A Virginia Cannoneer Remembers Port Republic

          In the early afternoon hours of Monday June 9, 1862, Ned Moore, a gunner serving in the Rockbridge Artillery of Stonewall Jackson’s army, rested in camp near Port Republic, Virginia grateful to have survived the battle, and still in a bit of amazement that the army had escaped destruction.

Over the past two weeks, his battery had rolled up and down the Shenandoah Valley hotly pursued by three Federal armies all determined to hem in Stonewall’s force; they nearly caught them at Cross Keys the day before and the bitter fight of Port Republic that very morning had been a close shave that cost Moore’s battery one of its guns. “Such a spectacle as we here witnessed and exultingly enjoyed possibly has no parallel,” he later wrote. “After a rapid retreat of more than 100 miles to escape from the clutches of three armies hotly pursuing on flank and rear, one of which had outstripped us, we paused to contemplate the situation. On the ground where we stood lay the dead and wounded of Shields’ army with much of their artillery and many prisoners in our possession, while crowning the hills in full view and with no means of crossing an intervening river stood another army under Fremont with flags flying.” Jackson had simply outgeneraled his Federal opponents.  

Edward Alexander “Ned” Moore was a student at Washington College when he enlisted in the Rockbridge Artillery as a private in March of 1862. He served with the battery through the rest of the war, and was wounded twice in action, first at Antietam in September 1862 then again at Cold Harbor in June 1864. He also participated in the battles of Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and in the siege of Petersburg, and at Port Republic as he describes in this excerpt below which is drawn from his 1910 work The Story of a Cannoneer Under Stonewall Jackson.

 

General Stonewall Jackson observes the gunners of the Rockbridge Artillery in action at the battle of Port Republic. Ned Moore reported that his section of two 20-pdr Parrott rifles fought further to the right than the other four guns of the battery depicted here; Federal infantry later overran this position and John Gray of the 5th Ohio Infantry personally brought one of the 6-pdr field guns back to Federal lines.
(Bradley Schmehl)

          About sundown on June 8, 1862, we crossed the bridge and our wagons joining us, we went into bivouac. In times of this kind, everyone is tired and each has to depend on himself to prepare his meal. While I was considering how best and soonest I could get my supper cooked, Bob Lee happened at stop at our fire and said he would show me a first rate plan. It was to mix flour and water together into a thin batter, then fry the grease out of the bacon, take the meat out of the frying pan, and pour the batter in then “just let her rip awhile over the fire.” I found the recipe a good one and expeditious.

          About two miles below us near the river we could plainly see the enemy’s campfires. Early the next morning we were astir and crossed the other fork of the river on an improvised bridge made of boards laid on the running gear of wagons. We felt assured that Fremont and Shields received ample satisfaction and that we were done with them for the present at least. Still more were we of this opinion when the wagon train took the Brown’s Gap road leading across the Blue Ridge, we expecting, of course, to follow. We did not follow, however, but took instead the route Shields’ forces had taken the day previous along which lay the bodies of the men we had killed, their heads with few exceptions being entirely shot off.


Captain William T. Poague
Rockbridge Artillery

          Having gone about a mile, the enemy opened on us with artillery, their shells tearing by us with a most venomous whistle. Halted on the sides of the road as we moved by was the infantry of our brigade. Among them I recognized my old schoolteacher Alfonso Smith, who had just joined the army. I had many times quailed under his fierce eye and writhed under his birch rod. The strain to which he was subjected under these circumstances was doubly trying, waiting inactive for his first baptism of fire. His eye was restless as we passed; perhaps he had a presentiment as he received his death wound before the day was over.

          Again, our two Parrott guns were ordered forward. Turning out of the road to the left, we unlimbered and commenced firing. The ground on which we stood was level and very soft, and having no handspike, we had to move the trail of the gun by main force. The enemy very soon got our range and more accurate shooting I was never subjected to. The other four guns of the battery now came up and passing along a small ravine about 40 yards behind, halted for a time nearby. We were hotly engaged, shells bursting close around and pelting us with soft dirt as they struck the ground. Bob Lee came creeping up from his gun in the ravine and called to me, “Ned, that isn’t making butter cakes, is it?”

An unidentified Confederate cannoneer

          The constant recoiling of our gun cut great furrows in the earth which made it necessary to move several times to more solid ground. In these different positions which we occupied, three of the enemy’s shells passed between the wheels and under the axle of our gun, bursting at the trail. One of them undermined Henry’s footing and injured him so as to necessitate his leaving the field. Even the old Irish hero Tom Martin was demoralized and in dodging from a Yankee shell was struck by the wheel of our gun in its recoil and rendered hors du combat.

          We had been kept in this position for two or three hours while a flank movement was being made by Taylor’s Louisiana brigade and the 2nd Virginia regiment through the brush at the foot of the mountain on our right. When it was though that sufficient time had been allowed for them to make the detour, our whole line moved forward, the rest of the battery several hundred yards to our left. When my gun moved up an eighth of a mile nearer to the enemy, they added two guns to the three occupying the site of an old coal hearth at the foot of the rugged mountain so that our gun had five to contend with for an hour longer.

          Graham Montgomery had become gunner in Henry’s place and proved a good one. He could not be hurried, and every time the smoke puffed from our gun, their cannoneers slid right and left from the coal hearth, then returning to their guns loaded and gave us a volley. As usual in such cases, our flanking party was longer in making their appearance than expected. The whole Federal line charged, and as they did so their ranks rapidly thinned, some hesitating to advance, while others were shot down in full view. Still, they drove us back and captured one gun of our battery. Singleton of my mess was captured and Lieutenant Cole Davis, supposed to be mortally wounded, was left on the field.

Ned Moore reported that the ground at Port Republic was so soft that his 20-pdr Parrott rifle made deep ruts with each recoil such that the battery had to be moved to new ground several times. 


On getting back a short distance, I found myself utterly exhausted, my woolen clothes wet with perspiration. Having been too tired to get out of the way when my gun fired, my eardrums kept up the vibrations for hours. Sleep soon overcame me, but still the battle reverberated in my head.

The Louisianans and the 2nd Virginia had gotten through the brush and driven the enemy from the field. I was roused to join in the pursuit and had the satisfaction of seeing the five cannon that had played on our gun standing silent on the coal hearth and in our hands. There being no room in their rear, their caissons and limbers stood off to the right on a flat piece of heavily wooded ground. This was almost covered with dead horses. I think there must have been 80 or 90 on less than an acre; one I noticed was standing almost upright, perfectly lifeless, supported by a fallen tree.

Farther on we overtook one of our battery horses which we had captured from Banks two weeks before. Shields’ men then captured him from us and we again from them. He had been wounded four times but was still fit for service. The other four guns of our battery were posted in a wheatfield where the faces of the men were constantly sprinkled with milk from the half-ripe wheat splashed by the Minie balls.

Such a spectacle as we here witnessed and exultingly enjoyed possibly has no parallel. After a rapid retreat of more than 100 miles to escape from the clutches of three armies hotly pursuing on flank and rear, one of which had outstripped us, we paused to contemplate the situation. On the ground where we stood lay the dead and wounded of Shields’ army with much of their artillery and many prisoners in our possession, while crowning the hills in full view and with no means of crossing an intervening river even should they venture to do so stood another army under Fremont with flags flying.


Source:

Moore, Edward Alexander. The Story of a Cannoneer Under Stonewall Jackson. Lynchburg: J.P. Bell Company, Inc., 1910, pgs. 74-78


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