Camp Benton,
Saturday Night, October
25, 1861.
My Dear Mother,
— . . . . I have not had time or heart to write you, who had such good
news to hear, when I thought of those who could not get anything but bad
tidings. I have been very busy during the whole week (which seems like one long
day, or rather night), being
in command of the regiment nearly all the time. To my great joy
Lieutenant-colonel Palfrey returned in safety with his men Wednesday night,
when all the forces were withdrawn from the Virginia shore by order of
McClellan, who was here.
General Lander was brought here wounded in the leg that day,
and when I went up to headquarters, I heard that McClellan had just been up to
see him. It was cheering news for me, for I knew that we had by this time got
four thousand men across, below our battle ground, at Edwards' Ferry, and I was
in hopes some General would come who could take command.
In your letter of Sunday, which I got Wednesday, you hoped I
should have a day of rest; you little thought that I should be the other side
of the Potomac at two the next morning. I had neither food nor sleep from
Saturday night until I got back to camp Tuesday morning. We crossed the river,
Caspar and I, under command of Colonel Lee, in all one hundred men, in a whale
boat that would carry sixteen, and two small boats holding five and four
respectively. I went over first, and found a steep bank one hundred and fifty
feet high, with thick wood on it. There was not room enough to form ten men,
and the banks were so slippery that you could not stand. I formed the men in
single file up the path, waiting for the Colonel and the rest of the men.
After they were all over, we wound our way up this precipice
and formed on the open space above. The detachment of the Fifteenth, three
hundred men, now moved up the road leading from the top of the bank inland. We
were to remain there to support them, and cover their retreat. We gave the men
distinctly to understand that they must stand fast if the Fifteenth came
running down the road, wait till they had passed, and then cover their retreat.
It looked rather dubious. The Fifteenth might get across, but we must check the
advance of the enemy and get cut to pieces. We sent out scouts in all
directions; three men under a sergeant composed each party.
My First Sergeant Riddle went out on our right. At this time
we did not know how many of the enemy there might be within gunshot of us. It
was now about sunrise, when we heard three or four shots in rapid succession on
our right. In a few minutes my First Sergeant (Riddle) was brought in, shot
through the elbow. He was fainting from loss of blood. We tied a handkerchief
around his arm and sent him down to the river. (I might as well finish with him
here. It was a sad opening for me, he was the best sergeant in the regiment, a favorite
of both the Colonel and General Lander, and perfectly invaluable to me. He is
now at the hospital, and I am in hopes of saving his arm; the bone is
shattered; he has great pain but good spirits.) It was nearly nine when we
heard a splendid volley in the direction of the Fifteenth. We knew we were
in for it then. Soon wounded men were brought down the road mentioned. How
large a force they had met we did not know, but we learned from the wounded
that the volley was from the enemy. We expected now to see the Fifteenth
falling back on us. The firing ceased and we were in suspense, thinking that
they might have been surrounded, and waiting to see the enemy come down that
road and sweep our hundred men into the river. We were then deployed as
skirmishers across the road, Company I on the right, Caspar on the left, an
opening at the road to let the Fifteenth pass through to the river, and then
check their pursuers until they could get across. I never expected to see Camp
Benton again, then, and I remember being sorry that my bundle had not yet come
from home before I left camp, and that there would be no one there to open it
when it came. I wondered what you were thinking of at the time, and was glad
that you little dreamed of our critical position.
At ten A. M. Colonel Devens with his men came down the road
in good order. He reported that there were three to four regiments of the
enemy, besides cavalry. Our case was looking rather unpleasant, to say
the least We were not attacked, the enemy fearing that we might have a larger
force. They seem to refuse a fight unless you give them odds. At eleven, the
remainder of the Fifteenth came over, and they went back up the road again, six
hundred in all. The rest of our regiment which crossed over on to the island
with us the night before, — the island, Harrison's, is midway between the two
shores, low and flat, — now came over to us, making with Caspar's company and
mine three hundred and eighteen. The California Regiment, of Philadelphia, now
began to get over, and the prospect for a more even fight looked better. But
you can imagine what a long morning it was, waiting either for reinforcements
or the order to withdraw, with nothing to eat since dinner the day before. My
company being deployed as skirmishers, I had given the order “Lie down,” and I
myself reclined on my elbow and dozed for half an hour. I woke up and found
that nearly all my skirmishers lying down had taken the opportunity to go to
sleep, poor fellows. I couldn't bear to wake them until the first volley of
musketry was heard from the woods near us. It shows that the boys were either
indifferent to danger, or were worn out with fatigue, to go to sleep on the
field, where balls were occasionally dropping in.
General Baker arrived with his regiment (California it is
called, composed of Philadelphia men). He disposed the troops under his command
as follows: —
The Twentieth, three hundred and eighteen men, in the open
space, their right up the river. The Fifteenth, six hundred, in the edge of the
woods on the right. The California Regiment, part of it, on their left,
touching at right angles our right.
A part of the Tammany Regiment was placed in front of us by
Baker, but I am sorry to say that after the first volley there was nobody in
front of us but the enemy; they broke and fell in behind us.
The following plan will show you our position after one or
two volleys had been fired on us. [See Plan.]
Well the first volley came and the balls flew like hail. You
can see from our position on the plan that we were exposed to their full fire.
The whizzing of balls was a new sensation. I had read so much about being under
fire and flying bullets that I was curious to experience it. I had a fair
chance. An old German soldier told me that he had been in a good many battles,
but that he never saw such a concentrated fire before. They fired beautifully,
too, their balls all coming low, within from one to four feet of the ground.
The men now began to drop around me; most of them were lying down in the first
of it, being ordered to keep in reserve. Those that were lying down, if they
lifted their foot or head it was struck. One poor fellow near me was struck in
the hip while lying flat, and rose to go to the rear, when another struck him
on the head, and knocked him over. I felt that if I was going to be hit, I
should be, whether I stood up or lay down, so I stood up and walked around
among the men, stepping over them and talking to them in a joking way, to take
away their thoughts from the bullets, and keep them more self possessed. I was
surprised at first at my own coolness. I never felt better, although I expected
of course that I should feel the lead every second, and I was wondering where
it would take me. I kept speaking to Little, surprised that he was not hit
amongst this rain of bullets. I said two or three times “Why Lit., aren't
you hit yet?” I remember Macy was lying where the grass was turned up, and
I “roughed” him for getting his coat so awfully dirty. Lit. was as cool and
brave as I knew he would be. The different companies began to wilt away under
this terrible fire. Still there was no terror among the men; they placed implicit
confidence in their officers (I refer to our regiment particularly), and
you could see that now was the time they respected and looked up to them. We
were driven back inch by inch, towards the top of the bank. The rifled cannon
was not fired more than eight times; the last time, the recoil carried it over
the bank, and it went crushing through the trees, wounding many. General Baker
was standing near me about four o'clock; he seemed indifferent to bullets. He
said it was of no use, it was all over with us. A few minutes after, he fell,
struck by eight balls all at once; so you can judge by this how thick
they flew. No one took command after he fell; in fact the battle was lost some
time before. At this time I came on Captain Dreher; he was shot through the
head in the upper part of his cheek. I took hold of him, turned his face
towards me, thought that he could not live but a few minutes, and pushed ahead.
When we fell back again, he had been taken to the rear, and was got across. He
is now in a fair way to recovery, the ball not striking any vital part.
Lieutenants Lowell and Putnam and Captain Schmitt were now down, but were
carried to the bank and taken across.
Captain John Putnam, I forgot to say, was brought down by
where we were from the right, where he was skirmishing, in the very first of
the fight. I remember how I envied him at getting off with the loss of an arm,
and I wished then that I could change places with him. For I knew then, that we
should either be killed or taken prisoners. The field now began to look like my
preconceived idea of a battle field. The ground was smoking and covered with
blood, while the noise was perfectly deafening. Men were lying under foot, and
here and there a horse struggling in death. Coats and guns strewn over the
ground in all directions. I went to the Colonel and he was sitting behind a
tree, perfectly composed. He told me there was nothing to be done but “surrender
and save the men from being murdered.” Most of the men had now got down the
bank. I thought it over in my mind, and reasoned that we might as well be shot
advancing on the enemy, as to be slaughtered like sheep at the foot of the
bank.
I called for Company I for one last rally. Every man that
was left sprang forward, and also about six men (all who were left) of Captain
Dreher's company, and ten men of Company H under Lieutenant Hallowell, all of
whom followed me up the rise. As we reached the top, I found Little by my side.
We came upon two fresh companies of the enemy which had just come out of the
woods; they had their flag with them. Both sides were so surprised at seeing
each other — they at seeing us coming up with this handful of men, we at seeing
these two new companies drawn up in perfect order, — that each side forgot
to fire. And we stood looking at each other (not a gun being fired) for
some twenty seconds, and then they let fly their volley at the same time we
did.
If bullets had rained before, they came in sheets now. It is
surprising that any one could escape being hit. We were driven back again. I
had to order sharply one or two of my brave fellows before they would go back.
Everything was lost now.
One of the Philadelphia papers says, “After everything was
given up as lost, a captain of the Fifteenth Regiment rallied the remnants of
two companies, and charged gallantly up the rise, but was driven back by
overpowering numbers, after delivering a well directed volley.” So far so good.
Then it says, “but seeing the hopelessness of the case, he tied a white
handkerchief on his sword and surrendered himself and the remnant of his
regiment.”
The officer in question did not get quite so far as the last
part of the story, nor did he belong to the Fifteenth Massachusetts, . . . .
When we got back to the bank, we induced the Colonel to go
down and try to escape. The Adjutant took his left arm and I his right, and we
got him down the bank unhurt. Here was a horrible scene. Men crowded together,
the wounded and the dying. The water was full of human beings, struggling with
each other and the water, the surface of which looked like a pond when it
rains, from the withering volleys that the enemy were pouring down from the top
of the bank. Those who were not drowned ran the chance of being shot. I turned
back and left the Colonel, to collect the remnant of my company, and when I
returned he was gone. I asked for him, and they told me that he, the Major, and
Adjutant had got into a small boat and gone across safely. I looked, and saw a
small boat landing on the other side, and took it for granted they were safe. I
then, being in command, collected what I could of the regiment, and told those
who could swim, and wished to, to take the water, it was the only means of
escape. Nearly all my company could swim, and I made them stop and take off
their clothes. We sent over reports and messages by them. Little and I thought
it our duty to stay by those men who could not swim. I allowed Macy to go,
hoping that one of us might get home to tell the story. Little sent his watch
over by Kelly, the bravest boy in our company, and I told him to go to Boston,
and go to you and tell you that your son was probably a prisoner. What should
you have said to the news? Little did you think or know what was taking place
on that Monday afternoon, when
Volleys on right of us,
Volleys on left of us,
Volleys in front of us,
Battled and thundered.
I now determined to get the men out of this fire, and
surrender without any more loss. I started up the river, followed by about
twenty men of the Twentieth Regiment, twenty of the Fifteenth, and forty of the
Tammany and California regiments. Captain Tremlett, Company A, Twentieth,
Lieutenant Whittier, ditto, and Little Abbott went with me. An officer of the
Fifteenth also was with the party. We followed up the edge of the river, and
came to an old mill which we knew was up in this direction. It was owned and
run by a man named Smart, who lived in Leesburg, so the negro told me, whom I
questioned as to who was there. We expected to stumble on a party of the rebels
every step. I asked him where his boat was. He wondered how I knew that they
had one, and said it was up in the mill-way.
I went up there and found a skiff under water, twenty rods
away from the edge of the river. It was capable of holding five persons. Those
with me declared it useless and impracticable, and proposed going into the
mill, get a good night's rest, and give ourselves up in the morning. I thought,
though, that if I only got one load of five over, it would be worth trying; so
we got it down to the river and began the transportation, expecting every
minute to be discovered and fired at by the rebels. When the boat was put into
the water, the whole crowd made a rush for it. I had to use a little persuasion
by stepping in front of it, drew my pistol (for the first time, this
afternoon), and swore to God that I would shoot the first man who moved without
my order. It was the only thing that saved them. They were obedient and
submissive, and avoided being shot by me or taken prisoners by the enemy. I
selected five men of my own company and sent them across first, with a man to
bring back the boat. So, by degrees, I got those of the Twentieth, next those
of the Fifteenth (whose officer, by the way, sneaked off, got across on a raft,
and left his men on my hands), and lastly those of the Tammany and California
regiments. I sent Lieutenant Whittier over in the second load, to look out for
the men as they came over. It was a tedious job. At last I went over with
Tremlett and Little, and was once more back on the island. We thus saved eighty
men and three officers from being taken prisoners. I learned afterwards that
the Colonel, Major, and Adjutant were ahead of me up the river, had been to the
mill, found the boat, thought it impracticable, and went on. They were
afterwards taken prisoners. Lieutenant Perry and Dr. Revere were with them. We
went down to the hospital opposite our battle-field, where we found the wounded
being cared for. They had heard, and believed, that I was shot, and the welcome
that the men gave me brought the first tears to my eyes.
I got to the Maryland side with all that I could find of my
company (five men) about twelve, midnight. Then we had still that long walk
down the tow-path and up to our camp from the river, where we arrived at three
A. M. I got to bed pretty well tired out at half past three. When I awoke there
were several waiting at my tent door for me to awake, to welcome me and
congratulate me on my safe return.
On waking, I sent telegraphs to Jane by mail to send to
Boston; did you get them?
By the time I was up, Colonel Palfrey had started off with
the only remaining company of the regiment (Company K) to cross the river at
Edwards' Ferry. He got back safe, as I told you, and relieved me from the
command of the regiment.
The first night that I was here in command, I thought it
best to have a dress parade as usual, both to let the men see that everything
was not broken up, and to cheer them with the music. It had a very good effect.
I published to them that night the following order: —
Headquarters Twentieth Regt. Mass. Vols.,
Camp Benton, October 23.
General Order No. —
It is the pleasant duty of the
commanding officer to congratulate the men of the Twentieth Regiment on their
admirable conduct in the late battle. Your courage and bravery under a galling
fire for hours was only equaled by your coolness and steadiness throughout.
He laments, with you, the loss of so
many brave officers and men; but hopes, with you, that the time may soon come
when we may avenge that loss.
You have established your reputation
for bravery, and gained honor, though you lost the victory.
By
order Commanding Officer.
The men were quite affected, and the next time the Twentieth
is engaged she will leave a mark that will not be lost sight of in history.
Out of twenty-two officers that were engaged, only nine returned
safe. Of three hundred and eighteen men, one hundred and forty-six were killed,
wounded, or missing; a loss which, in proportion to the number engaged, you
seldom see. I send you a list of officers killed, wounded, and missing, and
also of Company I, as they may send to you to learn.
Col. W. Raymond Lee, missing, prisoner (unhurt).
Major P. J. Revere, missing, prisoner (unhurt).
Dr. E. H. R. Revere, missing, prisoner (unhurt).
Adj. C. L. Peirson, missing, prisoner.
Lieut. G. B. Perry, missing, prisoner.
Lieut. Wesselhoeft, missing, probably drowned.
Capt. Babo, missing, probably drowned.
Lieut. W. L. Putnam, wounded, since died.
Capt. G. A. Schmitt, wounded badly, doing well.
Lieut. Lowell, wounded slightly (flesh), doing well.
Capt. Dreher, wounded in the head, doing well.
Capt. Putnam (John), wounded (lost right arm), doing well.
Lieut. Holmes (O. W.), wounded (breast), doing well.
A sad report, but it might have been worse.
Of Company I, forty-eight men were engaged, twenty (nearly
half) were killed, wounded, or missing, as follows: —
Those that are missing were either shot or drowned in the
river.
First Sergt. Riddle (W. R.), wounded, right arm shattered.
Corp. Thomas Hollis, wounded (finger shot off), doing well.
Private A. M. Barber, wounded (right arm), doing well.
A. Davis, killed, shot through heart.
Thomas Dolan, wounded, finger shot off.
Lewis Dunn, missing, probably shot.
W. F. Hill, missing, probably shot.
Albert Kelly, missing, probably shot.
M. V. Kempton, missing, probably a prisoner.
Sam. Lowell, missing, probably a prisoner.
Tete McKenna (my pet and pride), missing, took the water,
probably shot.
G. C. Pratt, wounded badly (will recover).
Julius Strick, wounded (right arm).
James Seddon, wounded (heel), doing well.
Albert Stackpole, wounded, since died.
George G. Worth, missing, probably shot swimming.
Summerhays, wounded slightly in the hand.
O. Gammons, wounded, finger shot off.
E. V. Skinner, missing, perhaps a prisoner.
I. Barker, missing, perhaps a prisoner.
Killed and wounded, 11; missing, 9; total loss, 20.
Worth and McKenna were two noble fellows. I was saying to
Little a day or two before, how sorry I should be to have any of these men
killed, in whom we took such an interest! I send you a little piece of a knot
of crape which went through the fight on Monday last. It was tied on to my
sword hilt the day before. Caspar had a piece on his hilt, but said that he saw
it when we were marching up the tow-path, and tore it off instantly. He and I
were the only captains that had crape on our swords, and were the only two that
were not hit. Captain Putnam is getting along finely. Captain Schmitt will
recover. He has a great deal of pain, but bears it splendidly.
Well, mother, I have written a pretty long letter, but I
guess you will be interested enough to read it through. I have written of
course what I should not have done to any one else, and you must not show it .
My official report to General Stone was in substance like this, except, of
course, the parts relating to myself, which it did not become me to speak of to
any one else but you at home. I have now been through my first battle, and it was
a fierce one. If we should have a campaign of ten years, we could never get in
such a place where we should lose so many men or be under such severe fire.
General Stone told Colonel Palfrey last night that the rebels' official report
made them lose three hundred men killed and wounded, and that they had five
thousand troops engaged to our sixteen hundred.
W.
SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William
Francis Bartlett, p. 19-36
