Camp Near Culpeper, Virginia,
August 17, 1862,
Sunday.
The battle of Cedar Mountain, or, correctly, Slaughter's
Mountain, or, in common speech, Slaughter Mountain, seems to be proclaimed by
General Pope, accepted by General Halleck, and, probably, welcomed by the
country, as one of the most obstinate, desperate, and gallant contests of the
war.
It is claimed loudly and with argument by both sides as a
victory, and therefore lacks the best test of success, namely, to prove itself.
It failed to be decisive. What Jackson intended by his move across the Rapidan
is known, perhaps, to himself. If he meant to hurt and to get hurt, he
succeeded. If he meant anything further, he failed. But he left a sting behind
him.
The right wing of Banks's army was certainly hurled into a
storm that wellnigh wrecked it. The field of battle was well chosen by the
enemy. From the slopes of Slaughter's Mountain on his right, whence he
commanded the whole field and viewed it at a glance, to his left in the wood
the enemy were strong. Our men attacked, and held them back most gallantly.
But you must get the outline and details of the battle from
other sources. I will attempt to follow my regiment as it went into action without
me, in its hot and toilsome march from Hazel River to Culpeper, where it
arrived on Friday at midnight, and bivouacked near its present camp, in its
weary and feverish approach to the field on Saturday, and in its sharp trial as
the day closed.
The regiment marched from Culpeper about six miles to the
field, and arrived soon after noon. It went into position on the right, on high
ground, in the edge of a wood. There the men waited, rested, and lunched. The
battle was going on, on our left and centre, mainly with artillery.
At last, and after five o'clock, P. M., the sharper musketry
on our right told that they would probably be called on. Suddenly Colonel
Andrews got an order to move immediately to the support of Crawford's brigade,
then engaged in a wood about one third of a mile in our front. General
Crawford, it seems, had, with mysterious wisdom, and without full examination
of the field, pushed his brigade out into an open wheat-field, bounded on two
sides by woods which the enemy was holding. There he was, suffering and perishing,
at the moment the order came to the Second. Colonel Andrews moved them, as
ordered, at a double-quick, down the hill, across the field, through the bog,
over the ditch or “run,” up a steep hillside, and into a wood dense and thickly
grown, on, on, on till out they came upon an open field, of which I give you a
sketch on the opposite page.
The regiment was a good deal disordered when it got through
the woods. It marched out through a gap in the fence into the open wheat-field,
in which the recently cut shocks of wheat were standing, as indicated on the
plan. It was formed under a fire from the woods opposite, but soon
brought inside of the fence, and ordered to lie down behind the fence. A few
words more about the ground.
The open field is not level; there is a swell of the ground,
which falls off gently toward the enemy's side, and becomes a marsh; but as it
approaches the enemy's wood, it rises again rather suddenly, and the hillside
thus made is densely wooded.
On this wooded hillside the enemy were piled up. The woods
indicated on the plan on the right of the open field are a low, bushy growth,
hardly taller anywhere than a man, but so very thick as to be a perfect cover.
Recollect that the enemy held this approach to our right.
When Colonel Andrews entered the woods through which he came
to this open field, he met dismayed soldiers of Crawford's brigade, saying, “We
are beaten!” Crawford had driven his brigade, before this, at a charge, across
this field, or tried to do so, and the fire from both directions upon them
proved very destructive.
The Second took up a position behind the fence, as I have
said. Captain Abbott, with his company as skirmishers, had advanced beyond the
fence into the field, but were subsequently withdrawn.
Colonel Andrews had, in front of him, the enemy in these
woods, and could see only the flash of their guns. Still, he suffered very
little. Soon he was ordered to move down toward the right farther, which
brought him quite close to the low wood. At this time he got an order to charge
across the field.
He said it was impossible, and General Gordon, whom he went
to see, agreed with him. Colonel Andrews declined to do it, saying it would be
simply the destruction of the regiment.
It afterwards turned out that the order had been
misunderstood by the staff-officer who gave it. General Crawford's brigade, it
must be remembered, had retired from the scene before Gordon's brigade came up
to the field. Gordon's brigade of three regiments, part of one of which, the
Third Wisconsin, had already been engaged in Crawford's first charge, were
alone in this position, and without support. Soon after this Colonel Andrews
saw a Rebel line advancing diagonally across the field. He at once opened a
file-fire upon it from our regiment. Gaps opened, the Rebel line wavered, and
became very much broken. While this was going on, and when it seemed that this
advance might be checked, a fire opened from the woods in which we were, on our
right flank, and even in rear of it. Colonel Andrews found that the troops on
our right, of our own brigade, had been driven back. This first fire, on our
flank, killed Captain Goodwin, commanding the right company, and dropped half
of that company. Colonel Andrews then ordered the regiment to fall back. At
this time the fire upon us was from front, from beyond our right, diagonally,
and, most severely of all, directly upon our flank. The enemy were in
overwhelming force, and we were left alone.
Under a fire of this kind no troops can stand or live. This
flank fire cannot be replied to without a change of front or a supporting
force. These were impossibilities. Under a storm of bullets which our thinned
ranks (for then our heavy loss was suffered) attests only too strongly, the
gallant regiment withdrew, leaving one third, nearly, behind.
The trees in the wood remain to testify to the severity of
the fire. There and then, within a few yards of the fence, fell Goodwin and
Abbott and Williams and Cary and Perkins, and many a fine soldier by their
sides. The colors were shot through and through, the staff shattered and broken
in two, the eagle torn from the staff, but Sergeant George, of Company A, the
color-bearer, brought them off in safety and in honor. As soon as the regiment,
in its retreat, came outside of the wood, it was re-formed by Colonel Andrews
near the point where it had entered. The whole time since it entered the woods
was little more than half an hour. Many of the men, besides those actually hit,
had stopped to give aid to the wounded or dying, and so the regiment was a mere
fragment.
It went back to a point near its original position, and near
a house, which at once became a hospital. Colonel Andrews describes the feeling
with which he then discovered the losses. Of the captains, seven went in, and
one only, Captain Bangs, came back. Of the lieutenants — but you know the
record. At first it was thought and hoped that our list would be of wounded.
Alas! how speedy was death. The regiment was soon moved toward the centre;
and it spent the night, in presence of the enemy, on outpost duty. During the
night there was some confusion and fighting. One of our sentinels took five of
the enemy's cavalry with skill and courage. His name is Harrington, Company E.
I had noticed him previously, as a bold, cool man.
Among the incidents of the fight, Corporal Durgin, one of
the color-guard, was approached by three Rebels, as he was looking for Major Savage.
He at once called out: “Adjutant, bring that squad here. I've got three
prisoners.” The men hesitated; one struck him with his musket, when Durgin
doubled him up by a thrust of his rifle, shot a second one, while the third ran
away, and Durgin ran too.
Colonel Andrews's horse was shot twice; once in neck and
once in shoulder. Major Savage's horse was shot after he dismounted, and he was
subsequently wounded. Captain Russell stopped to help him, and was so caught.
Captain Quincy, too, was wounded and taken.
On Monday morning, the enemy having drawn back, our
burial-party went out. Cary was found, as if placidly sleeping, under an oak
near the fence. He had lived until Sunday. His first sergeant, Williston, was
at his side, alive, though severely wounded. He had watched with him, and when
the Rebels took from him all that was valuable, Williston begged the men to
give him Cary's ring and locket for his wife, and their hearts melted, and he
was happy in giving them up to be sent to her.
Abbott wore a proud, defiant, earnest look, as when he fell,
with the words on his lips: “Give it to that flag, men!” pointing to the Rebel
emblem opposite. Goodwin and Williams and Perkins too. Cary and Perkins and
Goodwin went to the fight in ambulances, being too sick to go. Goodwin had to
be helped along into the fight, but said, “I cannot stay when my men are going.”
It was a sad burden that was brought back to our bivouac on
Monday.
I have twice visited and examined the field, and tried to
live over again the scene, that I may share, as far as possible, the memories
of my regiment.
I was seeking, by description, the spot where my dear friend
Cary fell and died, and was in some doubt about it, when my eye caught, among
the leaves, a cigarette paper. I knew at once that it must be the place, and
looking farther, I found some writing with his name on it. These had doubtless
fallen from his pocket.
I took them as mementos, and cut also a piece of wood from
the stump on which his head rested. These I have sent to his wife.
Our chaplain was busy near the field with the wounded all
night. His fidelity and constancy in remaining there after our forces withdrew
deserve recollection.
This morning we have had service, and the camp is now under
the influence of its Sunday quiet. There are a good many questions about the
fight, and the responsibility of it, which I will not discuss. It seems a pity
that we pressed them on our right. The darkness was so near, and the night
would have given us time to concentrate our forces. But it is as it is. No
troops ever encountered a severer test, and our regiment behaved nobly. Voild!
To-morrow we shall have our muster, and account for our
losses.
We may, probably, be here some time, to repair our losses. I
went out to dress-parade this evening, and as I marched to the front, with five
other officers, to salute Colonel Andrews, our griefs seemed heavy enough.
The Third Wisconsin Regiment, so foully slandered by some of the newspapers,
behaved gallantly, and did all that men could do.
Tell Colonel William, of Williamsburg, that Crawford pushed
his brigade out into that open wheat-field without skirmishing at all on his
right, and never sent a skirmisher into the bushes and low woods on the right
of the field.
We were rushed up at a double-quick to his support, and
occupied the ground that he had just lost. Bah! then it was too late.
I send you a memorandum of my wants on a slip of paper. The
weather has been cool for several days; the nights even cold. I am in excellent
health, and I hope you are well and in good spirits.
Colonel Andrews's behavior in the fight is the admiration of
all.
My love to all at home. Write me, and send me every scrap
about the regiment and our lost brave men.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and
Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 278-8
