Remembering Snodgrass Hill

    For many, remembering the war brought painful thoughts of the past. Commanders of companies and regiments frequently had to relive the war when families wrote asking about the details of the deaths of their loved ones. John B. Palmer served as colonel of the 58th North Carolina Troops and fought at the battle of Chickamauga in September 1863, (you can read more about his life here). David B. Kirby, a cousin-in-law to Colonel Palmer, wrote the colonel about a decade after the war, asking about the details of the death of Edmund Kirby, his brother. Not only does Palmer provide details on the death of Kirby, but details on the role of the 58th North Carolina’s first charge against Snodgrass Hill. On their second charge at the close of the battle, they met the 21st Ohio Infantry. The Ohio soldiers retreated after the charge and the 58th North Carolina held the hill.

Col. John B. Palmer

   Columbia, S.C., June 10, 1875

MY Dear David: - Your letter of the 1st reached here during my absence in Baltimore. I will enceavor [sic] to answer your enquires as correctly as possible.

   At the battle of Chickamauga the 58th N.C. was in Kelly’s Brigade, Preston’s Division, Buckner’s Corps. Your brother Edmund was killed on the evening of the second day’s fight, in an attack on a strong position . . . It was the first charge by our division, but another division, Hindman’s, I think had previously charged and been repulsed.

   If my recollection serves me it was about 4 P.M. when your brother, who had been out in command of a skirmish line, was ordered back with two companies of the 58th. As soon as they reported I, in temporary absence of the brigade commander, was instructed to move with the brigade for the purpose of charging the Ridge [Snodgrass Hill]. We moved forward at a double quick and formed in line with the balance of the division near the base of [Snodgrass Hill], and I resumed command of my regiment. Here an officer, Gen. Hindman, I think, whose command had just been repulsed, at the request of our brigade commander, formed out brigade line for us, and we moved forward. Unfortunately instead of forming us on a line with the balance of the division, and parallel with position we were to charge, we were moved through the timber at a considerable angle, so that when the 58th emerged from the woods and got fairly under fire, the balance of the brigade was under cover. My regiment was a large one, consisting of twelve companies. Leit. Col. Kirby on the right, Maj. Dale [Dula] on the left. In spite of my efforts, seconded by Lieut. Col. Kirby, it was impossible, owing to the angle at which we were advancing, to keep in contact with the brigade on our right, and thus our left being so far in the rear and some little interval existing on our right, the right company, then right wing, and then the whole regiment became subject to a fire from the front, right and left of the enemy’s position. It was terrific. Company A, Capt. Tobey, started on the charge with thirty-four muskets, and reached the top of the hill with only twelve, losing twenty-two in the charge. In the very hottest of the fight, your brother, encouraging the men, and as he fell, I heard him cry, “push them men, (or boys) push them!” In this charge the regiment lost sixty-five men, the Lieut. Colonel, the Major and myself (slightly) wounded, and more than half the other officers either killed or wounded.

Lt. Col. Edmund Kirby

   In the regiment were three young men – boys, in fact – sons, and relatives of wealthy gentlemen of my acquaintance. These youth’s names were Childs, Sherwood and Phifer, all warm personal friends of your brother; indeed Childs had slept under the same blanket the night before. When after the fight I looked for your brother’s body, I found all the four together, almost within reach of each other. They were the most intimate friends your brother had in the regiment and must all have offered up their lives at the same moment.

   Shortly after dark our brigade, temporarily under my command, succeeded in capturing the troops who had been opposing us. They proved to be Ohio and Michigan troops, and I understood the officer to say, as I passed them to the rear, that they belonged to Granger’s command. Some of them said that when the 58th charged with such apparent recklessness, and without any apparent support, they thought we must be drunk.

   I think I told you that your brother had assumed the duties of Lieutenant Colonel only the day before the battle, and that having no proper uniform, he had cut four stars out of tin and affixed them to his collar to designate his rank; two of these stars were perforated by bullets.

Very truly yours,

John B. Palmer

David N. Kirby, Esq., New York

Lt. Col. Edmund Kirby's grave.

Lieutenant Colonel Edmund Kirby’s remains were exhumed after the war and were reburied at Shockoe Hill Cemetery, Richmond, Virginia, next to the remains of his brother, Pvt. Reynold Marvin Kirby, Richmond Howitzers. The brother died of typhoid fever in July 1861. 

Palmer’s account appeared in the October 1876 issue of Our Living and Our Dead. A stone was placed on the grave of Edmund Kirby in 2012 through the work of the Col. John B. Palmer Camp 1946, Sons of Confederate Veterans.

 

Transferring prisoners across the South.

   According to the Library of Congress’s Civil War Desk Reference, there were 211,411 Federal soldiers taken prisoner during the war. Of those, 16,668 were not incarcerated. They were paroled without going to a prisoner of war camp. That leaves 194,743 who did time in one of numerous prisons across the South. Considering the prisoners of war camps were spread out across the South, how did the Confederate government move these prisoners from camp to camp?[1]

   After a Federal soldier was captured, he was taken to a secure location to the rear of the battlefield and corralled together with other prisoners. Charles Mattocks of the 17^th Maine Infantry was captured on May 5, 1864, during the battle of the Wilderness. Mattocks wrote in his journal that he was sent to the rear “and delivered to the Provost Guard.” That evening, the group, composed of 10 officers and 150 men, was moved a mile and a half further back. The next morning, the prisoners were started on foot to Orange Court House. Their escorts were “Lee’s Body Guard,” the 39^th Battalion Virginia Cavalry. Mattocks considered his escorts “very nice chaps. They showed us every favor possible and even allowed us to ride their horses when we were tired.” It was on the morning of May 7 that Mattocks writes of being searched by the Provost. On May 8, Mattocks and his companions were loaded on the railroad and shipped to Lynchburg, Virginia. Mattocks mentions almost escaping “owing to the smallness of the guard,” but the attempt was foiled. He was eventually moved via Danville, through the Carolinians, and then to Macon, Georgia. Mattocks says little of his guard while on his journey.[2]

   It appears that different regiments were utilized to escort prisoners to holding areas. The 16^th Alabama Infantry was detailed to escort prisoners to the rear during the battle of Shiloh in April 1862.  A member of the 9^th Alabama Infantry reported that his regiment escorted a large number of Federal prisoners to the provost marshal following the battle of Chancellorsville in May 1863. Also following Chancellorsville, the 52^nd North Carolina, late in arriving at the battlefield, was sent back to Richmond guarding 2,000 Federal prisoners. Following Gettysburg, Picket’s depleted division became a large provost escorting prisoners toward Maryland and Virginia, much to the chagrin of the Virginians.[3]

Train Of Prisoners Approaches Savannah River, Drawing is a drawing by Quint Lox.

   The 39^th Battalion Virginia Cavalry was frequently used to transport Federal prisoners from the battlefield to a railhead. At Fredericksburg, Company A assigned to guard the prisoners actually boarded the train, continuing into Richmond. At Chancellorsville, Company D was reported escorting 650 prisoners to Guinea Station on the night of May 3. Following the battle of Spotsylvania Court House, the battalion moved with about 400 Federal prisoners in front of them, and corralled prisoners following the battle of Cold Harbor. It is possible that the duty continued through the siege of Petersburg, but the mundane assignment seldom appeared in their letters or diaries. The 39^th Battalion Virginia Cavalry was not the only force to escort prisoners. Capt. Edward A.H. McDonald, 11^th Virginia Cavalry, recalled escorting prisoners from the battle of Cedar Run, Virginia, in August 1862, to the rail station at Orange Court House.[4]

   It would be a common thought that the task of moving prisoners would fall under the duties of the Army Provost. However, Kenneth Radley tells us in his book on the subject that “Escorts for prisoners as they filtered back along the chain were only infrequently provided by the provost because of their severely limited strength; that duty had to be performed by whatever other troops were available.”[5]

   It is unclear if escort companies listed in the Army of Tennessee performed the same duty as those in the Army of Northern Virginia. It seemed that every division, corps, and army commander was listed as having such a company. For example, for the battle of Chickamauga in September 1863, two companies are listed as escort for Braxton Bragg: Dreux’s Company Louisiana Cavalry and Holloway’s Company Alabama Cavalry (Crocheron Light Dragoons), both under the command of Capt. Guy Dreux. After Bragg’s departure, Joseph E. Johnston retained both companies as escorts.

   Whole regiments were used to move prisoners. LeGrand J. Wilson, 42^nd Mississippi, recalled being sent to guard prisoners on Belle Island, Richmond. The men found the duty “very disagreeable.” Finally, the prisoners were paroled and sent out to be exchanged. The 42^nd Mississippi detailed 300 soldiers to escort the 5,000 prisoners to Varina Landing. The Confederates had to walk in front of the Federals, keeping a slow pace due to the heat. Even with those safeguards, several Confederates and Federals fell out, with several of the Federals dying.[6]

   At times, prisoners were moved through the interior of the Confederacy to other prisons. Railroads were utilized for these transfers. It was easier to secure the prisoners within box cars, thus reducing the amount of guards needed for each trip. Captain Benjamin F. Grigg, Company F, 56^th North Carolina, was reported absent on detail “guarding prisoners” in January-February 1864. According to family, Grigg was in charge of a fifty-man detail escorting prisoners from Richmond to Andersonville. The 5^th Georgia Reserves, or at least part of the regiment, escorted prisoners into Savannah. In December 1864, the 58^th North Carolina moved 1,200 prisoners from Columbia, Tennessee, to Corinth, Mississippi. The trip was arduous, with the regiment (numbering about 311 men) moving their 1,200 prisoners partially on foot and partially via rail.[7]  

   There were undoubtedly many regiments, or portions of regiments, detailed to move Federal prisoners across the South during the war years. Some of these men might have welcomed the diversion, a chance to escape the boredom of winter camp or just to see a different part of the country. Others probably found the duty laborious and were happy to be free of their charges. One thing is for certain: this is a portion of the war that needs to be explored more.

This article is a part of a 2021 series exploring the fringes of military prisons in the South. You can check out the other articles below:

Federal Prisoner of War Camps in the South

Federal Prisoners and Southern Ministers and Chaplains 

The Types of Prisoners at Salisbury Prison

  

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[1] Civil War Desk Reference, 583.

[2] Mattocks, “Unspoiled Heart”: The Journal of Charles Mattocks of the 17^th Maine, 138-152.

[3] Barrett, Yankee Rebel, 102; OR, Vol. 10, 1:597; 15:969; Jordan, NC Troops,12:399.

[4] Hardy, Lee’s Body Guard, 23, 34, 60, 64; Rolph, My Brother’s Keeper, 94.

[5] Radley, Rebel Watchdog, 164-65.)

[6] Wilson, The Confederate Soldier, 93-94.

[7] Munson, North Carolina Civil War Obituaries, 158n.133; Speer, Portals to Hell, 268;  Hardy, The Fifty-eighth North Carolina Troops, 146-47.

Torn families – the Burlesons, Yancey County, North Carolina.

 

Cumberland Gap

The War years are full of interesting stories and sad coincidences. Part of the latter may be found in the story of Daniel W. Burleson and his son William.

The Burlesons (sometimes Burlisons) were a middle-class family living in the mountains of western North Carolina. While the 1860 census enumerator did not divide their home county (Yancey County) into districts, they claimed they received their mail in Burnsville, North Carolina.

Like many families in the area, the war tore this family apart. William P. Burleson joined the 58^th North Carolina Troops in the summer of 1862. Like many records in the 58^th North Carolina, Burleson’s compiled service record is rather incomplete. We don’t know the exact date he enlisted, what company he joined, nor his rank. He was 18 years old. We might be able to assume that he was forced to enlist by the Conscription Act, but we really don’t know that either. All the records tell us is that he died of “typhoid fever” on September 15, 1862, at Cumberland Gap, Tennessee. An announcement in the Asheville News on October 9, 1862, told people that William A. Burleson “was a pious boy and a good boy, and leaves a father and mother to mourn his loss.” (Jordan, NC Troops,14:422)

William’s father, Daniel, also joined the military. On May 6, 1864, in Cumberland Gap, where his son had died several months earlier, Daniel joined Co. H, 2^nd North Carolina Mountain Infantry (US). Daniel was 45 years old at the time of his enlistment. Five months later, on October 5, 1864, Private Daniel Burleson died of chronic diarrhea at the hospital in Cumberland Gap, Tennessee. We really don’t know why or what compelled Daniel to enlist in the Federal army. The two North Carolina regiments from the western part of the state were not exactly models of fighting to preserve the Union, or even to free the slaves. They were more akin to robbing and plundering their neighbors. Daniel would leave several children back in Yancey County fatherless. (Two other sons would also join local Federal regiments in 1864).

There is really little more to add to this story. In a post-war widow pension application, John W. Burleson, one of Daniel’s other sons, stated that Daniel had been forced into the home guard and forced “to hunt up his neighbors, union men, [and] help force them into the rebel army and he did not want to do this any longer. The only thing left for him was to join the federals…” Of course, pension records are not always the most reliable source.

In the end, it is just another tragic glimpse of our history. Most of the graves of the Federal soldiers were relocated to the Knoxville National Cemetery after the war.  There is a good chance that is where Daniel Burleson is interred. The grave of William, and hundreds of other Confederates who died in the Cumberland Gap area, seems to be lost to history.

Women as Clerics in the Southern Confederacy

   It is an often-repeated phrase: women left behind in various Southern states had to adapt, often performing a wide range of tasks beyond the normal status quo of taking care of the home and children. But the idea of 1860s women adopting the role of the clergy may seem farfetched to today’s readers.

   Historically, in most cultures, women were intrinsically involved with the processes of birth, life, and death. This concept is clear from the mythical triptych depiction of the female: maiden, mother and crone. In a practical sense, nearly every activity connected to being born, nurturing life, and caring for the dead was conducted and supervised by women. Only in more “modern” times have men become the primary figures in these practices, with the advent of medical and funeral practices conducted by professionals, men trained in facilities that often did not even permit the training of women. However, in the past, particularly in rural areas, women delivered babies, cared for children, treated the sick, and, when a person died, it was women who often cleaned and dressed the body, while also making a shroud. Men typically built the coffin and dug the grave. After the family sat up with the body overnight (embalming was not really in practice, except for the rich), the deceased was transported to the cemetery and a few words were spoken. Then the grave was filled. High churches, like Catholic, Episcopal, Lutheran, etc., had a proscribed liturgy that was to be read over the deceased. Exclusively male clergymen conducted these funeral rites and services

   There are many stories of women burying dead soldiers, both North and South. The pregnant Elizabeth Thorn at Gettysburg is one of the best known. But some women went further, and due to the absence of men, assumed the role of a cleric, performing the service for the dead, and challenging traditional gender roles as they took on one more aspect of caring for human beings departing this life.

   Francis Kirby Palmer was the wife of Col. John B. Palmer (58^th North Carolina Troops). In 1858, they moved from Detroit, Michigan, to western North Carolina, building a home on the banks of the Linville River. (Francis’s brother was Capt. Edmond Kirby, US Army, promoted to brigadier general on his deathbed.) With Colonel Palmer away in the army, Episcopal missionary and teacher William West Skiles came and stayed with Mrs. Palmer, her young son, and niece. Skiles was already ill at the time, and his health continued to deteriorate. After being confined to his room at the Palmer house for three months, Skiles died on December 8, 1862. A rough box was constructed, and Skiles was buried in Mrs. Palmer’s rose garden. According to a biography of Skiles, “Mrs. Palmer herself put on his surplice, unwilling that a hireling should perform that service for him.” A surplice is a type of liturgical vestment, usually a white tunic maybe reaching to the knees. It is to be worn at all times while the minister is performing his ministration. Mrs. Palmer put on the surplice and read the burial service over his body.[1]

   The ritual itself largely contains Scripture readings, many from the book of Psalms, and several from the New Testament as well.

   There is a second reference to a woman performing the Funeral Liturgy. This one occurred a few months earlier. In May 1862, the Texas brigade had its first taste of battle at Eltham’s Landing in Virginia. Among the mortally wounded was Lt. Col. Harvey H. Black, 1^st Texas Infantry, dying on May 7. According to a couple of different accounts, Lieutenant Colonel Black, and another soldier, Private Bush, were buried at Cedar Hill, New Kent County, Virginia, on the property of Dr. John Mayo. One Texas soldier wrote that Black was buried “in a private graveyard on the hill, and the burial service of the Episcopal church was read at the grave by a lady to whom the premises belonged.”[2]

The 1864 painting of The Burial of Latané depicts a similar scene of a burial being conducted by women, but the painting is an artistic interpretation, since the service was actually conducted by a Methodist minister who arrived shortly before the service and burial were conducted.

   These two stories, and there are undoubtedly more waiting to be discovered, provide illustrations for several different important points. Women were willing to ensure that men were to have proper burials in a time of increasing hardship. These women were willing to provide the last stages of that “Good Death” so often discussed in historical literature of the past twenty plus years. Women were willing to assume roles not typically perceived by society as being roles for women. While women were often involved in the burial process, these women were willing to go beyond tradition. For Mrs. Palmer, William West Skiles was a family friend who had lived with them for a short amount of time. For those in New Kent County, Lieutenant Colonel Black was a stranger from Texas. Yet the norms of the era dictated that he also deserved a proper burial. With no ordained minister at hand, these women were willing to see that the prescribed customs of the time were followed. Were there repercussions for their actions? Were they criticized or praised? It is hard to say.

   While there was discussion of starting an Episcopal church close to the Palmer home, the closest church was more than twenty miles away over poor mountain roads, so Mrs. Palmer’s decision seems to have been influenced by both geography and by circumstances. There was a church, St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, in New Kent County, but it is unknown if the woman who buried Colonel Black and Private Bush was a member. In any case, what we do know is that these women understood the importance of proper rituals and burial practices, and they were willing to take on unexpected roles to ensure those practices were completed for friends and strangers.

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[1] Cooper, William West Skiles: A Sketch of Missionary Life at Valle Crucis in Western North Carolina, 136.

[2] Todd, First Texas Regiment, 4-5.

Site Visit Saturday: Cumberland Gap

 

Lay down boys, take a little nap

Lay down boys, take a little nap

Lay down boys, take a little nap

14 miles to the Cumberland Gap!

   For those of us living in the east, Cumberland Gap has a special history. It is the site of an ancient road used by Natives to travel, at times trading with others, and at other times, making war. Daniel Boone passed through the Gap in 1775. He traversed the Gap several times on a route we now call the Wilderness Road, taking settlers into Kentucky.

   During the Civil War, both North and South viewed Cumberland Gap as a strategic stronghold. The gap sits on the juncture of the state lines of Kentucky, Tennessee, and Virginia. The Cumberland Mountains are a long mountain chain that runs along the Kentucky-Virginia border, and on into West Virginia. There are other gaps (like Pound Gap), but Cumberland is the most accessible.

Braxton Bragg and his rebel band

Braxton Bragg and his rebel band

Braxton Bragg and his rebel band

Run George Morgan in the Bluegrass land

   At the beginning of the war, many thought that the Cumberland Gap area would be the site of a major conflict. If Federal forces could seize the gap, then Federal soldiers could move into Unionist East Tennessee, seizing control of the railroad in the area. Southwest Virginia with its salt and lead mines could be easily taken; after that, western and central North Carolina, then back into middle Tennessee could all be vulnerable. And there was a plan kind of like this in November 1861. East Tennessee Unionists planned to destroy several of the railroad bridges in East Tennessee, while Federal soldiers passed through the Gap and seized control before Confederate sources could react. Several of the bridges were burnt on the night of November 8, but the Federal soldiers never came.

   Cumberland Gap changed hands several times during the war. Confederate forces held the Gap from the start of the war until June 1862. Then in September 1862, it was abandoned by the Federals, and the Confederates again assumed control September 1863. The defenses at Cumberland Gap were seen as impregnable. While the Gap never fell in a battle, it was all to easy to cut off lines of supply and starve out the defenders. Confederate forces that defended the Cumberland Gap at various times included the  29^th North Carolina Troops, 58^th North Carolina Troops, 55^th Georgia Infantry, 62^nd North Carolina Troops, 64^th North Carolina Troops, 64^th Virginia Infantry, 1^st Tennessee Calvary, and others.

Rebels now give a little yell

All you rebels give a little yell

All you rebels give a little yell

Scare the Yankees all to Hell

   Cumberland Gap has been a national park since 1940. The park today covers 24,000 acres and is one of the largest parks in the eastern United States. There is a great visitor center, campground, and numerous trails, some of which explore some of the defensive works constructed by Confederate and Federal forces during the war.

   I have explored this park numerous times over the years. My last visit was in December 2020.

McClung’s Tennessee Battery

 Many times, people ask where I get ideas. And to be honest, many of my ideas are connected. That first book on the 37^th North Carolina led to my books on the battle of Hanover Court House, Watauga County and the Civil War, Charlotte and the Civil War, the book on the Branch-Lane brigade, Feeding the Army of Northern Virginia, and in an indirect way, my history of the 58^th North Carolina Troops.

 But at other times, I come across little tidbits that make me just wonder what people or regiments or events get left out of the historical narrative. A few days ago, I acquired the two-volume Broadfoot reprint of Lindsley’s Military Annals of Tennessee. These two volumes provide brief glimpses of Confederate regiments from Tennessee. When finally tracking down McClung’s Battery, listed as Company A, First Tennessee Light Artillery, we simply get that Company A was under Capt. H. L. W. McClung. (870) A few pages over is a list of officers (877). But unlike other infantry and cavalry regiments and artillery batteries, there is no history of McClung’s command.

Crute, in his Units of the Confederate States Army, goes into a little more detail. The battery was organized in the fall of 1861 in Knoxville, Tennessee. It was involved in the battles of Fishing Creek and Shiloh, and then in the summer of 1862, was stationed at Vicksburg, then Port Hudson, then East Tennessee. In April 1864, it was sent with no guns to Saltville, Virginia (I’m not sure why they didn’t have guns). In August 1864, it was re-armed, only to lose its guns at the battle of Morristown, Tennessee, on October 28, 1864. The seventeen men who were left were transferred to Captain Lynch’s Battery and disbanded in April 1865. (317)

McClung's Battery, Shiloh (NPS)

The rangers at Shiloh NMP wrote a facebook post about the battery, and on another site on Barr’s Battery, the editors wrote a piece on McClung’s Battery. This is the most extensive piece written so far, about four pages. The battery was known as the Caswell Artillery. In December 1861, they were reported to have two-six pounders and two 12-pounder cannons. They were not really involved in the battle of Mill Springs, Kentucky, in January 1862, but were forced to abandon their cannon on the retreat. By the time of the battle of Shiloh, they were re-armed, and two pieces were in action on April 7^th. In May, the battery was attached to Statham’s brigade, Breckinridge’s corps. The battery was soon in Vicksburg, and in August, was ordered to Port Hudson. By this time, they apparently had rifled cannons. A month later, the command was in Holly Springs, Mississippi. 

By December 1862, the battery was in East Tennessee – David’s brigade, Heth’s Division. For the rest of the war, they bounced around between various posts – Loudon, Carter’s Depot, Zollicoffer. They were engaged at the battle of Carter’s Depot in September 1863, where they lost the carriages to their guns. In November, they were reported as having no cannons. They were sent to Saltville, Virginia, shortly thereafter. It does not appear that they were re-armed until August 1864, when it was reported they had four pieces of artillery. In an engagement at Morristown, Tennessee, in October 1864, most of the battery was captured. The seventeen who escaped were assigned to Lynch’s Battery. The battery was disbanded in April 1865 at Christiansburg, Virginia.

Several months ago, I was exploring Captain Hugh McClung’s service record. He was court martialed in 1863. Many courts martial records were lost at the end of the war, but parts of McClung’s survive. There were six charges against him – violating the 14^th, 36^th, 39^th (twice), 45^th articles of war, and  “Conduct to the prejudice of good order and military discipline.” Many of these charges concerned falsifying muster rolls, “misapplying an artillery horse,” drunkenness while on duty, and permitting his men to break into a train car. McClung pled not guilty. The court found him not guilt on most of the charges, but he was guilty of trading artillery horses at Corinth in May 1862;  “Habitually failing to restrain his men from trespassing and depredating private property”; and, “Habitually drawing and appropriating to his own use, rations belonging to his men…” The court found him guilty. His punishment was to “forfeit all pay due him from the Confederate States, and that he be dismissed from the service.” However, when Major General Simon B. Buckner reviewed the case, he disagreed, finding that the charges were “utterly unfounded… the offences of the accused were rather those of omission than commission.” Buckner recommended mercy. The general added that during the attack on Knoxville, McClung, there under arrest, “offered to serve in any capacity.” Buckner believed that “Such conduct was worthy of a good soldier, and merits leniency.” Buckner remitted the findings of the court and ordered McClung to report to his battery. McClung would go on to be captured at the battle of Morristown and spent the rest of the war as a prisoner at Johnson’s Island.

Can I say that this will be my next regimental history? No, I can’t. But I find the story intriguing and the credible information in the greater realms of Confederate histography lacking. Now you know how projects come to me.

The Guerrilla War in Florida and North Carolina

 

At times we get caught up in the bigger War, epitomized by places like Chancellorsville or the Atlanta Campaign. There was, however, another war being fought while this bigger War was taking place. It was a much more personal War. Two events--the June 1864 Camp Vance Raid in western North Carolina and the July 1864 Bayport-Brooksville Raid along the Gulf Coast of Florida--are good examples of the episodes taking place in that "other" War.

It might be argued that the Confederate conscription law hit North Carolina the hardest. Thousands of men had no desire to serve in the Confederate army. They simply wished to be left alone. Yet the law forced them into service. Two training camps were established, one in Raleigh, and eventually, one in the western part of the state near Morganton; this latter base was named Camp Vance. Once eastern Tennessee fell to Federal forces in the fall of 1863, Camp Vance became a tempting target. In the spring of 1864, a Tennessee Unionist, George W. Kirk, received permission to recruit his own regiment, and he devised a plan to capture Camp Vance. He led a force of around 120 men through the wilderness, and on June 28, surrounded and captured the Confederate base. Captured at Camp Vance were three companies of junior reserves, then in the process of organization, and an unknown number of men who had been held in the guardhouse (40-50 men, maybe). Kirk then set fire to the camp, burned a local railroad depot and train, and began his return up the mountain toward Tennessee. Along the route, he was forced to fend off several attacks by local troops. In one of these attacks, Kirk used some of the junior reserves as human shields and laughed about the Confederates shooting their own men. Upon crossing the crest of the Blue Ridge, Kirk played a part in burning the home of Col. John B. Palmer (58th NCT), and destroying the Cranberry Iron Works.  He eventually returned to east Tennessee with 150 prisoners, 40 slaves, abundant horses and mules and other plunder, and numerous recruits for his own regiment, the 3rd North Carolina Mounted Infantry (US). The men Kirk recruited for this raid were from western North Carolina. The guides he used were dissidents who were living in the area.  The men he recruited for his regiment were also from the area.  One of the most critical points about the regiment that Kirk raised, the 3rd North Carolina Mounted Infantry (US) is often overlooked: they did not join the United States army for some lofty goal, like preserving the Union. These men crossed over the Tennessee/North Carolina line long enough to join the Federal army, to get fed, clothed, and armed, and then slipped back across the border to raid the farms, homes, and businesses of local pro-Southern people. The 3rd NCMI (US) never functioned as a regiment until April and May 1865, when it became a part of Stoneman's Raid. Their war was much more personal, and it was almost always waged against former friends, personal enemies, and even family.

In some ways, the Brooksville-Bayport Raid bears many similarities to Kirk's Camp Vance Raid. The 2nd Florida Cavalry (US) was organized in late 1863 and early 1864 and consisted of pro-Union, or at least anti-Confederate, Florida men. Just who conceived the plan of a raid into Hernando County is unknown. On June 30, 1864, two companies of the 2nd Florida Cavalry (US) and two companies of the 2nd United States Colored Troops set out from Fort Myers. Their purpose was to disrupt the movement of cattle heading north toward the main Confederate army in Tennessee, and to the civilian market in places like Charleston. After disembarking near Anclote Key, the group moved inland. They were under the command of Capt. John F. Bartholf, 2nd USCT. There were, however, plenty of men serving in the two companies of Florida Cavalry who were from the very area through which they were marching. As in Kirk's Raid, there were several small skirmishes fought along the way.  Contesting the advance of the Federals were members of the First Battalion, Special Cavalry, at times referred to as the Cow Cavalry. At one point during the raid, Capt. Leroy G. Lesley (CS) rode out under a flag of truce and, according to a Federal officer, "induced Capt. Greene and myself [Lt. William McCullough] to desert the Union cause, and move back to Dixie." The Federals raided numerous farms along the raid route, including Lesley's, taking food and pretty much whatever else suited them. Several homes and/or outbuildings were burned, and salt works were broken up. The Federals never actually reached Brooksville, but they  turned back toward the west and, on July 11, reached the Bayport Inlet. The US Navy had arrived the day before. The Confederate cannon that could have been captured had been relocated a few days before-- to Brooksville.

While the organizers of these two raids might have stated lofty goals on paper - the capture of Camp Vance and the destruction of railroad bridges for Kirk's Raid, or the disruption of the flow of cattle for the Bayport-Brooksville Raid, what was accomplished was much more personal, more bitter. These were raids conducted by "union" men who had been run out of the areas that they called home. While the war was far from being won in the summer of 1864, these local Unionists seized upon the recent gains in east Tennessee and the lack of protection in Florida in order to exact a measure of revenge on their former neighbors.

In the long run, the raids did benefit the Union's war aims. Kirk's raid demonstrated just how open western North Carolina was to attack, while the Bayport-Brooksville Raid deprived the Southern Confederacy of much-needed supplies. Both raids further added to the demoralizing effects the war was having on the Southern people.  

Confederate Wagon Trains, Teamsters, and Wagoneers

   Over the years, I have collected quite a few volumes on the War. They include general reference works, biographies of military and political figures, books on places, and on battles. In only one of these multitude of volumes can I find one chapter on the subject of wagon trains. That would be found in Earl Hess’s Civil War Logistics, and this chapter looks at the role of wagon trains mostly on the Federal side.

  When most people think about Confederate wagon trains, the retreat of Confederate forces from the battle of Gettysburg is the primary event that pops into mind. Under the command of Brig. Gen. John D. Imboden, that wagon train of supplies and wounded stretched 15 to 20 miles (probably more) and was attacked several times by Federal cavalry. While these transportation systems are now an important piece of history, seeing a wagon or a train of wagons was a common occurrence in the 1860s.

   Turning first to Army Regulations (1863, Confederate. The Federal 1861 regulations are almost identical), we find that each infantry regiment is entitled to six wagons. A textbook regiment is 1,000 men, so overall, that is not a lot of room to haul food, mess equipment, and officer’s baggage on campaign. Of course, save for the opening days of a campaign, regiments were seldom at full strength. By mid-1863, at least in my experience, a regiment had 400-600 men. Plus, the medical department for each regiment “is allowed two four-wheeled, and the same number of two-wheeled ambulances; and one wagon for the transportation of hospital supplies.” Federal regulations actually specified the size of the wagon – 22x41x114 inches, inside measurement. It seems this was omitted from Confederate regulations. Of course, we know that wagons were always in short supply for the Confederacy. The wagon train for a regiment was under the command of the colonel of that regiment. The actual commander of the wagon train was the wagon-master, who, according to regulations was under the command of the quartermaster’s Department. The wagon-master had command over the teamsters or wagoneers. Strangely enough, a “wagon-master” is not a rank that I have encountered on the Confederate side.

   Digging a little deeper, Scott’s Military Dictionary (1861) tells us that for “each regiment of dragoons, artillery, and mounted riflemen in the regular army there shall be added one principle teamster with the rank and compensation of quartermaster-sergeant and to each company of the same two teamsters, with the compensation of artificers.”  (610) It is interesting that there is no mention of the Infantry.

Edwin Forbes, "The Supply Train" 1876.

   So how well do these numbers stand up to what actually happened? That, my friends, is a hard conclusion to reach. Just how many wagons were with each regiment? Five to six seems to be the rule. In August 1862, when Col. John B. Palmer was ordered to move his regiment, the 58^th North Carolina Troops, from the present-day Johnson City area to Cumberland Gap, he was instructed to take just five wagons (Hardy, The Fifty-Eighth North Carolina Troops, 39). A field officer in Colquitt’s brigade (ANV), writing in December 1862, complained that his brigade (five) regiments only had thirty-seven wagons, six of which were worn out. He needed six foraging wagons, but only had one.” (Glatthaar, General Lee’s Army, 212) What I do now know is this: does the number of wagons, both for Palmer and Colquitt’s brigade, include the ambulances and wagon for transporting medical supplies? Or, were those two always separate?

  Peter Wellington Alexander, a correspondent for several war-time Southern newspapers, fills us in with several important observations early in the war. Writing in December 1861, he has this to say about the Quartermaster’s Department: “It is the duty of this department to provide transportation, fuel and quarters for the men, and forage for the teams and staff and cavalry horses. The rules adopted in the Army of the Potomac [later Army of Northern Virginia]—and the same is true, I presume, elsewhere—had been to impress all the transportation and forage in the counties adjacent to Manassas. Where the owners were willing to part with their teams or provender, they received pay for them; otherwise, they were seized and the owners turned over to the government for remuneration. There cannot be fewer than 1,500 to 2,000 wagons, and six to 8,000 horses, in the service of the Quarter-Master’s department for that division of the army… At first drivers were impressed with the wagons. Now, they are detailed from the ranks, of the army—young men who have no experience in driving and who complained that they did not enlist to drive wagons. They were required to alternate, and thus every day or two there was a new driver, who was ignorant both of the ability and disposition of the horses, and who soon teaches them bad habits.” (Styple, Writing and Fighting the Confederate War, 59)

  There is a lot to unpack, at least for early war, in that statement. The Confederate army would have had next to no wagons at the start of the conflict. Maybe a handful found at various captured military post throughout the South, but really not enough to provision and equip the army. So, military officials bought or impressed both wagons and teams. I’m sure this is not only true for Confederate forces in Virginia, but Tennessee, Alabama, and South Carolina as well.

   Second, the drivers of these wagons came from the ranks. For many who write about the war, we often see long wagon trains driven solely by impressed or hired slaves/free people of color. That might be true, especially after mid-1864, but not entirely. I’ve noticed over the years quite a few men detailed from the ranks to drive wagons. In the 39^th Battalion Virginia Cavalry, I documented fourteen men who served as teamsters. The average age was 36. (The youngest, fourteen, the oldest forty.) The records are really spotty, as with most Confederate regiments. All of these men save two were listed as teamsters when the compiled service records of 39^th Batt. VA Cav. end in December 1864. Only one of those men, Pvt. Alexander J. Ramsey, was listed as being sick and wounded prior to being assigned as a teamster. I can’t really say that those who were disabled or unfit to march with the infantry were assigned to this duty. Another interesting example from the 39^th Battalion is Pvt. Anthony S. Butts. Private Butts was conscripted into the Confederate army in 1863, and was assigned to ANV headquarters staff. For the rest of war, right up until Robert E. Lee arrived in Richmond on April 15, 1865, Butts was driving Lee’s personal ambulance. Of course, the 39^th Battalion Virginia Cavalry did not function as a traditional cavalry command. Many of these men detailed as teamsters, like Butts, were serving in other commands.

   Did Black men serve as teamsters? Yes. Where they prominent in that role? I really can’t say. There were a couple of attempts in 1864 to get detailed men back in the ranks. Marion Hill Fitzpatrick wrote in November 1864 that “Jeff Davis recommends the calling out of Forty Thousand able bodied negroes [for teamsters].” (McCrea, Red Dirt and Isinglass, 528) Obviously, some of them could have been used to replace white men detailed as teamsters.  Some regiments did have Black teamsters. The 30^th Virginia Infantry had six. (Pamplin Historical Park) Tim Talbot has an account on his blog of a member of the 1^st Maine Cavalry capturing (in late 1864) ten Confederate wagons loaded with provisions, along with their “drivers (all colored men).”

   How did the men in the ranks feel about the men detailed as teamsters? Another good question. Joshua Lupton, 39^th Battalion Virginia Cavalry, was detailed to serve as the wagon master for ANV Headquarters staff. His brother John thought Joshua’s assignment was an easy one. All he had to do was “issue forage to General Lee's horses twice a day.” (Hardy, Lee’s Body Guard, 25) Undoubtedly, there was some resentment over this “easy assignment." At Appomattox, when the time came to surrender, those men who had been detailed as teamsters were sent back to their regiments to march in the proceedings. Brigadier General James H. Lane felt that these men should all be placed in a group together. "I did not wish to surrender any but those brave fellows who had followed us under arms,” he wrote after the war. (Fayetteville Observer, June 8, 1897.)

   I think this subject needs a lot more research, so, more to come.

A Refugee Crisis

When we think of refugees during the War years, Vicksburg always comes to mind. Residents in the besieged city were forced out of their homes, living in caves dug into the hillsides about the river town. The often told stories include civilians who lived on rats, dogs, cats, birds and mules, just trying to survive.

Yet the stories of refugees is far greater that just those told about the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River in Vicksburg. The War produced hundreds of thousands of refugees across the South (an estimated 200,000 in Virginia alone). The could be found coming from small towns, like Winston, North Carolina, the first town burned by Federal troops (February 1862). Larger locations, like Atlanta and Columbia, were put to the torch, while other areas were shelled so extensively there civilian populations chose to flee. Charleston and Petersburg come to mind.

There were of course, the more famous Southern refugees, like Mary Chesnut, Varina Davis, and the family of Leonidas Polk. Refugees were not confined to women either: North Carolina governor Zebulon Baird Vance became a refugee at war's end. He fled to Statesville, living not far from the Confederate Senator from Tennessee, Landon Carter Haynes, who became a refugee much earlier.

The war touching places was not confined to these larger districts: it came to the rural areas as well. Arizona Houston recalled that when Kirk's raiders passed through the North Toe River Valley area of present-day Avery County, North Carolina, her mother was forced to relocate to her parents house after losing everything they owned. Col. John B. Palmer's (58th NC) home, and possible another residents, were burned during the same raid. The raiders took everything they had. In neighboring Yancey County, the home of Melchizedek Chandler was robbed and his wife threatened with hanging. When Chandler returned, he abandoned his home and moved closer to the relative safety of Burnsville. One county further west, in the Laurel community of Madison County, came the story of Confederate soldiers forcing some families into one single home, and then torching the others.

Technically, unless the former owners agreed to keep their former slaves on as hired hands at the end of the war, 3.6 million slaves became refugees, with no place to go, no house to live, no jobs, and with very limited (marketable) skills. There were Unionist displaced as well, like the families of Andrew Johnson, Horace Maynard, and William G. Brownlow. They were escorted from the Confederate controlled East Tennessee and sent packing up north.

What got me to thinking along these lines was a recent reading of Letters from Lee's Army, by Susan Leigh Blackford and Charles Minor Blackford. Blackford commanded a cavalry company early in the war, and then served as an assistant judge advocate on Longstreet's staff. While these letters are very edited (much like Mary Chesnut's Diary), they contain some fantastic description of life during the war. On July 11, 1864, Blackford writes from Petersburg:

We are camped just outside of town... The whole country around here is filled with refugees from Petersburg in any kind of shelter, many in tents. Mr. Watkins is about a mile from here in a barn. His party consists of his wife and himself, Mrs. Hall, Miss Cary and all the children. They sleep on the barn floor.... Every yard for miles around here is filled with tents and little shelters made of pine boards, in which whole families are packed; many of these people [are] of some means and all of great respectability. There must be great suffering." (266)

Yael Sternhell argues that the massive amount of refugees the war created remade the South's social landscape. The War "challenged the laws and customs that governed movement in the antebellum years and subverted structures of power that determined which Southerners had the right to move at will and which did not." (Routes of War, 7) I would argue that scarcely any family in the South was not affected by the refugee crisis the war produced. They knew of people displaced by the war, took in people displaced by the war, or became refugees themselves. Those people that Blackford encounter living in tents, barns, and shanties outside of peoples in June 1864 were just a fraction of those dislodged during the 1860s.

39 Kegs of Mexican Silver Dollars

As I travel about and talk to folks about the last days of the Confederate government in North Carolina, the fate of the gold and silver of the Confederate treasury almost always comes up during the discussion. The history and folklore of the Confederate treasury is as varied as the uniforms worn by Confederate generals. This post is going to look at one aspect of the story. The 39 (or 40, depending on the source) kegs of Mexican Silver dollars.

As the story goes, these 39 kegs of silver were from the sale of cotton to the Mexican government. They arrived in Danville about the same time as Jefferson Davis did, sometime around April 3 or 4. And the folklore further states that the kegs of silver were buried in Danville, and reside there to this day.

I'm not so sure why there is a mystery regarding the 39 kegs of Mexican silver coins. $39,000 in Mexican Silver was delivered to Joseph E. Johnston in April 1865. (One source states it was $37,679.96.) Davis sent it to Johnston for safe keeping, and at one point, even asked for it back. Johnston refused, and instead, paid his men with it. Johnston had been clamoring for weeks for money to pay his troops. According to Maj. G. W. F. Harper of the 58th North Carolina Troops, each man received “one dollar and fourteen cents” in “Mexican silver dollars.” “There being no means of making change for the cents, the men, in groups of seven, drew for the surplus dollar.”

Why was this money not moved to Charlotte and deposited in the old US Mint building with the remaining treasury gold, silver, and notes on April 8? Because the other funds from the Confederacy treasury were taken by rail. Stoneman's men wrecked the railroad around Greensboro on April 11. Transporting 39 kegs of silver would have been too much for Davis and his party to undertake. It was a struggle to come up with enough horses and ambulances/wagons to move the Confederate cabinet.

This leads me to another question: there are plenty of books out there about the lost Confederate gold/treasury. I understand this. Sensationalism sells and who does not love a good buried treasure story?  But is there not a book that looks at the hard, cold facts regarding the final disposition of the very limited funds of the Confederate government? Maybe a future project......

The not-so-little drummer boys

This past weekend, I was in Gettysburg, and I found a good deal on a used drum for living history/reenacting programs. I had a drum when I was younger, and have always regretted selling it. I have a young man here in my household who will make a good drummer boy.

But that leads to this question: were the drummers really boys? I thought I would look at the field music of three different regiments and see what could find.

The three regiments that I chose, all infantry, were the 16th, 18th, and 58th. I went through and looked for men listed as musicians.

We will start with the 16th. There were 24 men listed as musicians. Eleven of these men served in a regimental band, Only one is listed as a fifer, and I suppose (but no proof) that the others might have played other wind instruments. Out of the 24, we have the ages of 19. Their average age was 23 years, by no means, boys. The youngest was 18, and the oldest, 35.

Next, I turned my attention to the 18th regiment. I found 11 who were listed as musicians. Nine were listed as drummers. Interestingly, there were several boys who enlisted who were later discharged. Their ages were 16, 12, 14, and 15. The oldest was 32. So in the 18th Regiment, there were some boys who, for about a year, served as drummers.

Finally, I looked at the 58th NCT. In this regiment, I found twelve men who served as musicians. Six were listed as drummers, three as fifers, and three just as musicians. The youngest was 17 years old, and the oldest was 32. Of the 11 who had their ages listed, they averaged 23 years of age.

Being a musician was not always a safe position. Of the 47 boys and men I surveyed, one was listed as killed in action, three wounded, of which two died, and three who died of disease.

I wonder what kind of numbers we would have if we surveyed all of the North Carolina regiments?

The photo is of Calvin Miller, 37th NCT.

"this company is the worst Co. to swear and gamble..."

Lately, I've been slowly reading through Rable's God's Almost Chosen Peoples: A Religious History of the American Civil War. I came across an interesting passage the other day. Rable writes on page 90: "During the first two years of the war, soldier attendance at often infrequent religious services remained shockingly low." As many of you know, I've studied two regiments in details (and read about others). The war was already over a year old when the 58th North Carolina Troops was mustered into service (July 29, 1862). They went the next year without a chaplain. In late 1862, while stationed at Cumberland Gap, William Horton (Company I) wrote to his sister that “this company is the worst Co to swear and gambel you ever seen in your life. They play Cards day and night…” Interestingly enough, their chaplain, John W. Rabey, was listed as a deserter of the 26th North Carolina Troops when he was appointed chaplain of the 58th North Carolina Troops.

In stark contrast to the 58th NCT, and to Rable's statement, is the 37th North Carolina Troops. Albert L. Stough was a Baptist minister and was appointed on November 20, 1861, the same day the regiment was organized. Stough was "zealously engaged in the cause, [and] his labors were greatly blessed." Stough reported in the Biblical Reporter in February 1862 that the "religious interest in the 37th regiment was " very strong and attentive."  Stough asked for more "religious reading matter…  " and praised the work being made to circulate "Bibles among…" the soldiers.  “ The enterprise is glorious in its orgins…" he wrote, and thought that "the interest of our country, the happiness of our families, the preservation of pure religion, requires alike our exertions in supplying the destitute with the Gospel of the Son of God."  He closed his letter with "Pray for us.  Pray for our unfortunate nation, that we may have a speedy and honorable peace."

The interest regarding religion in the 37th North Carolina Troops went unabated through much of the war, while the lack of interest maintained itself in the 58th North Carolina Troops.  This leads to a few questions that I can’t answer right now: Did this level of interest have something to do with when the regiments were formed? The 37th North Carolina was formed of men in the second wave of enlistment in late 1861, and the 58th North Carolina was largely made up of men forced to voluntarily enlist because of conscription in 1862. Did it have something to do with place? Probably not - since sixty percent of the 37th North Carolina came from the same counties as the 58th North Carolina. Did it have something to do with class? That would be hard to answer. Was the Army of Northern Virginia more religious than the Army of Tennessee?  Well, that's a good question. I look forward to working out these questions as I work on more regimental histories. 

Avery County

If you have the read this blog for any length of time, you probably already know a great deal about Avery County and the war. For the past ten years, I have called Avery County home, and I spend a great deal of time, working with school and scout groups, and the community, both learning about and and teaching others about what went on in the area during the war.

Avery County is celebrating its 100th anniversary of formation this weekend (the actual date was in February, but unless you want to ski down the street, we don't expect many folks at a parade in Avery County in February). There will be a parade, concerts, festivals, and I'm even participating in a local living history on the square in front of the courthouse. So, I thought we could make Avery County the focus of our next North Carolina in the Civil War county profile.

Since we are celebrating the 100th anniversary of our founding, you've probably figured out that Avery County did not exist during the War. The area was a part of Watauga, Mitchell, and Caldwell Counties, with the majority lying in Mitchell.

Avery County was sparsely settled in the 1860s, with most of the inhabitants living in the southern, less mountainous region, which in itself is a contradiction, considering that the whole area is pretty mountainous. Most men in the area served in Company A, 58th North Carolina Troops, also known as the Mitchell Rangers. This company was organized in December 1861, a reaction to the bridge burnings in east Tennessee. The Mitchell Rangers were a part-time infantry and cavalry organization. They spent their time guarding mountain passes from the Unionists in east Tennessee. After  the conscription ordinance was passed, the infantry of the Mitchell Rangers became Company A, 58th North Carolina Troops, while many of the mounted men transferred to the 5th Battalion, North Carolina Cavalry, and even later, the 6th North Carolina Cavalry. There were a few others who served in the 6th North Carolina State Troops and the 29th North Carolina Troops. There were also some men who served in the 3rd North Carolina Mounted Infantry, a Federal organization made up of men from the mountains of western North Carolina and east Tennessee.

Within the confines of Avery County there was the Cranberry Iron Mines, which produced iron ore for the Confederacy, employing up to 40 men during the conflict. In June 1864, Capt. George W. Kirk of the 2nd/3rd North Carolina Mounted Infantry led a raid through the area and into Burke County. The Federals' goal was Camp Vance, which they successfully destroyed. They fought several skirmishes with local home guard contingents on their way back up the mountain. Kirk's Raiders were armed with seven-shot Spencer rifles, so the contest always tipped in favor of Kirk's men. Once back into present-day Avery County, the Raiders burned the home of Col. John B. Palmer and destroyed the iron works at Cranberry.

One other important part of local history can be found in the Banner Elk community. There was an underground railroad that ran through Watauga County, with Banner Elk as one of the stops. This underground railroad funneled escaped prisoners from Salisbury and from South Carolina, along with other dissidents, through the mountains and into Federal-held territory in east Tennessee. The Banner Elk community was a Unionist haven, while at the same time, ironically enough, the Banners were the largest slave owners in the area.

There were no veteran groups in Avery County, nor is there a Confederate monument. The only monuments can  be found in the numerous cemeteries scattered throughout the county.