and his early and tragic death explain why Jeremiah Lee plunged into obscurity, and remained absent from the history books both then and now."

Others in his family took up the cause. His nephew and protege, William Raymond Lee, was commissioned a captain in one of the first regiments formed after Lexington and Concord - within two years he was a Colonel and commanded his own. William's son would serve in the War of 1812. His grandson, also named William Raymond Lee, would later attend West Point - where his classmates included Robert E Lee of Virginia (possibly a distant relation) and Jefferson Davis from Mississippi. Years later, on the morning of October 21, 1861, he was a colonel and regimental commander himself, at Ball's Bluff in Virginia, preparing a message for his Major, Paul Revere.

October, 1861: Henry Abbott of the 20th Massachusetts had accompanied his commander, Colonel Lee, to the final planning session with the commander of the 15th prior to the raid. Two days after what turned out to be a battle, he described that meeting in a letter to his mother. "I never heard of [a] more clearsighted, cooler or more satisfactory statement of a plan" than the one developed that night, he wrote. For this, Abbott (not surprisingly) gave all credit to his commander, who, he added, stated repeatedly that night his belief "that in case of defeat no retreat was possible. We must either conquer or die."

Abbott described Lee as "in the merriest of moods" - in contrast to the 15th's commander, Colonel Charles Devens. Devens, Abbott wrote, "seemed like a man who had made up his mind he was going on a forlorn hope." If both descriptions were accurate, their moods had no bearing on their fates. After the battle Devens would make his way - wounded - back to the island. Lee, along with Paul Revere (the latter also wounded) and hundreds of other soldiers would be numbered among the prisoners in Virginia.

Devens would survive the Civil War, during which he was promoted to Brigadier General (later Brevet Major General). From 1873 to 1891 he was an associate justice of the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court, with a four year break from '77 to '81 when he served as Attorney General of the United States in the Cabinet of President Rutherford B. Hayes.

"Charles Devens was born in Charlestown, Mass., April 4, 1820," read the brief biography prepared for the dedication of his statue in Worcester on July 4th, 1906. "He was the son of Charles and Mary (Lithgow) Devens, and a great-grandson of Richard Devens, who was a member of the Committee of Safety and Commissary General of Massachusetts during the Revolutionary War..."

18 April, 1775: "They landed me on Charlestown side," Revere wrote. "Richard Devens, Esq.who was one of the Committee of Safty, came to me, & told me, that he came down the Road from Lexington, after Sundown, that evening; that He met ten British Officers, all well mounted, & armed, going up the Road."

"I then took a horse from Mr. Larkin's barn," Devens recalled in his own testimony - the midnight rider would need a ride, of course - then he "sent off P. Revere..."

21 October, 1861: It took a damned long time for a courier to bring a message by boat back to the island; the morning was near half over as Revere read the latest from Colonel Lee. He and Devens had indeed encountered the enemy, and were "determined to fight."

Major Revere ordered his men to the boats. The waiting had ended, it was time to join Lee and Devens. Paul Revere was going to war.

Epilogue - 21 October, 1861: It took decidedly longer for a courier to bring a message from Virginia to the island, cross the island and take another boat to the Maryland shore. From there he traveled to General Stone's headquarters a few miles down the river to deliver it.

The General wished - not for the first time - there was a better way. The rebel sympathizers on this side were suspected of sending messages to their friends in Virginia at night via lights - thus making all his division's movements known to the enemy - but obviously such signals were useless in daylight hours... At least Stone could telegraph McClellan in Washington - whatever he knew, his commander could be told immediately. Now he sent an optimistic message, indicating his forces had engaged the enemy, and he believed they could occupy Leesburg that day.

Though after a bit of consideration, he appended a concern: "We are a little short of boats."

Next: Julia Cutler's Journal

 

Hours of Darkness

[Greyhawk]

(Continuing a story begun here.)

October, 1861: Major Paul Joseph Revere found himself a prisoner. Captured - along with several hundred of his fellow Union soldiers - by the secessionists (no true son of Massachusetts would call them "rebels" then) in his first battle; his war was seemingly over almost before it had begun. His grandfather had been in a similar fix decades before - captured by British soldiers while on a mission to alert the countryside of their aim to seize the military stores at Concord. Grand-père Revere had been released almost immediately, though - his captors not wanting the additional burden of bringing prisoners along on their passage through an area populated by armed men already angry, alert, and gathering. At first his grandson had no expectation of such a fortunate end to his own immediate circumstances - but now here was the commander of the forces he'd so recently been fighting offering him something like that.

The prisoners had been marched from Ball's Bluff to Leesburg - herded along the very streets that, had things gone according to plan, (perhaps "gone well" is a better term - there was never much of a plan...) they'd have marched down in victory as proud members of a conquering army of occupation. Instead, they endured the taunts of the crowds gathered to jeer their passage. With "yells of ecstasy and derision," another captured officer later recalled, the citizens were "crowding and shouldering each other in herds to catch a glimpse of us."

"We've got 'em this time!" "Oh, you infernal Yankees!" "Make way, Jim: I want to see a ' Yank'!" were cries that greeted us on every side...

The officers were separated from the enlisted men, then brought into a room with Colonel (soon to be General as a result of the victory at Ball's Bluff) Nathan George "Shanks" Evans, veteran of Bull Run (where it was said he'd been everywhere on his part of the battlefield - with an aid carrying a gallon-sized barrel of whiskey strapped on his back in tow) and now commander of Confederate forces in the Leesburg area. "He tendered us the following parole, stating that, although it gave the liberty of the town, it required us to report in person to General Beauregard at Centreville in a few days..."

"We, the undersigned, officers in the army of the United States, do hereby pledge our oaths and honor not to bear arms against the Southern Confederacy during the war, unless sooner exchanged."

All they had to do was sign the paper - their confinement would end, they'd be free of their armed guards...

Touched with fire (3)

[Greyhawk]

(Continued from here.)

Two days after being wounded in battle at Ball's Bluff, Lt Wendell Holmes felt well enough to write home. "My Dear Mother," he began, "Here I am flat on my back after our first engagement wounded but pretty comfortable."

"...Lt Putnam is dead Capt. Putnam lost his right arm. Hallowell fought like a brick but wasn't hurt Schmidt badly wounded Lowell wounded Colonel Major & Adjutant probably prisoners Babo & Wesselhoeft probably dead Dreher shot through the head Serg Merchant shot dead (in the head) From a third to a half of our company killed wounded & prisoners... "

"I can't write an account now but I felt and acted very cool and did my duty," he assured her. And to reduce worry he reassured her that "I shall probably recover" - they'd found the ball that was believed to have passed through him, creating both wounds in his body, which was a good sign. If that's what happened he would indeed probably recover, but then again "I may be hit twice in which case the chance is not so good."

No doubt she was greatly relieved.

*****

"Through our great good fortune," Holmes would write of his generation years later, "in our youth, our hearts were touched with fire." Perhaps his parents didn't understand that - or perhaps they did all too well. Regardless, a mere six months before his first brush with death, when news of the rebels' firing on Fort Sumter reached Boston the young men (and others not so young) of the city were burning to serve. For a select few the city had the perfect place for them to do their part.

Boston, of course, was a city with a fearless tradition - the birthplace of the American Revolution. Many of Harvard's fine young men (some with names that would later appear in Holmes' casualty lists) - along with other offspring of the city's better class of citizens - were members of a distinguished militia unit with a history reaching back to the War of 1812. If by 1860, as historian Richard Miller writes, membership had become "more of a social credential than a sign of combat readiness" then certainly social credentials were something that accrued only to those men of means (and breeding) who were willing to contribute something to the greater good, to advance the common cause. In a crisis as extreme as the one currently confronting the nation the expected contribution could be no less than their lives, which they'd willingly give.

In this, Boston's greatest hour of need since the 18th of April in '75, the city's fathers (coincidentally - their own) recognized and appreciated the volunteer spirit and courageous resolve displayed by their sons. There was no time for further drill and training, this was an unprecedented national emergency and without swift action all would be lost; before the month of April was out, 120 of Boston's finest (some, like Holmes, mere weeks from receiving their Harvard diplomas - but even that incentive couldn't keep them out of the fight) were formed in a column and marched to the wharf where their patriotism, love of the Union, and willingness to sacrifice were saluted in a brief pre-departure ceremony:

"[T]he young ladies of Mr Caleb Emery's school" presented the young men with a flag, and fatigue jackets donated by a private citizen were distributed. Then the Fourth Battalion boarded the ferry Nelly Baker for the two-mile journey across Boston Harbor to Fort Independence on Castle Island. Dominating the water approaches to Boston, this pentagonal masonry stronghold enclosed a large parade ground; over its walls twenty-four cannon peeked in all directions. The Fourth Battalion's thirty-day mission was to protect the harbor against a feared attack by the rebel navy.

By the end of that thirty days, many reasonable people believed, whatever "war" was coming would be all but over. Certainly the rosters of the units needed at the front would be filled (the Irish and Germans seemed particularly willing and eager to go), and the enlistment fever raging through the streets of Boston (as the rest of the nation) would have died down... In the meantime, far removed from those fevered streets, Wendell Holmes and his young friends did their duty and peeked out alongside those cannon from their remote island fortress, scanning the horizon for any sign of the approaching Confederate Navy.

If any of those bright and vigilant youngsters were aware that there was no such thing the history books are silent on it.

Next: Hours of Darkness

  *****

Bibliography:

Richard F. Miller, Harvard's Civil War: The History of the Twentieth Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry

Mark De Wolfe Howe (ed) Touched With Fire: Civil War Letters and Diary of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., "In Our Youth Our Hearts Were Touched With Fire" (An address delivered for Memorial Day, May 30, 1884, at Keene, NH, before John Sedgwick Post No. 4, Grand Army of the Republic.)