Captain Reid of the 63rd Pennsylvania at Fair Oaks
As promised in a previous post entitled "Buckeyes at Fair Oaks" (see here), today I am posting an incredible battle account of Fair Oaks written by Captain Bernard J. Reid of Co. F, 63rd Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry.
You might be wondering what the Ohio connection is here as, after all, this is a blog focused on highlighting the contributions of Ohioans in the Civil War. It is this: Captain Reid wrote this letter to his brother James V. Reid who was the editor of the Steubenville Herald published in Steubenville, Ohio. James was so impressed with the letter that he published it in its entirety on the first page of the June 25, 1862 issue. As related previously, finding accounts written by participants of McClellan's Peninsula Campaign in Ohio newspapers is something of a rare treat, so without further ado...
Bivouac at Fair Oaks, 8 ½ miles from Richmond, Virginia
June 10, 1862
My dear
brother: I take advantage of an unexpected rainstorm, which confines us to our
shelter tents, to write you a description of our recent battle. Although ever
since kept under arms and in order of battle, expecting that any moment would
bring on a renewal of the fight, I have managed to find time to write several
telegrams and letters to the parents of the killed and wounded of my company
(F).
On the
memorable 31st of May, our camp was about a mile this side of the
Chickahominy, at some rifle pits on the railroad at the 11th
milepost from Richmond. Two of our companies (I and K) were two miles distant,
down the Chickahominy, erecting a bridge. Colonel Alexander Hays and Captain
Berringer (acting major) were three or four miles off southward inspecting the
picket lines of our (Kearney’s) division. At 2 o’clock, Co. F went to a knoll
across the railroad to bury Corporal Dunmire, who had died early that morning.
While at the grave, the heavy rattle of musketry was distinctly heard to the
westward, mingled with the booming of cannon, which we had noticed an hour
before without paying much attention to it, from its being of frequent
occurrence. Hastening back to camp, after the close of ceremonies, we found the
regiment forming for the march.
Our
brigade (Brigadier General Charles D. Jameson’s) was ordered forward.
Lieutenant Colonel Algemon S. Morgan was in command of the 63rd
regiment. We started out the railroad track on the usual route step, but had
not proceeded far when we were met by a courier from General Kearney and the
command ‘double quick’ was given. Besides arms and accoutrements and over 60
rounds of ammunition in the men’s cartridge boxes, we had our canteens and our
haversacks filled with three days’ ration. We had had a heavy thunderstorm the
previous day and night and although the air was still clouded, the air was
close and sultry.
Sickness
had thinned our ranks and considerably weakened most of those still on duty.
For my own part, though not decidedly sick, I had been rather unwell for nearly
two weeks and when it came to the double quick, I found it very hard work to
keep up. Under almost any other circumstances, I should have sunk by the
wayside, but by throwing away my haversack and making extraordinary exertions,
I kept my place at the head of my company. Quite a number in the regiment fell
out of ranks, unable to keep up; but on the regiment pressed towards the awful
roar of firearms, growing closer and louder every moment.
After
making two and a half miles on the railroad, we obliqued across some fields to
the left and struck the Williamsburg and Richmond turnpike near the point known
as Seven Pines. Here we met a stream of men going back- some wounded- but most
flying in panic. We kept our way along the turnpike amid a perfect shower of
solid shot and shell from the enemy’s batteries that enfiladed the road and its
immediate vicinity. This severe cannonade increased the haste and confusion of
the fugitives, and gave us a foretaste of what was before us. On we pressed,
led and cheered by General Jameson, who appeared unconscious of danger from the
shells bursting on all sides. We double quicked over a mile, through this
rainstorm, meeting now and then a piece of artillery or caisson in full
retreat- having probably run out of ammunition and fearful of being captured.
It was to turn back this tide of battle that we were pushing forward.
Part of
Berry’s brigade of our division had preceded us a little way and were already
engaged in what seemed and unequal conflict with superior numbers. Casey’s
division- the first attacked- had by this time all fallen far to the rear and was
effectually hors du combat. At length we reached the point where the rifle
balls of the enemy began to mingle with their heavier shot. We halted a moment
to allow the left of the regiment to close up. In that short rest, I was
obliged to sit down from sheer weakness and exhaustion. Then, up again, and
forward. For some distance back, there had been woods on both sides; but we now
reached a point where Casey had felled the timber on both sides to form an
abatis. Just beyond were the large open fields where his camps had been, and
where his deserted tents were still standing. Here was the enemy’s line of
battle.
Our
regiment was deployed on the left of the road- the 105th
Pennsylvania and 87th New York of our brigade on the right. We
deployed just behind the slash, or abatis, and had then to march over it or
crawl through it, in line of battle to reach the front. Just as Co. F was
filing into line, General Jameson cried out, “Captain Reid, go in there and
don’t come out until you have driven every Rebel out of that brush!” As soon as
the line was formed, we advanced through the slash, our right resting on the
road. This advance was very difficult, owing to the felled and tangled timber.
And, all the while, bullets and shells were flying like hail over and among us,
coming from an enemy as yet unseen.
Brigadier General Charles D. Jameson of Maine contracted typhoid fever during the Peninsula Campaign and died of the disease November 6, 1862. |
A few rods
further were a belt of sapling pines and oaks on the left of the road, not yet
felled. Passing a few rods through this brought us to the front where, just at
the edge of the saplings, a slender line of Berry’s Michigan men were trying to
hold their ground against a host of Rebels hid in a strip of brush and fallen
timber, close in front of them, concealed behind Casey’s tents a little further
beyond, and protected by three houses, a long row of cord wood, and a line of
Casey’s rifle pits, still beyond, where they had captured two of our batteries
and were now turning our own guns against us as with terrible effect. Here,
just in the edge of the saplings, we halted and opened fire.
The crash
and roar was grand. The Michigan men were cheered up, and the Rebels appalled
by the intensity of our steady and rapid fire. But the firing both ways was
intense. Our line was already strewed with dead and wounded. Almost at the
first fire, Sergeant Elgie of my company, a splendid soldier, fell by my side,
dead. A little further along the line, to the right, Orderly Sergeant Delo (?)
was a few moments afterwards killed. Then Private Rhees fell near the former. Now
and then, too, one of my men would walk or be carried wounded to the rear.
We soon
discovered that the most deadly fire came from the swampy brush wood and fallen
timber close by us. We could see the smoke of the rifles among the brush, and
by watching sharply, could distinguish a head or an arm half hidden. It was
evident that that patch of brush was full of Rebels and we soon turned our
attention chiefly in that direction. A Michigan man, close by me, fell dead just
as he had loaded his piece. I thought I saw where the shot came from and seized
his loaded gun in time to level it at a crouching Rebel there, who seemed about
to fire again. He was not 30 yards from me. There appeared to be a race between
us, but I shot first and that Rebel rolled over backwards in the swamp and
troubled us no more. Under the circumstances, I had not compunctions about it.
I took the balance of the dead man’s cartridges and used his gun for the rest
of the evening. That spot soon became too hot for its occupants, and a few
tried to fall back from it, but, as they had a piece of open field to pass in
order to reach a safer shelter, scarcely one escaped alive. I was there two
days afterwards and, although the Rebels had buried great numbers of their dead
Saturday night and Sunday, I found that little piece of brushy swamp and abatis
literally filled with Rebel dead. The scene was a sad and awful one, after the
excitement of the battle was over.
Middling
early in the fight, our Lieutenant Colonel was wounded and carried off the
field. Thus left without any field officer, we fought on, keeping our ground,
unsupported by artillery and reinforcements, although the enemy had both. We
could plainly see fresh regiments brought up and deployed in line, strengthening
and relieving the others, thinned by our fire. Two or three times they appeared
formed as if for a charge, but they did not attempt it where we were. They did,
however, charge on the extreme right of our brigade, and by overwhelming pressure,
compelled it to give way. The enemy followed up their advantage with great
vigor, and before sundown they had succeeded in flanking us so far on that side
that they had possession of the turnpike behind us. Then it was that Colonel
Campbell coming up with his regiment (the 57th Pennsylvania of our
brigade) and our own Colonel Hays with Companies I and K, made such splendid
efforts to turn back the advancing wave. Colonel Hays rapidly gathered up about
half a regiment o straggling fugitives, rallied them for a stand, and forming
them about his own companies, led them to the charge, supported by the 57th.
Both colonels and both regiments did gallantly, and checked the enemy for a
while. But being reinforced, the latter advanced again with unbroken front, and
Colonel Hays’ miscellaneous recruits gave way, leaving only Companies I and K
to breast the wave. He reluctantly withdrew from the unequal contest, as did
also the 57th.
It was now
sundown, and General Jameson had given the order for our whole brigade to fall
back to an entrenched position on the turnpike about a mile and a half to the
rear, having the advantage of wide open fields in front on both sides of the
road where our batteries would have a good range to guard against a night
attack. Somehow or the other, I believe from cowardice or other fault, the
courier charged with the delivery of the order never reached us, and after the
other regiments of the brigade had gone safely back and the enemy had followed
them a considerable distance along the turnpike behind us, we still held our
position on the left of the road where the hottest of the battle had been.
I knew
well from the direction of the firing on our right, that the enemy had
succeeded in flanking us on that side and there was still light enough to see
fresh regiments beyond the houses moving towards our left. Our men had shot
away all their ammunition except perhaps one or two cartridges apiece, and had
emptied besides the cartridge boxes of our dead and wounded. Captain Kirkwood
of Co. B, succeeding to the command as senior captain, asked my advice as to
what we should do. I told him we had done all we could for that day; that under
the circumstances, to remain there longer was to expose what was left of the
regiment to be sacrificed or captured; as, in a few minutes, the only avenue of
escape would be cut off. We had sent back all our wounded that we could find;
the dead we could not possibly take with us through the slash and swamps we
would have to cross.
Accordingly,
the captain gave the order to fall back slowly, just as it was growing dark.
After I had seen that we left none of our men behind and could get no further
answer to my calls than the whiz of bullets that still came flying from the
rifle pits behind the houses, we turned our men into a bypath that diverged considerably
from the main road which was held by the enemy in force and from which they
greeted us with random and harmless volleys. A little further on I was struck
by a spent fragment of a shell, causing a slight smart for a few moments but
without breaking the skin. That was the only time I was even touched that day by
any of the enemy’s missiles. I never can be sufficiently thankful to Almighty
God for my preservation, as from the showers of bullets that whistled close by
me it seems almost incredible that I was not touched. I talked through that
belt of little pines on Monday after the battle and it astonished even me to
see how almost every sapling of two or three inches thickness was spotted all
over with bullet marks, from the ground up to the height of a man’s head. It
may be my lot to be in many another battle, but I do not believe I can ever be
placed in a situation of greater apparent danger.
Colorful and combative division commander Brigadier GeneralPhilip Kearny wouldn't survive the year either, being killed in action September 1, 1862 at Chantilly. |
We
succeeded in rejoining our brigade at about 10 o’clock that night. We found
them on the east side of a large tract, of about a mile square, on both sides
of the turnpike, collected and disposed in order of battle- protected in part
by earthworks commenced by Generals Casey and Couch on their first advance and
which our generals were now busy extending and strengthening to be ready for
emergencies. Striking across the opening, we found some of Hooker’s division,
which had arrived from the left and rear, just as the firing had ceased. They
were fresh for the work in the morning. Inquiring as we went along the lines,
we found that Kearney and Jameson were in the edge of the woods on the north
side of the turnpike. General Jameson was overjoyed to see so many of the 63rd
safe, and returning in a body in good order. He led us to General Kearney’s
headquarters where we found Colonel Hays and Companies I and K. Here we got
some crackers and hot coffee, and rested on our arms till morning. Here, too,
we learned that besides Hooker, who came from the left, Richardson’s and
Sedgewick’s divisions of Sumner’s corps had arrived from the other side of the
Chickahominy on our right, just in time to give and take, before dark, a volley
or two with the left wing of the Rebel army which was moving down on the north
side of the railroad expecting to cut off our retreat. So, the prospect for the
morning’s work was much more agreeable than it would have been in the absence
of such comfortable reinforcements.
Sunday
morning, the Rebels advanced boldly to the attack, coming up to the edge of the
woods in front of us, but Hooker’s division on the turnpike and Sumner’s troops
on the railroad (our brigade being held as a reserve) met and routed them in a
couple of hours fighting without any need of our help. Ever since, we have been
kept in position, changing only by advancing, ready for battle at any moment.
There has been some skirmishing since between pickets and an occasional cannonade
from one or both sides, but nothing more as yet. I think, however, the great
battle of Richmond will be fought this week if it is to be fought at all.
Our
regiment lost 25 killed, 81 wounded, and 17 missing. Those of my company who
were in the fight and remained to see it out evinced a degree of coolness and
bravery that makes me proud of them. The killed and wounded were among my very
choicest soldiers; I shall miss them very much. I have now given you a pretty
detailed account of our first great battle. I have not written any other
account of it yet half so minute. I do so now because I know it will gratify
you; because I happen to have time today (although the enemy’s shells are now
bursting now and then in the field we are in), and because, until I get time to
put an account in fuller or better shape, this may serve, if preserved, as a
memorandum to show any of the rest of the family, or to refresh my own
recollection at some future time.
Ever affectionately, your brother,
Bernard J. Reid
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