The Battle of Piedmont, Part 4

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

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It seems that General Hunter had sent all other reserve force he could muster, such as dismounted cavalry, teamsters etc., everything that could carry a musket, by a long, roundabout road to come up in the rear of this blooming Rail Pen, and when he knew they were pretty near up he ordered us forward. The thing was timed pretty near right and the result was the Rebs couldn't stand the fire in front and rear, some of them lit out, over 1500 surrendered and any quantity of them passed in their chips. Among the latter was their commander, General Jones, who we found laid out inside the rail pen with a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead.

We all felt good at having licked them, this being our first victory, and we could not restrain our feelings, but the sight of dead and wounded Rebs that lay all round us put a damper on our spirits, for the slaughter had been terrible; the effect of the shots from our two Howitzers could be seen in the mutilated forms of the dead and dying Rebs. One poor fellow had been completely skinned the whole length of his back. It must have been done by a piece of rail as he lay on the ground, on his stomach. He was conscious and could talk with us, but one of our doctors who was there said he would not live a minute if we turned him over.

My brother Charlie was a private in Company "F" and all through the fight I had kept my eye on him, but after we got inside the rail pen I could not see him and none of the boys in his Company could tell me anything about him so I made up my mind he must have been hit in the last charge and I started on a hunt for him. I went all over the Ground we had traversed, looked at all of the bodies that lay in that part of the field, but could not find him. Then I went into the woods opposite the rail pen where our Howitzers had been but he was not there.

I found a lot of our wounded men down the hill near the stone wall where we drove the Rebs out but no Charlie. While I was making inquiries from some of them our Assistant Surgeon, Dr. Harrington, came up to me and says, "Here Sergeant, you are just the man I want. I want you to take this canteen and go down to the white house off there and tell the Medical Director to fill it with whiskey, and you bring it back to me as quick as you can. "But," says I "he will not give me any whiskey". "That's so" he says "but you wait". With that he took a memorandum book out of his pocket, tore out a leaf and wrote an order for the Medical Director to deliver to Sgt. Setchell one canteen of whiskey for use of wounded on the field, signed his name as the Asst. Surgeon of the 18th Connecticut Volunteers.

I started off on a run, but as it was about a mile to the white house he pointed out I did not run all the way. When I had slowed down to a walk I took out the order he had written and read it over. All of a sudden the idea struck me there was a chance for a speculation in it so I made a figure 2 out of the "1" and put an "s" on the end of "canteen" and I had an order for two canteens of whiskey.

I found the house and the Medical Director and he filled my canteen and the Doctor's without any question. Then I hunted the house for my brother. The house was full of wounded men, and the piazza which went all around it, was too; but no Charlie. Some of the wounded told me there was more in the barn so I went there and there I found him sitting on the barn floor with a pipe in his mouth smoking away for dear life. His arm and hand were bandaged up. He had been hit by a Rebel bullet right in the centre of the inside of his right wrist just as he was ramming a bullet into his musket while we were going in on the last charge. The bullet did not go clear through but stuck between two bones in his wrist. The Doctors had bandaged it but did not attempt to get the bullet out then, they were too busy.

It was quite painful and I happened to think some of the whiskey I had might help him to bear the pain so I spoke about it and you ought to have seen him smile when I shoved my canteen under his nose. I really thought he would empty it at one suck, as our canteens only held about three pints, but he had to stop to breathe and I got it back with some in it.

After talking with him a little I started for the hill again with my two canteens in my hand. I had not gone but a little ways when I met the Rebel prisoners we captured in the rail pen. They were being marched back to the Staunton turnpike under a strong cavalry guard, and as I passed by a good many asked me for a drink of water but I refused, telling them that it was for our wounded up in the woods. Away in the rear of the column I came to one poor fellow who had been hit by a piece of shell or a splinter from a rail. It had split his lip and chin open clear to the bone and it made a sickish looking wound. He says "For God's sake, Sgt., give me a drink." I says "Yes, you shall have some" and I handed him my canteen and winked at him to keep quiet, and he did, but I shall never forget the look he gave me when he found out what it was, but I could see he had never been punished for holding his breath.

He handed it back after a while and I guess he thought it was a pretty fierce article by the face he made up, and the way he hung on to his lip and chin. He thanked me, and said we might meet again, and I trudged on for the woods again. I slung my canteen over my shoulder and found Dr. Harrington and delivered him his, then I went around and found a good many boys of our Regiment that were wounded and gave them each a drink until my canteen was empty, when I started to find the Regiment.

I found them inside the Rail Pen, where they had made their coffee and most of them had gone to sleep as it was quite dark by this time. I went to one of the fires they had left burning, to boil a cup of coffee, and found our Orderly Sergeant, sewing a pair of Lieutenant's shoulder straps on to his blouse, by the light of the fire.

It seems after the fight he went to our Colonel Ely and asked him if he had meant what he said that day. The Colonel asked "What did I say, Orderly", and Kerr says "You called me Lieutenant."

The End.

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Pat

The Battle of Piedmont, Part 3

Continued...

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

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That was enough for Kerr. He gave out his orders in a voice that was heard far above the noise of guns and everything else, it must have made all the Rebs within two miles of us think the Day of Judgement had come for sure. "Company-A, deploy as skirmishers, forward, double-quick, MARCH" and away they went.

I was always proud of old Company "A", but never more so than that day. With what a vim and snap they started into those woods, and they found lots of Rebs there too, but they lit out mighty quick when Bob Kerr with Company "A" got after them.

We had now gotten pretty near the Rebs' first line of works, which was a stone wall about a foot and a half high with a few rails on top of it. We were ordered to charge and went over it with a rush, driving the Rebs ahead of us like a flock of sheep.

Where I went over the wall a Reb had left his gun leaning up against the rails, and about a dozen cartridges lay on the stone wall. These I put in my blouse pocket, and grabbing the gun, I started on a run to catch up, thinking I at last was to have a chance to shoot back a few times, at least. It is so blamed aggravating to stand up and be shot at and not be able to return the fire, but I was destined to be disappointed, for I had gone but a short distance when the Colonel spied me with the gun. Again his sonorous voice rang out: "Throw away the gun, Sergeant, stick to your flag." Well, you bet, I was mad. I took the thing by the muzzle and wound it around a tree in good shape. I made a pair of twins of it in about two seconds.

As I turned around from the tree I spied a Reb lieutenant skulking off behind a rock. In our rush we had run right past him and he was now trying to get off among the trees to our right. I could run like a deer in those days, had lots of practice (We had been licked in every fight we had had up to that time and had to run) running while on battalion drill, and I went for the lieutenant like a western cyclone, and had nearly reached him when again my beloved Colonel's voice rang out: "Come back, Sergeant, let somebody go after him that's got a gun" and there I had just smashed a gun, and by his orders, too. But I came back, like the cat, and Charlie Thurber had the honor of capturing the blooming Reb, and he had a real live sword and pistol hung to him, too.

We drove the Rebs, that were in our front, a quarter of a mile or so through the woods on top of the hill. Then we came to a cleared space which was probably 500 yards wide, and here we ran up against a snag. For on the opposite side of this clearing the Rebs had build a "Rail Pen", as we boys called it. It was made by driving crotched sticks into the ground, then a rail or two was laid from one crotch to the next one, and then rails were laid slanting on these, one end resting on the ground and the other on the crotched rails. They had plenty of rails and laid them ten or twelve deep with the slant towards our side. They had left small openings for musketry between some of the rails and they made it very warm for us as soon as we left the cover of the trees, as they could lay under their rails and blaze away at us while we could only fire at their blooming rails with about one chance in a thousand of getting a bullet through the small openings.

The cleared space between us and the rail-pen was dish-shaped like a saucer. It sloped down a ways from our side, then flat, then up grade to the rail-pen. We halted in the woods at the edge of the clearing and blazed away at the rail-pen for quite a while, but I guess it was labor lost on our part, while the Rebs returned our fire and did some execution, although our boys took advantage of the trees and kept cover as well as they could. Finally Colonel Ely sent for our Brigade Commander, Colonel Moore, a German, and told him he must have some artillery.

I happened to be close enough to hear the conversation between him and Colonel Moore. The German contended that we could walk right over the rail-pen but our Colonel said No, and he carried his point so Colonel Moore sent up two 12 pond howitzers to Colonel Ely and Ely was happy then.

He had the arms placed in the centre of the woods and directed the firing himself. The very first shot made a hole through that rail-pen you could drive a horse through, and the Rebs rushed out like bees swarming out of a hive. This made a regular picnic for our boys and they improved it by all sending in their little lead pills, until the Rebs got sick and sought the cover of the rails again. Then the Howitzers made a new hole in the rails and the Rebs rushed out and then in again and so we kept it up for two to three hours.

At every shot we would hurrah and the Rebs would answer back with one of their defiant yells, but our boys could see that we were getting the best end of it all the time. As for me I could do no shooting, so had to make up for it in shouting, and you may be sure I had it out in that line. I think, actually, that I strained my voice a little, and it has not got back to its original tone to this day, June 20, 1898.

After a while Colonel Moore thought we had made so many openings in the rails we could charge them and go right through, so he ordered the charge and away we went, but there's where he made a mistake. The lay of the ground was such that the Rebs had a clean sweep at us from the time we left the woods until we got to the openings in the rail-pen and when we got there the Rebs were as thick around each hole as flies around a molasses barrel, so we could not get in and had to return to our first love, "the woods", leaving scores of our noble boys knocked out for keeps between the lines.

Then the Howitzers got in their fine work again and the boys peppered them when they broke cover until finally another charge was ordered and away we went again, clear up to the openings in the rail-pen but could not get in, the result being the same as charge number one. Then we commenced the same old game again; the Howitzers threw their inwards at 'em, our boys' muskets spit at 'em, we all hollered, and kept it up until about five o'clock P.M., when we were ordered to charge again, but this time the result was different.

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Part 4 here

Pat

The Battle of Piedmont, Part 2

Continued from Part 1...

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I found the regiment all in line, waiting to cross some pontoon bridges which had been laid, and which the cavalry were then crossing. Meanwhile I picked the chicken apart. He was black as a hat on the outside, and about half roasted, but two of my chums and myself quickly ate him up, bones and all, except the very toughest one and we thought it was very good eating.

We had hardly finished our meal when we were ordered across the stream, our regiment being the first infantry to cross. We marched a half mile or so into some woods where we were halted and called to attention as General Hunter wanted to make a few remarks to us. I can not recall much that he said except that he expected us to do our duty today and wipe out the stain attached to the Eighteenth Connecticut Volunteers since our last fight at New Market, under General Sigel, where we were badly shipped. We were all as mad as hoppers before he got through as we did not think it was any fault of ours that Sigel got licked, and I think every man made up his mind right then that if we did come up against the Rebs that day some of them would get hurt.

We were soon marched out of the woods into open ground where we formed in line of battle with a strong line of skirmishers some 1500 to 2000 yards in front of us. My company "A" was sent out with the skirmish line, but as I was Right General Guide of the regiment and I did not have a gun, I had to stay with the regiment and took my place on the right of the next company "F". I did not like this arrangement for a cent as I wanted to be with my own company, but a soldier must obey orders so I had to stay.

The bugle sounded "Advance" and we started. The ground was very open and I could see the whole of our line of battle marching in double ranks by regimental front, with the skirmishers out in front; keeping as near in line as possible, and 15 to 20 feet apart. The sight was beautiful, our regiment being on the right of the line and I being the Right Guide brought me as the extreme right man of the command.

We had not gone a great ways before the Rebs opened fire from a hill about three miles directly in front of us, toward which we were marching. At first their shells fell short but as we kept moving toward them they commenced soon to burst in among our skirmishers, doing but very little as the men were so spread out they were a poor mark to shoot. We kept going forward, not very fast, but fast as we could and keep our lines in good shape.

The Rebs kept shelling the skirmishers, they did not fire a single shell at the line of battle. I suppose they wanted to break up our skirmish line and prevent our finding out what kind of works they had in the woods on the hill we were approaching, but we kept on advancing and did not fire a shot in return.

When we had gotten within 1/2 to 3/4 of a mile of the Rebs the right of our line came close to the banks of the same stream we had crossed lower down. It was a warm day and I was very dry so I thought I would run down to the stream and get a drink, and fill up my canteen at the same time. I told Sgt. Charles Carroll of Company "F" what I was going to do, and he handed me his canteen to fill for him. The bank of the stream on the side I went down was some 12 to 15 feet high, but on the other side it was nearly on a level with the stream and beyond were trees and underbrush. I rushed down and dipped up my quart coffee cup full and tipped back my head to drink but did not take but a swallow, for on the opposite side of the stream, some 60 to 70 feet from me, standing partly behind a tree was a Johnnie Reb, loading his gun; and skulking along among the trees and bushes, I caught glimpses of a good many more.

I looked around to sing out to some of our boys but the bank was so high I could not see them and of course they could not see me. Well now -- I don't believe the Rebs could have seen me for the dust I made going up that bank, at any rate it has always seemed to me that I flew, as my feet did not seem to touch the ground until I caught up with the regiment and had told Sgt. Carroll what I had seen. Then we both peered over the bank and saw any number of Johnnies in among the trees and some up in them. At this time we were getting so near to the hill in front that they had opened fire on us with musketry and our boys were beginning to fire back, and our skirmishers had fallen back in rear of the line of battle.

Just at this time I saw our Colonel, William G. Ely (and a better fighter never straddled a horse) in rear of the center of the regiment, so I made a rush for him and told him about the Rebs I had seen on our right.

The Colonel was a very moderate talker, but a very decided one and he says to me, in his moderate way, "Oh No, Sgt., there ain't any Rebs there" but I knew better so I insisted it was so, and, as luck would have it, we were just entering a fringe of woods on the side of the hill, and a bullet cut a twig from one of the limbs; it fell in such a way that the Colonel saw the bullet must have come from the right, and it was very near a line shot for him as he sat on his horse.

He acknowledged the truth at once by exclaiming in his usual tone of voice, though I think his speech was a little quicker, "I believe you are right, Sgt.". At this moment my Company "A" came marching in from the skirmish line with our Orderly Sgt., Robert Kerr, in command (at this time we had no commissioned officers in our company, and in fact there were very few in the regiment, as they were prisoners of war in Richmond.)

Colonel Ely, as soon as he saw Kerr, sang out "Lt. Kerr, deploy your company as skirmishers and clear out those woods."

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Continuing to Part 3...

Pat

The Battle of Piedmont, Part 1

Google's stated corporate mission is "to organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful." They and other tech companies are well on their way, it seems. If you haven't stopped and marveled recently at what's available on the internet, please do so now.

My friend Jackie shared with me a family heirloom of hers: an account of the Civil War Battle of Piedmont, as told by her great-great-grandfather. I'm sure the original would have been handwritten, and I'm curious when this typewritten version I'm holding was created by some earlier preservationist. It's a good story, and by posting it here I might help save it for future generations. My own little contribution to Google's mission, I suppose.

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My recollections of the Battle of Piedmont.

(As related by George Case Setchell to John Ernest Setchell)

(June -- 1898)

Towards night on the fourth day of June, 1864, our command, under General Hunter, arrived at a small river near Piedmont, and were halted on its banks. We could see the advance guard of cavalry scouting the country on the opposite side of the stream, and we knew by their actions that they had either sighted the "Rebs" or knew they were close by.

While we stood watching them an orderly was seen riding furiously down the road right opposite to where our regiment was halted. He had a bundle of dispatches stuck in his belt which he was probably bringing to General Hunter, who was sitting on his horse, about in the centre of our force, which was but a little ways from where we were, although our regiment had the extreme right of the line. The orderly rode his horse pell-mell into the river, the horse stumbled and fell when about 20 feet from the shore, and away went the orderly over his head and down he went out of sight.

There were about then thousand of us watching him, and some of us within 50 feet of where he went down, but we could do nothing to help him as he did not show up after his first plunge. The current was very strong and he was probably weighted down with his carbine, sabre and ammunition, and although there were some five to six hundred men in the river diving for him in less than five minutes they could not find his body or get dispatches.

Of course such an accident cast a gloom over the men, in fact, more of a gloom than to see hundreds killed in a battle, where every-one was doing all he could to gain a victory.

We slept right where we were that night, after a very scanty supper, as we were on half rations, and had been for 8 days. Just about day-break I woke up, feeling quite chilly, as the dew is very heavy in Virginia, and thought I would take a walk around to warm and limber myself up a bit.

Most of the men were asleep, except the guard, and they were about half asleep, too. I walked around until I spied a house and barn about half a mile from where we lay, and, thinking there might be a little chance for foraging, and my stomach seconding the action, I made tracks for it.

General Hunter had issued very stringent orders about foraging and had had as many as a hundred men at a time marching up and down in front of his headquarters, for being caught at it, but that did not deter me, but I kept my eye out for any stray pickets that might be out that way, and reached the house safely, which was so quiet as could be although there were signs that somebody lived there.

I could not see any sign of getting anything in the house, so made for the barn which was but a little way off. I found a small door unhooked and went in, but the barn was as empty as a tin water pail with a hole in the bottom. On the opposite side from where I went in were two big doors and in the bottom of one of them a board was knocked off. While I stood looking at them a chicken came walking in, and you can bet I kept very quiet until it had got some ways away from the hole, then I sidled around and put up a piece of board to prevent its escape, and then the fun commenced.

I chased that chicken all over the barn, almost had him a dozen times but he slipped away, but finally I laid him out with a piece of board, which I threw at him and all the time I was expecting some one would come in and interfere or let the chicken out, but they did not, and I picked him up, tucked him under my blouse and scooted for some bushes, where I picked and cleaned him, built a fire, ran a stick through him and proceeded to roast him by holding him over a blaze. He was about as big as a pigeon, and I was getting along nicely when I heard the bugle call Fall In and away I ran for camp.

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Part 2 here shortly...

Pat