Brave Deeds of Union Soldiers Part 15

With a tremendous cheer the whole force sprang again to their feet and swarmed over the ramparts in a rush which there was no stopping. James was right with them, two of his men hoisting and pushing him up, for he found that although he could shoot, it was more difficult to climb with one arm. As the last Confederates who were left surrendered, James sat down against one of the captured cannon and smiled wanly at the man who had helped him and said:

"Now I'll take a rest and later on I'll go to the rear with you if you like."

This he did and a regular surgeon completed an operation which he said had, under the circ.u.mstances, been most efficiently performed. Corporal James always said that the medal of honor which the government gave him was worth far more than the arm which he gave the government.

In the days of David there came a great famine. Year after year the crops failed and the people starved. At last the priests and soothsayers told David that this doom had fallen upon the nation because of a broken oath. Many centuries before Joshua, one of the great generals of the world, was fighting his way into the Promised Land. He was contending with huge black giant tribes like the Anakim, and against blue-eyed Amorite mountaineers with their war-chariots of iron, whose five kings he was to utterly destroy on that great day when he said in the sight of the host of Israel, "Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon and thou Moon in the valley of Ajalon," and the sun stood still and the moon stayed until the people had revenged themselves upon their enemies. He had captured the fortified city of Jericho and had razed it to the ground and laid that terrible curse which was afterward fulfilled on the man who should again lay the foundation and rebuild the city. He had destroyed the city of Ai, little but inhabited by fierce fighters who had hurled back even the numberless hordes of Israel. The terror and the dread of the invaders had spread through the length and breadth of the land. On the slopes of Mount Hermon lived the Hivites. They were not great in war, but like the men of Tyre they asked to be let alone to carry on the trade and commerce in which they were so expert. Not far away from Ai was their chief city of Gibeon and the elders of that city planned to obtain from Joshua safety by stratagem. They sent emba.s.sadors whose skin bottles were old and rent and bound up and whose shoes were worn through and clouted and whose garments were old and worn and their provision dry and mouldy. These came to Joshua pretending to be emba.s.sadors from a far country who desired to make a league with them. Not knowing that their city was in the very path of his march, Joshua and the princes of the congregation made peace with them. Later on they found that they had been deceived, but the word of the nation had been pa.s.sed and the sworn peace could not be broken. So it happened from that day that the Gibeonites became hewers of wood and drawers of water for the congregation and lived in peace with the Israelites under their sworn protection. The centuries pa.s.sed and at last Saul, the first king of Israel, began his reign. In spite of the oath of his forefathers, he slew the Gibeonites and sought to root them out of the land. It was this broken oath that had brought upon the nation the years of famine and suffering. Under the advice of their priests David sent for the remnants of the Gibeonites and asked them what atonement could be made for the cruel and treacherous deed of King Saul who had long been dead, but whose sin lived on after him. The Gibeonites said that they would have no silver or gold of Saul or of his house, but demanded that seven men of the race of Saul be delivered unto them. It was done and they hung these seven prisoners as a vengeance on the b.l.o.o.d.y house of Saul. Two of them were the sons of Rizpah whom she bore unto Saul, the king. When they were hanged, she took sackcloth and spread it on the rocks and guarded those bodies night and day and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest upon them by day or the beasts of the field by night. Sleeplessly she guarded all that was left of her sons until the news of her faithfulness was brought to David, who gave back to her the bodies for burial and for the last rites of sepulchre and sanctuary which mean so much to all believers.

In the Civil War at Cold Harbor, Virginia, Sergeant LeRoy Williams of the 8th New York Artillery, like Rizpah, saved the body of his dead colonel and brought it back at the risk of his own life for honored burial. During that terrible battle in one of the charges of his regiment, his colonel was shot down close to the enemy's lines. When the shattered remnants of the regiment rallied again after they had been driven back by the entrenched Confederates, it was found that the colonel was missing. Williams had a profound admiration and affection for his colonel. When he found he was missing, he took an oath before the men that were left that he would find him and bring him in dead or alive. All the rest of that weary afternoon he crept back and forth over the battle-field exposed to the fire of the enemy's sharp-shooters. Again and again his life was saved almost by a miracle, so close did the well-directed bullets strike. Finally just at twilight close to the enemy's lines he found his colonel. He lay as he had fallen, facing the entrenchments which he had fought so hard to win, with a bullet through his heart. Within a few feet of where he lay the Confederate pickets were stationed who watched the field and fired at the least suspicious movement. Just as Williams identified the body, he saw one of the sentries approaching in the dusk and had just time to throw himself down with outstretched arms beside the dead officer when the guard was upon him. Something in his att.i.tude aroused the man's suspicions and he prodded Williams in the back with his bayonet.

Fortunately the sharp steel struck him glancingly and only inflicted a shallow wound and Williams had the presence of mind and the fort.i.tude to lie perfectly quiet without a motion or a sound to indicate that he lived. The sentry pa.s.sed on convinced that only dead men lay before him. Williams waited until it became perfectly dark and started to drag in the dead body of his officer. Inch by inch he crept away from the enemy's lines in the darkness until he was far enough away so that his movements could not be seen. All that weary night he dragged and carried the rescued body of the dead officer until just at dawn he brought it within the Union lines to receive the honors of a military funeral.

s.p.a.ce fails to tell of the many brave deeds which gleam through the blood of many a hard-fought field and shine against the blackness of many a dark defeat. There was David L. Smith, a sergeant in Battery E of the 1st New York Light Artillery, who, when a sh.e.l.l struck an ammunition chest in his battery, exploding a number of cartridges and setting fire to the packing tow, instead of running away from the exploding cartridges which threatened every minute to set fire to the fuses of some of the great sh.e.l.ls, had the coolness and the courage to bring a bucket of water and put out the flames as quietly as if he were banking a camp-fire for the night.

There was Isaac Redlon, a private in the 27th Maine Infantry, who shortly before the battle of Chickamauga was put under arrest for a gross breach of discipline. Isaac saw a chance to wipe out the disgrace which he had incurred. Instead of staying at the rear with the wounded and other men under arrest, he managed to get hold of a rifle and fought through the two terrible days of that disastrous battle. So bravely did he fight, so cool was he under fire and so quick to carry out and to antic.i.p.ate every order that was given, that when the battle was at last over, his captain decided that not only had Redlon wiped out the memory of his former misdoing, but that he had earned the medal which was afterward awarded to him.

Another man whose bravery wiped out his mistakes was Colonel Louis P.

DiCesnola of the 4th New York Cavalry. On June 17, 1863, he was under arrest when the battle was joined at Aldie, Virginia. It was the bitterest day that the colonel had ever known when in the guard-house he watched his regiment go into action without him. He felt that he had ruined his whole career and that his life through his folly and hot-headedness was a complete failure. There was granted to him, however, as there is to all of us, the opportunity to make amends.

While he was still moodily watching the progress of the battle, suddenly he saw the men, whom he had so often led, waver. Then stragglers began to slip back through the lines and suddenly the whole regiment was in full retreat. Colonel DiCesnola did not hesitate a moment.

"Open that door," he said to the guard. "I'll show those fellows how to fight and I'll come back when it's all over."

Without a word the sentry unlocked the door and the colonel rushed out just in time to meet the first rank of the flying men. Almost the first man that he met was the officer who had taken his place, riding the colonel's own horse. DiCesnola gripped the animal by the bridle.

"Get off that horse," he shouted, "and let some one ride him who knows which way to go. He's not used to retreating," and before his bewildered successor could answer, he was hurled out of the saddle and Colonel DiCesnola was on the back of his own horse.

"About face, charge!" he thundered to his men. Most of them recognized his voice and the familiar figure that so often led them and without hesitating a moment, wheeled about and followed him toward the front.

Every few yards his troop was increased by men who were ashamed to ride to the rear when they saw him charging to the front unarmed but waving his hat and cheering them on. Before the Confederates could realize what had happened they were fairly hurled off their feet by the tremendous rush of hurtling men and horses. Of all the attacks which are hard to withstand, the charge of a body of men who have rallied and are trying to wipe out the shame of their retreat is most to be feared.

It was so here. Although the Confederates fought hard nothing could hold back the rush of this cavalry regiment. They were led by their own colonel who though unarmed stayed in the forefront of the battle. As they finally broke through the Confederate line, a burly cavalryman slashed at him with his sabre. Colonel DiCesnola stooped low to avoid the cut, but the point of the sabre caught him on the right shoulder and ripped deep into his chest while almost at the same moment he received a pistol shot in his left arm which broke it. Unable to hold the reins, he slipped forward and would have fallen to the ground, but was held in his saddle by his first a.s.sailant who forced his horse up close beside the colonel's and dashed back through the Confederate lines carrying DiCesnola and his magnificent horse. There the colonel was made prisoner, but was carefully nursed and by the time that he had recovered his strength, was exchanged and rejoined his old regiment. He reported to his general as still under arrest.

"You are mistaken," said the latter. "I saw the way you rallied your men that day and when you were reported missing, we thought you had been killed. The charges against you are dismissed and your record is just as clean as it ever was and your old regiment is waiting for you."

The story of William W. Noyes, a private in the 2d Vermont Infantry, and his charmed life is still told by the veterans who fought at Spottsylvania. On that day the madness of battle came over him. When that happens, life has no value except to spend it for the cause for which one is fighting. Noyes' regiment had charged up to the breastworks of the enemy from which was poured into the attacking forces tremendous volleys. Noyes had charged with the others, but when they stopped to rally at the breastworks preparatory to forcing them, Noyes never paused. Right up the parapet he scrambled and stood on top of the breastworks with his musket in full range of a thousand men.

Taking deliberate aim he shot the man just below him who was aiming his gun at him not more than two yards away. In full sight of both armies he stood there and loaded and fired no less than fifteen shots. Not one of them missed its mark. It was in vain that the men all around him who were exposed to his fire shot at him. The bullets cut through his clothing, carried off his cap and one stripped the sights off his rifle and ricochetted off the hammer itself, but not a wound did he receive.

His example spurred his comrades on and in a few minutes the whole regiment struggled over the earthworks and drove out the garrison.

Joseph von Matre, a private in the 116th Ohio Infantry, did the same thing at Petersburg on April 2, 1865, during the a.s.sault on Fort Gregg.

He climbed up the parapet and fired down into the fort as fast as his comrades could pa.s.s up to him loaded guns. No bullet could harm him and single-handed he drove the men out of that embrasure after killing several and forced a gap which was filled by the men who climbed up when he shouted down to them what he had done.

This chronicle of brave deeds would not be complete without the stories of the men who were brave enough to disregard all odds either in numbers or in circ.u.mstances. There was Delano Morey, a private in the 82d Ohio Infantry, who at McDowell, Virginia, found himself, after the charge of the Confederates had been repulsed, with an empty gun and no ammunition. Just in front of him were two of the enemy's sharp-shooters who had been picking off the Union officers all through the charge.

Each of them was a dead shot and each of them had a loaded gun.

Menacing them both with his empty piece, Morey rushed forward and called on them to surrender. The superb confidence of the man was too much for them and without a word each of them handed him his loaded rifle and walked meekly back with him as prisoners to the Union lines.

There was Frank W. Mills, a sergeant in a New York regiment, who while scouting at Sandy Cross Roads in North Carolina, with only three or four men under him, suddenly came upon a whole troop of the enemy.

Without orders and seemingly without the possibility of succeeding, Mills charged down upon the Confederates at the head of his regiment, consisting of four men. Courage took the place of numbers. The Confederates scattered like sheep and Mills and his men rounded up no less than one hundred and twenty prisoners who stacked their arms and marched obediently into the Union lines.

Augustus Merrill, a captain in the 1st Maine Infantry, performed a similar feat at Petersburg when with six men he captured sixty-nine Confederate prisoners and recaptured and released a number of Union soldiers whom they had made prisoners.

The 4th of May, 1863, was a great day for John P. McVean, a corporal in the 49th Infantry. On that day at Fredericksburg Heights, Virginia, he fought at the forefront of his company and when the order to charge was given, outstripped them all, reached the Confederate lines entirely alone, shot down the Confederate color-bearer, seized the colors and fought back all attempts to retake them until his comrades could come to his a.s.sistance. Later in the day he showed that he could be just as brave away from the inspiration and excitement of battle. Between the lines stood a barn which was occupied by a number of Confederate sharp-shooters who were greatly annoying the Union forces by picking off men at every opportunity. McVean's captain finally ordered his men to charge on the barn and drive them out.

"Wait a minute, Captain," said the corporal; "I believe I can make those fellows surrender without losing any men. Let me try anyway."

Without waiting for the captain to reply, the corporal laid down his gun and alone and unarmed and beckoning as he walked with his hand toward the barn, started for the sharp-shooters. Seeing that he was not armed they allowed him to come within speaking distance.

"I have come to take you men prisoners," he said positively; "we don't want to kill you, but if you don't come now, we are going to charge and this is your last chance."

The men inside hesitated a minute, but there was such an air of supreme confidence about McVean that first one and then another and then the whole band of twelve men marched out and followed him back to the Union lines. Once more a brave man had accomplished the impossible.

There were no braver men in all the Union Army than were found in the ranks of the different batteries whose guns did so much to bring about the final victory of the Union arms. The courage of our cannoneers, men who saved the guns in spite of every attack and who often saved them in many a defeat, has never been surpa.s.sed. The affection of a gunner for the piece which he has manned and served in many a hard-fought battle is like that which a cavalryman has for his horse. Like the rider, the crew of a battery will risk all to save their gun. At Wilson's Creek, Missouri, on August 10, 1861, Nicholas Broquet, a private in one of the Iowa batteries, showed the spirit that was in him when the gun that he was serving was disabled. The battery-horses had been shot down, all the crew except himself had been killed by the tremendous fire of the enemy and across the field appeared a detachment of the enemy's forces sent to capture the gun. Broquet cut the traces of the dead horses, rushed out between the lines in the face of a fierce fire and succeeded in catching a riderless horse. He rode the animal back to the gun, made him fast to it and just as the enemy's detachment was close upon him, rode off in safety, trundling the rescued gun behind him.

John F. Chase was a cannoneer of the same stamp. At Chancellorsville he was serving as a private in a Maine battery. A sh.e.l.l from one of the enemy's guns struck down the officers and killed or disabled every man of the battery except Chase and one other. They manned the gun, sighted it as best they could and fired three rounds at the approaching enemy.

Then as the horses had been killed and it was certain that the gun would be captured in a few minutes, they fastened themselves to the traces and tugged away until they got the gun in motion. Although it was a heavy one which ordinarily took two horses to drag it, yet these two actually pulled the gun across the rough field safe to the main line of the Union forces and saved it from capture.

Three of the most spectacular deeds of the whole war were those of Lieutenant Thomas W. Custer, Private Samuel E. Eddy and Adjutant Eugene W. Ferris. Custer was a lieutenant in the 6th Michigan Cavalry and was present at the spirited engagement at Sailors Creek, Virginia, when the Union forces attacked the entrenched Confederates. Custer's company charged in the face of a heavy fire on the enemy's works. When they reached the entrenchments the order was received to dismount and to continue the charge on foot. Custer was riding a thorough-bred and preferred to continue the charge on horseback. Spurring his horse up to the lowest part of the ramparts, he actually leaped him over and landed in the very midst of the astonished defenders. Making a dash for the color-bearer, Custer cut him down, seized the colors and wheeled and galloped right through the demoralized men to the other end of the works, intending to capture the colors displayed there. As he broke through the ranks of the defenders for the second time, a volley of straggling shots was fired at him. One bullet pierced his thigh and two more struck his horse, killing the latter instantly. Custer rolled over and over with the struggling animal, managed to pull himself loose and still clinging to the captured colors, with the blood streaming down his leg, rushed at the last color-bearer, shot him down with his revolver and seized his colors and with his back to the rampart, fought off all attempts to rescue them. A moment later his companions climbed over the earthworks and rescued him just as he was on the point of fainting from loss of blood.

Eddy was a private in the 37th Ma.s.sachusetts Infantry and on April 6, 1865, was present at the battle of Sailors Creek, Virginia. While his regiment was fighting desperately to hold their position, Eddy saw that his adjutant lay wounded far out beyond their lines. A little detachment of Confederate soldiers approached and to Eddy's horror, he saw them deliberately shoot down several of the wounded Union men. One of them approached the adjutant to whom Eddy was much attached. He could not bear to see him killed without at least attempting to rescue him and he at once rushed out beyond the protection of his own line. As he approached the adjutant, he saw the leader of the Confederate attachment in the act of taking aim at the wounded officer. Eddy was an excellent shot and at once knelt down and took rapid but accurate aim and killed the Confederate just as he was on the point of firing. He ran forward to his adjutant, but there he encountered three Confederates and had a hand-to-hand bayonet fight with them. Eddy was a man of tremendous strength and reach and managed to kill one of his a.s.sailants and severely wound another. While he was so engaged, however, the third ran him through the body with his bayonet and pinned him to the ground. While the enemy was struggling to disengage his bayonet for another fatal thrust, Eddy, by a last desperate effort, managed to slip a cartridge into his gun and just as his opponent was aiming a deadly stab at his throat, shot him through the body. Then wounded as he was, he staggered to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged the wounded adjutant back to the safety of the Union lines where they were both nursed back to health and strength.

Ferris was an adjutant in the 30th Ma.s.sachusetts Infantry. On April 1, 1865, at Berryville, Virginia, accompanied only by an orderly, he was riding outside the Union lines when he was attacked by five of Mosby's guerrillas. It was not the custom of Mosby's men either to ask or give quarter or to take prisoners. Ferris who was well mounted could probably have escaped, but would have had to leave his orderly behind, as the latter's horse was a slow one. Accordingly, although both the men were armed only with sabres, Ferris made up his mind to fight to the death. Without waiting to be attacked, he spurred his horse at the guerrilla-leader and suddenly executing a demi-volte which is only effective when performed by a good sabre and a trained horse, he whirled like lightning and caught his opponent such a tremendous back-handed slash that he cut him almost to the saddle. As the man toppled over, Ferris slipped one arm around his waist and managed to unbuckle his pistol-belt and seize both of his pistols. He then at once engaged with another one of the band and while parrying and thrusting, saw out of the tail of his eye a third man aiming a revolver at him only a few yards away. Parrying a thrust from his opponent in front, Ferris simultaneously fired with the other hand. Although Ferris was shooting with his left hand, his bullet killed his opponent while the Confederate's fire struck Ferris just above the left knee, inflicting a painful but not dangerous flesh-wound. Ferris pressed his opponent in front still more vigorously and finally succeeded in wounding him so severely that he turned and bolted, leaving Ferris free to go to the rescue of his orderly, who had been putting up a good fight against the other two of the band. Ferris reached him just in time. He had been wounded twice and though fighting bravely, one of his antagonists had managed to reach a position in his rear. There was not much time for Ferris to do anything with his sabre. Everything must depend upon a pistol shot. Stopping his horse, he drew his remaining pistol, took careful aim and shot the man behind his orderly through the body just as the latter had his sabre uplifted for a last blow at the hardly-pressed Union officer. The remaining guerrilla, who had already been slightly wounded by the orderly, wheeled his horse and rode off leaving the two Union men in possession of the field and the spoils of war, consisting of two capital pistols and a magnificent riderless horse which they brought back with them.

One of the most devoted deeds of courage in the war is chronicled last.

On July 21, 1861, the first great battle of the war was fought at Bull Run, Virginia, not far from the federal capital. It was a disastrous day. Unorganized, commanded by inexperienced officers, that battle soon became the shameful rout which for a long time was the basis of the belief throughout the South that one Southerner could whip four Northerners.

Charles J. Murphy was quartermaster on that day in the 38th New York Infantry. It was not his business to fight. He was there to feed and look after his men and it was no more his duty to join the battle than that of the surgeons, the band, or any of the other non-combatants which accompany a regiment. When, however, he saw the ma.s.ses of beaten, discouraged, panic-stricken men straggling back, Murphy made up his mind that the rear was no place for him. Seizing a rifle which one of the retreating men had thrown away, he rushed forward and did all that one man could to stop the retreat, fighting as long and as hard as he could. It was beyond his power. His regiment were bewildered, confused and broke and fled like sheep, leaving hundreds of wounded men on the field. Murphy made up his mind that he would have no part or lot in this rout and also that he would not desert his wounded comrades, for in those days there were terrible tales rife of how the Confederates treated wounded soldiers. The Union fighters had not yet learned that their antagonists were the same brave, fair fighters that they were.

Murphy stayed behind. When the victorious Confederate forces marched down the field, they found it held by one man who was giving water to the wounded and doing his clumsy best to staunch the flowing blood from many a ghastly wound.

"Do you surrender?" shouted the first officer who approached him.

"Not if you are going to hurt these wounded men," said Murphy, bringing his bayonet into position.

"We will take just as good care of them as we will of our own," the officer a.s.sured him, and only on this a.s.surance did Murphy surrender.

He spent years in Rebel prisons, but no prison could ever take away from him the recollection that he alone had refused to retreat on that disastrous day and that he had risked his life and given up his liberty to save his wounded comrades.

So ends, with these little stories of sudden hero-acts wrought by commonplace men in a matter-of-fact manner, this chronicle of a few of the many, many brave deeds done by our forefathers in a war that was fought for an ideal. Read them, boys and girls, in these war-days that we may remember anew the lessons which the lives and deaths of our kin hold for us. If the day ever comes when we too must fight for ideals which other nations have forgotten or have trampled upon, may we show ourselves worthy of the great heritage of honor which our forefathers have handed down to us.