For the
Worcester
Daily Spy
FROM POOLESVILLE
A Volunteer’s Account Of His First Battle
Camp
Foster
,
Poolesville
,
Md.
November 2d, 1861
Last night, an avalanche of letters came upon
me from the friends of soldiers engaged in the unfortunate battle of
“Balls Bluff,” near Leesburg in
Virginia
, on the 21st of October. It is impossible at present for me
to write to each individual separately, so I avail myself of your
generosity to favor them and me. One of the most provoking
things that has occurred, is the fact that our soldiers are missing,
and we cannot even satisfy ourselves what has become of them, much
less tell our dear friends the particulars of their drowning,
imprisonment or death.
We are compelled, then, to state in general terms, that in
Capt. Studley’s company (D), only two persons, viz, John W. Smith
and Charles H. Gott are known to have been killed on the field.
The names of the wounded are very correctly stated in the Spy of
28th October. The fate of the missing is almost as much of a
mystery to those of us on the ground and in the vicinity, as those
hundreds of miles distant.
Large sums of money have been offered for the bodies of missing
officers and men, all up to the present time of no avail.
Neither can the river of the “sacred soil” of
Virginia
be visited under any pretense whatsoever without encountering
bullets from confederate rifles. It is fondly hoped that
our prisoners will be allowed the same privileges that we allow the
rebels. Colonel Devens fed rebel prisoners from his own table,
allowed them to write to their friends and relatives, and actually
forbid any language that would even wound their lacerated feelings,
appealing to his men in the following language, “Do not, for
heaven’s sake imitate the conduct of the wretches in Richmond who
have abused our prisoners; these men are prisoners and shall be
treated kindly and humanly.” Good!
Various reports are in circulation in regard to our missing
fellow soldiers, and we are in a painful suspense, for none of these
stories are worthy of record. Company D. mustered sixty
fighting men in round numbers, only about one half of whom returned
after the battle. This proportion runs through the whole
regiment nearly. The survivors mourn daily the loss of the
officers and soldiers who have so nobly and bravely and
patriotically marched side by side and shoulder to shoulder with us.
May we be so happy as to attain their skill in arms, imitate their
virtues, and leave as good a name on the page of history behind us.
As I am frequently called upon to give a little statement of the
manner in which the battle affected me, I state in my own way the
following. About
midnight
of Monday Oct. 21st, the ‘long roll” called the fifteenth
regiment for the first time into line of battle. Marching with
overcoats and blankets about eight miles in three hours, we arrived
at the
Potomac
; after considerable delay in crossing by poleing scows and batteaux,
we attained the
Virginia
shore, landing in slippery mud. We ascended the high
bluff by a zig zag path the bluff being very steep and difficult the
rocks sometimes being almost perpendicular.
After various labors and delays, we at last
found ourselves drawn up in the order of battle. Commencing
the attack with two howitzers and one brass field piece, we soon
received the fire of the rebels, not even hearing the rustling of a
leaf or the word of command. The first estimation we had of
their presence was the crack of the confederate rifle, leading
one to conclude that they make it a point to fire on the very first
sight of the heads of any Union troops. We stood and took
their fire like regular
United states
Troops. Rebel prisoners remarked to us that “if all had
stood fire like these with light blue pants, they would have been
driven from the field,” and that we killed more of their men than
we had in numbers of our own.
It is a most difficult task to state one’s feelings and sentiments
after being engaged in a very hotly contested battle, where the very
ground was shaken with the thunder of heavy artillery, and the very
air you breathe rent with the lightning of murderous rifles, and the
senses almost benumbed and bewildered and stunned with the effects
of gunpowder, the rattle and clangor of arms, and the voices of
angry men and officers pitched to the highest degree of anxiety, are
well calculated to confuse the intellect and defy the power of
language to express.
Before the battle commenced I sat down and leaned against a small
oak tree, and read the 67th Psalm, and I remember how we looked upon
each others eyes, to see the effect upon one another, and I do not
hesitate to say that the true Christian man is the man of true
courage. When I hear men tell about “no fear on the field of
battle” I simply say that such a man is a liar, and the truth is
not in him. The fear of death haunts all, and all the
difference there is between the coward and the man of courage is,
that one allow the animal passion of fear to predominate, and the
other keeps the “fear of God before his eyes,” and a pungent
sense of duty uppermost.
I loaded my musket lying on my side and breast, charging the
cartridge with the piece horizontal, and then lifting it to
perpendicular to allow the powder to drop down to the breech, and
then raising on my knees to fire again, dropping flat. A
little persimmon tree three inches in diameter was cut, and marred,
and hit from all directions only a few inches from the ground,
within twenty inches of where I lay, its leaves and branches cut
like lightning and dropping all around me. Thousands and thousands
of leaden hail fly around us and over us, killing and wounding those
close by, screaming and whistling through the air, reminding us
every moment of eternity, your sins, of friends and home, and the
abounding mercy of God.
Being at last compelled to leave the field, I sought refuge in the
cleft of a rock, where it was twenty feet in perpendicular height.
Rebels came all around me and fired over me, and passed by me, and
when darkness came forth and favored my escape, and after thinking
the whole matter over, concluding that I would prefer the bottom of
the
Potomac
to being a prisoner of Jefferson Davis. I reached the shore,
and following the trunk of an oak tree lying in the river towards
Harrison
's
Island
. A stick seemed to come into my hand. My first thought was to
use it for propelling a raft across the river, and while waiting for
the raft to be built, concluded that if sent over it would soon be
swamped like the boats preceding it.
While waiting and thinking what to do, in individual in piteous
tones asked me to give the stick to him, and, not complying
immediately, he again asked me for it. Finally I consented
that he might have it, but for some reason he did not accept it, or
even thank me for the offer. About this time the moon began to
rise brightly in the east, lighting every object with a dreaded
light. I then stepped into the water, I laid my breast on
that, when those close behind me stripped themselves of all
their clothing, following me closely, and gaining upon me, making
hideous and unearthly cries for help.
I turned my stick from right angles to parallel with my body.
Having all my uniform on and buttoned up closely I made slow
progress. The moon was obscured by a small black cloud about
this time, which saved me from being seen in the water. As
strange as some may think it, I could not keep out of my mind my
resemblance to the sword fish, and the only way I could be satisfied
that I made any headway was by the gentle ripple at the end of my
sword ( if you call me a fish. )
Swimming away downstream with the heavy current, I reached the
welcome shore of Harrison’s Island, not even cold or exhausted, or
feeling in any degree unhappy, for I felt that my prayer had been
answered, “Lord! save or I perish!” Wandering towards the
place where the wounded were cared for, an individual approached me,
and offered me something to put on, after congratulating me on my
most wonderful escape, taking a coat from his own back, which he had
pulled out of a lot of hundreds thrown promiscuously into an
outhouse, and which had been resorted to during the day for the
comfort of the wounded, when to my perfect surprise and confounding
astonishment, I had received my own overcoat, which my friends had
so nicely wrought inside of the back with my name, and the regiment
to which I belonged. And my friends astonishment exceeded, if
possible my own.
The results of this terrible battle are too well known in your
intelligent community to need anything further from me, and I
conclude by stating that none need to hesitate about addressing me
about it, for I am glad that the Lord has put me in any position
where I can do any good to any of my fellow creatures, or be an
instrument of doing His will, living daily a holy and righteous
life. Such an individual, no matter no matter what his
circumstances may be, will be filled with joy and peace passing
understanding, causing him to exclaim, in the language of the
Apostolic Doxology
“Now into Him who is able to keep us from falling ,and to present
us faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy, be
glory and majesty and dominion and power forever.”
Y___.
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