Dan Masters' Civil War Chronicles

A fter nearly two years of relatively quiet service on the California and Oregon frontiers with the 2 nd California Infantry, Kentucky native Sexton W. Williams secured a transfer into Co. F of the 2 nd U.S. Sharpshooters and journeyed east to serve with the Army of the Potomac. The regiment found itself in a very hot place indeed on May 6, 1864 during the Battle of the Wilderness.           The sharpshooters had been supporting General Hobart Ward’s infantry line when a Confederate attack spearheaded by General Joseph Kershaw’s division knocked the Federal line to pieces and fell upon the sharpshooters. “When they were driven back, we charged upon the enemy and checked them until our infantry could form behind us,” Williams recalled. “This was repeated four times, losing over half our number in killed and wounded. My company went in with 21 men, had one killed, six wounded, and two missing. Of the seven captains in our regiment, six were engaged and only two came out with a whole

T he opening moments of the fight on February 15, 1862, at Fort Donelson, Tennessee convinced George Carrington of the 11 th Illinois that it was now “war in earnest.”           “A close, quick volley came, striking five men of Co. K on the extreme left,” he wrote years later. “This was the first time we had stood in line of battle and faced death. I looked at those men and they lay in the snow just as they had fallen. Were they dead? Yes. I could hardly realize it, they were so still, the wind scarcely stirred the capes of their coats. Yes, these men were dead, struck down by the first volley having never fired a shot themselves. What a feeling crept over me.” Moments later, a man was struck right in front of him. “Joe Walker of our company was the first one killed,” he continued. “He received a bullet through the temples and with a cartridge in his teeth, fell over on one of the boys, the blood spouting over his coat. We dragged him a little to one side or down the hill and turn

O n the morning of May 19, 1863, Private Samuel Crooks of the 54 th Ohio charged upon the Confederate works at Vicksburg and reported to his father that it was the “awfulest sight I ever saw, men scrambling over trees, stumps, brush, and logs, and others falling killed and wounded. I saw one man who ran to the doctors shot through the abdomen with his insides in his hands. Hundreds were running back supporting a wounded hand, arm, or head. The ground was slippery with blood.” As part of Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith’s Second Brigade of the Second Division of the 15 th Army Corps, Crooks and his comrades charged against Stockade Redan which was held by 27 th Louisiana and 36 th Mississippi. It was a bloody repulse, and one the army tried again two days later as Crooks briefly alludes to in his letter. Crooks was one of the youngest soldiers in the regiment, being only 16 when he joined Co. H. “He has remained constantly with his regiment since it entered the field and by his manly

O n May 22, 1864, Corporal Alexander Donaldson of the 49 th Ohio took advantage of a quiet day in camp to compose a letter to his parents in Gilead, Ohio to alleviate their anxiety of his whereabouts. His regiment was two weeks into the Atlanta campaign but so far, the 49 th Ohio had gotten off lightly. Donaldson felt that Sherman’s army was more than a match for the Confederates, worn down by a series of retreats and attritting deserters at the rate of 150 men per day. “If they make a stand, we have sufficient force to meet them in front and flank them at the same time and with the blessing of God, we can certainly whip Johnston’s army,” he wrote confidently. “I believe this retreat is having a bad effect on their courage and their daily loss is considerable. I know of 150 deserters that came into our lines yesterday. The deserters who have come into our lines and the prisoners we have taken since this campaign commenced amount to upwards of 5,000 men; this does not include their

F or Private James Favorite of the 75th Indiana, one of the most striking elements of Sunday September 20, 1863 during the Battle of Chickamauga was the calm that permeated that morning.       " The sun rose in all its splendor, not a cloud obscured the sky, all was quiet and still as death and you could see in the countenances of all as we lay behind rude breastworks thrown up out of logs and rails, a fixed determination to do or die for our country," he wrote. "The suspense was terrible and as we looked upon each other, we had dark forebodings that in all probability we were gazing upon each other for the last time. Some, we feared, would be cut down, but who, none could tell. The question was often asked: “Will there be any fighting today?” It was readily answered with “Not unless the Rebels make the attack for General Rosecrans never brings on a battle on Sunday and only fights when compelled to by the enemy.”           During the Chickamauga campaign, the 75 th I

  Forage cap with a blue moon crescent corps badge indicating that it belonged to a soldier in the Third Division of the 11th Army Corps. The 26th Wisconsin served in the Second Brigade of the Third Division during the Chancellorsville and Gettysburg campaigns. It would go west with the bulk of the 11th Corps in September 1863 and serve in the Army of the Cumberland for the rest of the war.  Adjutant Albert Wallber of the 26 th Wisconsin provided the following account of his experiences as a prisoner of war during the Battle of Gettysburg to the Wisconsin Commandery of the Military Order of the Loyal Legion of the United States on October 6, 1909.

G eneral George McClellan called it a "change of base." One of his men, Lieutenant Willis Pomeroy of the 5th Michigan, referred to it as "the great skedaddle." History calls it the Seven Days.       The Seven Days campaign fought outside of Richmond, Virginia in the waning days of June 1862 marked a turning of Confederate fortunes in the east. Robert E. Lee, newly in command of the Army of Northern Virginia, through a series of heavy engagements, most of them Union victories, managed to drive the Federal army from the gates of Richmond back to Harrison's Landing on the James River. For the 5th Michigan, it was a series of confusing battles during the day and retreating all night just to fight again the next day.      "O f all the noises I ever heard, this was the worst," Lieutenant Pomeroy wrote regarding the fight at Savage Station. "Niagara Falls is nothing compared to it. It was plain that there was hot work before us. I say before us- it was a

L ieutenant Colonel Cyrus Sears of the 11th Louisiana Corps d' Afrique had already seen his share of intense combat while serving as a battery commander of the 11th Ohio Battery at the Battle of Iuka, an action in which he later was to earn the Medal of Honor. The fighting at Milliken's Bend matched Iuka in intensity. His regiment, numbering roughly 600 newly raised black troops, lost 338 men during the engagement.       " The results of this engagement, disastrous as it was, so far as I can learn have raised the fighting standard of black soldiers in the estimation of outsiders very materially," Colonel Sears noted. "General Dennis, in command of this division, paid us a visit the evening of the battle and complimented us. He said that we had not only done well but that we had accomplished wonders under the circumstances. Of course, this was gratifying to us. Give black soldiers a chance and he will make a good soldier and that quicker than any other man."

 In the aftermath of the Battle of Chancellorsville, Private Joseph Groff of the 12th U.S. Infantry penned the following letter describing the campaign to his hometown newspaper the Weekly Lancaster Gazette in Ohio.  Private Joseph Groff described Chancellorsville as consisting of "one large brick house resembling some of the noble edifices of the west. The only occupants visible were a few members of the weaker sex who were standing at the windows looking with scorn at the Yankees as we passed."  Francis Chancellor, a widow, and her seven children lived in the house up to the time of the battle and ended up sheltering in the cellar after General Hooker took charge of the house and nearby tavern as headquarters. Eventually the house was burned and the Chancellor family forced to flee. "I can see the blazing woods, the house in flames, the flying shot and shell, and the terror-stricken women and children pushing their way over the dead and wounded," 16-year-old Susan