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