“Little Mac’s” Final Moments: The Death of George B. McClellan

Tonight, Billy Griffith takes a look at the final hours of George B. McClellan in his West Orange, New Jersey home

“The startling announcement was made on Thursday morning that General McClellan was dead,” read New Jersey’s The Orange Journal on Sunday, October 31, 1885, “…very few knew that General McClellan was in the least ill, and no one but his physician, perhaps, knew of the serious character of the disease that was afflicting him.” Less than a week before he had been seen riding in his carriage through West Orange in what was described as “the picture of perfect health.” Only days later, George Brinton McClellan, one of the Army of the Potomac’s most beloved and controversial generals was dead at the age of fifty-eight.[1]  

 

George B. McClellan, c. 1880

Several weeks earlier at the beginning of the month, McClellan began complaining of chest pains that were originally diagnosed as nothing more than the effects of dyspepsia. The ailment subsided until October 18, when he called upon his personal physician, a “Dr. Seward,” complaining of more pain in his heart region while preparing to depart for business in Boston. Concerned that symptoms of actual heart trouble were now developing, Dr. Seward ordered McClellan to return home and rest so further examinations could be conducted. There he remained, passing the time at home by “reading, writing and conversing, or enjoying a drive in his open carriage through [East and West Orange].” There were no flare-ups of pain during that week and a half, and it was believed that his condition was improving from the rest and “quiet of the country.” Then on Thursday, October 28, things took a turn for the worse.[2]

The following is a description of McClellan’s final hours reported by The Orange Journal:

     On Thursday evening … he was seized with pains in the region of his heart. The pain passed away and returned again with greater violence at 10 o’clock. At 11 o’clock Mrs. McClellan telephoned for Dr. Seward, and shortly after the Doctor received another telephone call requesting haste, and in thirteen minutes from the receipt of the first call, Dr. Seward was by the side of the sufferer. He was seated in his chair, and remedies were immediately applied which brought relief. The pains returned again, however, and Dr. Seward decided to remain with his patient. When the General felt better he was removed to his bed. The night was damp and foggy, and the windows were all closed, and the atmosphere of the room was somewhat heavy. A person with a heart trouble needs all the air possible, and the General was rather restless under the canopy which was adjusted over his bed to keep out mosquitoes. This may have produced a second paroxysm, for between two and three o’clock the pains returned, for the sufferer was removed to the chair. Mrs. McClellan and [their daughter] Miss [Mary “May”] McClellan were in the room the while, doing what they could. Restoratives were again administered, but the terrible pain only increased in violence, and at ten minutes to three o’clock, without a word of warning, the General placed his hand to his head, and gasping once fell back dead. So sudden was the off-taking that the family of Dr. [Randolph] Marcy were not summoned, and the only persons who were present when the General breathed his last were Mrs. McClellan and her daughter, Dr. Seward and two servants of the family.[3]

 As is with all famous deaths, last words were said to be muttered before McClellan expired: “I feel easy now. Thank you …” Whether this is true or not is beside the point, but it certainly adds a flare of the dramatic.[4]

 George McClellan’s sudden death can be attributed to coronary heart disease, or at least that is what the American Heart Association states that angina pectoris is predominantly caused by. Whether or not he suffered from chest pains prior to October 1885 is unknown, but it is quite possible that it may have been something he previously shrugged off until it became concerning and unbearable.[5]

The General’s funeral service was held in Manhattan at the Madison Square Presbyterian Church on Monday, November 1, 1885. At the request of Mary Ellen McClellan, the funeral “would be as quiet as possible, and there would be no military honors or display whatever.” Following the service, McClellan’s remains were taken to Trenton and interred in the Riverview Cemetery.[6]

Madison Square Presbyterian Church, c. 1903

A week following the passing of “Little Mac” the Monmouth Democrat published a heartfelt obituary to the deceased general. Their words remind us that despite what is felt by some regarding his tenure with the Army of the Potomac, he was a soldier, but above all he was a man – a husband, father, and friend who was loved by many:

Verily death has claimed a costly sacrifice – but death has not won, for General McClellan was an earnest and sincere follower of the great Conqueror of Death. The secret of his life – patient, quiet, gentle, trustful, loving – was his trust in the Redeemer of men … Soldier, patriot, statesman, scholar, Christian – all these he was, and with them all, a man! We knew him and to love him … There is a void in our hearts, a vacancy in our ranks.[7]     

[1] “Sudden End of a Useful and Distinguished Life,” The Orange Journal (West Orange, NJ), October 31, 1885.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Steven W. Sears, George B. McClellan: The Young Napoleon (New York: Ticknor & Fields, 1988), 400-401.

[5] American Heart Association, “Angina Pectoris (Stable Angina),” American Heart Association, http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/HeartAttack/SymptomsDiagnosisofHeartAttack/Angina-Pectoris-Stable-Angina_UCM_437515_Article.jsp#.V3BZIWgrK00 (accessed 26 June 2016).

[6] “Sudden End to a Useful and Distinguished Life.”

[7] “Little Mac,” Monmouth Democrat (Monmouth, NJ), November 5, 1885.

 

Saratoga and a Few Words From GTR History

The Battles of Saratoga and Burgoyne’s Surrender: A Brief Overview

Despite the colonists declaring themselves separated from the English Crown during the summer of 1776, American independence was anything but a certainty. In order to secure their freedom, battlefield victories would have to be won against the armies of King George III throughout the colonies. The “winter soldiers” of George Washington’s Continental Army had miraculously defeated a regiment of Hessians at Trenton, New Jersey the day after Christmas 1776, and as the New Year began, obtained two more victories at Assunpink Creek and Princeton. While these engagements may have salvaged the American cause following a summer in which New York was lost to the British, independence was still far from secured. The war took a turn for the worse during the summer and fall of 1777 for Washington and his army when a string of defeats resulted in the British capture of Philadelphia. Once again the American cause for independence appeared bleak.

Across the Atlantic Ocean in Paris, Louis XVI watched and waited for a decisive American victory that would give credence for France to declare war on their age-old enemy, England, and recognize the United States as a sovereign nation. That battlefield victory would not come from along Brandywine Creek or Germantown in Pennsylvania. Instead, His Most Christian Majesty would have to look north to New York, where a British army under Major General John Burgoyne was moving south from Canada. There, another American force, the Northern Department, under the command of recently appointed Major General Horatio Gates, made preparations to meet “Gentlemen Johnny’s” invading army.

Maj. Gen. John Burgoyne

Burgoyne’s advance down the Lake Champlain-Lake George-Hudson River corridor in New York was part of William Howe’s (Commander-in-Chief of His Majesty’s Forces in the Colonies) plan to unite his own army, Burgoyne’s, and Henry Clinton’s near Albany in an effort to sever the northern colonies from the middle and southern colonies. However, Howe changed his plans and decided to move in Philadelphia, leaving Burgoyne on his own to face Gates with the sole hope that Clinton could still link up with his army at Albany.

Maj. Gen. Horatio Gates

John Burgoyne’s army, moving southward with Albany as their main objective, rolled over all American resistance that lay before them until meeting Horatio Gates’s army along the Hudson River south of Saratoga. For two days, September 19 and October 7, a desperate battle raged between the two armies over open fields and entrenched positions. The first day of fighting ended in a tactical victory for Burgoyne who was determined to push forward and drive Gates and his men from their earthworks atop a prominence known as Bemis Heights on the seventh in order to break through to Albany with his 6,000 or so men. That breakthrough never occurred. His army’s initial attack on the second day of fighting was thrown back by the Northern Army’s overwhelming numbers and forced to fallback to a defensive line of redoubts. With the momentum in the Americans’ favor, a dramatic charge was led by Brigadier General Benedict Arnold (not yet a traitor) who was left without a command after being relieved of his duties by General Gates resulting from an argument between the two officers following the battle on September 19. Arnold (the true hero of the battle) was wounded when a musket ball smashed through his leg, breaking it, but his charge was a success and the British were driven from the field and forced to retreat north to Saratoga. In full pursuit of their foe, Gates’s army besieged Burgoyne and his force until the general was obligated to discuss terms of surrender with the Americans. On October 17, 1777, Major General John Burgoyne and his army of nearly 6,000 men surrendered. Gates’s terms were generous. He would allow the British to go freely as long as they promised not to take up arms again in North America. The Continental Congress refused to approve the terms and the newly captured prisoners were sent to prison camps throughout the colonies.

Brig. Gen. Benedict Arnold

The Battles of Saratoga and Burgoyne’s subsequent surrender turned the tide of the American Revolutionary War and changed world history. Louis XVI got the American victory he desired and declared France’s recognition of the United States and a military and trade alliance that without, the goal of independence may never have been achieved. Benedict Arnold, who actually led troops in the field that October – unlike Horatio Gates – received no credit in any of the commanding general’s after action reports and never obtained the glory he so earnestly desired. The battle, quite possibly the most triumphant day of his life, along with other influences pushed him into the arms of treason.

A Few Words From GTR History

On this date in 1777, an army of over 5,000 British soldiers under the command of Major General John Burgoyne surrendered to Major General Horatio Gates at Saratoga, NY. This event, a decisive military victory, turned the tide of the American Revolutionary War and changed the world forever. Presented with the necessary battlefield victory needed to justify entering another war with England, Louis XVI of France pledged his support to the United States and their struggle for independence. Without the aid of his military and economic support it is quite possible that a complete victory over the British in America may not have been possible.

Burgoyne’s Surrender, October 17,1777

Important anniversaries like the one today always bring about moments of observation and reflection regarding the sacrifice of those who have come before us and how far we have come as a people. “If this is our heritage,” historian Howard Peckham proclaims in his short history The War for Independence, “it is important to know what it cost, for then we shall remember how highly it was valued by those who secured it.” Even we, as students of the past who devote all of their time and passion into studying our forefathers, cannot truly understand what these men and women endured and sacrificed unless we have experienced something so turbulent and as trying as them. What we can take away from studying and remembering history however, is what we as a people are capable of when our livelihoods are threatened or our will is tested. The stories of the past can teach us what we as humans can do – the evils that may lie below our skin or the greatness that we hold deep inside.

Our independence was declared by educated men in positions of power and respect, but it was secured by the common men and women of this country who paid for it with their lives. This is what we are capable of as a people. This is what we are capable of as Americans. From the first shots at Lexington and Concord in 1775 to the surrender of Charles Cornwallis’s army at Yorktown in 1781, we stood toe to toe with the greatest military in the world and emerged from the chaos of war victoriously as an independent nation. It is hard to find a better example in history of what people are capable of when they cherish their beliefs and ideals so dearly and are willing to give up their very lives for something greater than themselves. History is inspirational. History is that fictional story with heroes larger than life that we all know – except history is real.

Today, October 17, 2015, think back and reflect on what these people of the past mean to you. Consider the hardships they endured and sacrifices that they made and contemplate the selflessness of their actions. The men and women who laid down their lives for the cause of liberty did so with the hope that one day we would be free, not just themselves. We live their victory over tyranny every day. For that we should be ever grateful. History is not just words printed on the pages of an old book sitting on a shelf. It is our story, and every day we continue to write it.

Linear Style Warfare in the 18th Century: Military Innovation or Stupidity?

To the common individual who does not study military history, the idea of men in the 18^th century marching shoulder-to-shoulder in perfect lines of battle, moving as closely as possible to their foe, leveling their muskets in concert and unleashing devastating volleys of lead into their opponent’s ranks – all the while standing firm waiting to receive fire from across the field – seems idiotic or even suicidal. However, what the general public does not understand is that the concept of linear style warfare was instituted to fully maximize the effectiveness of the weapons of the era, not to get as many men killed in your own army as possible.

The standard issue weapon of all major armies during the colonial expansion era was the flintlock smoothbore musket. For over a century the English army utilized the King’s Land Pattern Musket or “Brown Bess”, a massive .75 smoothbore weapon that packed a punch greater than many of its contemporary counterparts and won a substantial amount of victories for the royal Hanoverian family on battlefields throughout the world. Firing a .69 lead musket ball at a velocity of roughly 1000 feet per second – much slower compared to modern day firearms – the Brown Bess was a vicious killing machine. However, because the inside of the barrel was completely smooth and not rifled, and due to the fact that the projectile was not conical in shape, the weapon was only accurate at about fifty yards. The inaccuracy of the period’s firearms is why armies utilized linear style tactics on open fields of battle.

1756 British Land Pattern Musket

To maximize the effectiveness of smoothbore weapons, soldiers marched shoulder-to-shoulder in lines of battle to distances between 40-60 yards away from their enemy before leveling their weapons all at once and unleashing a volley of musketry. This concept and idea was far from idiotic like most believe. The weapons of the era were not necessarily meant to be fired accurately individually, but en masse. There was a much better chance of hitting a target if several hundred muzzles were aimed in its direction opposed to just one. Compact lines of battle created a literal wall of lead when the soldiers’ weapons were discharged.

Battle of Quebec, 1759. The British and French Fought in Lines of Battle for Fifteen Minutes before the French were Swept from the Field by a Bayonet Charge

Every army had their own methods of linear style combat. During the Seven Years’ War (French and Indian War in North America) the French army tended to deploy their battalions – numbers ranged between 500-1000 men – into four lines, creating a frontage of roughly 162 men or so. Their British adversaries chose to deploy their units two or three ranks deep, which arguably gave them an advantage because they fought with a wider front producing a longer line of fire.

The professionally trained European soldier of the 18^th century carrying a flintlock musket could load and fire his weapon three to four times per minute – a tremendous rate for a muzzle-loading weapon. When engaging the enemy in an open field and fighting in the linear style, the idea was to fire two or three volleys into the enemy’s ranks, confusing and staggering them. If it was evident that the opponent’s men were indeed in a state of panic, then the order would be given by officers to fix bayonets. Wielding these long steel sword-like weapons at the tip of the musket’s muzzle, the battalions would then slowly march (not run like mad men) towards the enemy and quite literally sweep them off of the field, claiming victory for their respective monarch. If the opposing line chose to stand firm and receive the charge, then hand-to-hand combat would ensue for possession of the battlefield.

British Regulars Advance in Perfect Lines of Battle at Breed’s Hill, 1775

Well into the 18^th century, as smoothbore weapons still served as the predominant design for the world’s militaries, linear style warfare was constantly utilized in open fields of battle. Eventually technology outpaced military tactics when the rifle was invented and became the weapon of choice. Effective at much greater distances, rifled muskets made war even bloodier. Still using linear style tactics in the 1860s, American Civil War armies found this out the hard way. Eventually lines of battle would become obsolete, and trench warfare became the favored way of war. Even during the French and Indian War it became evident that European linear tactics could not serve its desired purpose in the vast wilderness of North America. A new style of fighting took shape – irregular or guerilla tactics. This method entailed broken ranks moving forward, utilizing terrain features, rocks and trees, and anything that could provide cover and shield one’s position from the enemy. Many provincial (colonial) and militia units fought in this style that had been utilized by the Native Americans for centuries, and the British even formed Light Infantry companies to fight in this manner.

Soldiers of the 18^th century were not idiotic and they certainly did not have a “death wish” by fighting in compact lines of battle. These were some of the most disciplined and vigorously trained soldiers that the world has ever seen and they fought with courage and resiliency for King and country. Linear style combat was a military innovation that was meant to maximize the effectiveness of the era’s weapon technology, and it proved efficient on countless battlefields throughout the world, winning North America for one empire, and independence for a new American nation.

British Military Campaigns and Strategy in North America, 1755: An Overview

Tonight, Billy Griffith takes a look at the first full year of conflict during the French and Indian War in North America and England’s military objectives for 1755.  

By year’s end in 1755 the perils of war had blanketed the North American landscape as the battle for the continent raged between England and France. The opening years of conflict in what would come to be known as the French and Indian War were fought during a time of peace between the two mighty European powers in which no declaration of war would be announced until 1756. However, King George II and Louis XV had assembled the largest armies ever seen on the North American continent up to that time to defend and expand their respective colonial possessions. These measures were far from peaceful, and it was evident that after blood had been spilled in New York, Pennsylvania, and Nova Scotia, a declared war was inevitable.

The story of the campaigns of 1755 begins the previous year when tension in the Ohio River Valley boiled over, precipitating armed conflict. Colonial expansion (England moving west, France moving south) forced these two super powers on a collision course that culminated in May 1754 when a detachment of Virginians under the command of George Washington fired on a party of French colonial troops that were on a “diplomatic” mission to order all Englishmen out of the Ohio River Valley. These were the first shots fired in what eventually evolved into the French and Indian War. Although the only territory disputed over in 1754 was the land surrounding present day Pittsburgh, by the following year England’s eyes turned to French military strongholds in Nova Scotia, the Great Lakes region, and upstate New York.

The plan orchestrated by England’s Captain General, the Duke of Cumberland (George II’s son), for 1755 was to be carried out on four fronts in order to counter all of France’s military gains the previous year. Placed in command of the British regular troops being sent to the colonies, as well as the colonial provincial units then being raised for the coming campaigns, was Major General Edward Braddock. Meeting in Alexandria, Virginia in April with the royal governors of Maryland (Horatio Sharpe), Massachusetts (William Shirley), New York (James De Lancey), Pennsylvania (Robert Morris), and Virginia (Robert Dinwiddie), Braddock laid out Cumberland’s plans and what was to be expected of the colonies taking part in the various expeditions. Also present at the conference was William Johnson of New York, who was personally appointed by the general as Superintendent of Indian Affairs.

Maj. Gen. Edward Braddock

William Johnson was given command of the provincial force that was to move north from Albany, NY and capture the French stronghold at Crown Point astride Lake Champlain. Using his close ties with the Iroquois, it fell upon his shoulders to muster Native American support and recruit warriors for his expedition as well as William Shirley’s thrust against Fort Niagara at the southwestern tip of Lake Ontario. A clash of personality and interests between the two men would eventually lead to Shirley being denied of Indian support for his offensive and Johnson obtaining all that was offered.

William Johnson

Along with these two armies moving through New York, efforts to secure the Chignecto Isthmus in Nova Scotia by capturing Fort Beausejour, as well as a major push to take Fort Duquesne at the Forks of the Ohio River were also formulated. Robert Monckton was given overall command of the force that would advance from New England and capture Beausejour, and Edward Braddock himself would lead a large 2,400 man army of regulars and provincials that would oust the French from the Ohio River Valley. Upon capturing Duquesne, Braddock was then set to move north and link up with Shirley to assist in the capture of Fort Niagara. On paper the plan appeared clear and simple, and the men believed all the objectives could be taken with ease. By winter 1755, North America should belong to George II.

More times than none, plans that appear perfect on paper are hardly ever executed properly. This was the case for England’s grand scheme to capture the continent in 1755 before a large scale conflict with France could be forced upon them. On July 9, Braddock’s force made it to within several miles of the French at Fort Duquesne before it was attacked and defeated, suffering nearly 900 casualties, including the general who suffered a mortal wound. He later died during his army’s retreat to Fort Cumberland, Maryland four days later. By the end of the month, Colonel Thomas Dunbar, Braddock’s successor, had his men marching eastward towards Philadelphia where they would enter winter quarters in the middle of summer.

Battle of the Monongahela

With Edward Braddock’s demise, William Shirley was elevated to the position of Commander-in-Chief. Mourning the loss of his son, who served as a secretary to Braddock and was killed during the fighting along the Monongahela River, he was given the task of trying to avoid another disaster. Good news arrived from Nova Scotia later that summer as Monckton reported that his expedition had been a success. Forts Beausejour and Gaspereau had fallen and the Chignecto Isthmus was secure. This British victory the in part led to the first ever ethnic cleansing to occur in the modern world. Thousands of French Acadians were deported out of the country to prevent any possible uprisings that might hinder British colonial expansion and military efforts against New France.

Lt. Col. Robert Monckton

The victory in Nova Scotia was the only successfully executed expedition of the four-pronged movement against the French in North America. Although Shirley and Johnson would not meet any sort of  battlefield defeat in their efforts, Monckton’s campaign was the only one that captured its main objective.

Arriving at Fort Oswego at the southeastern corner of Lake Ontario, William Shirley was determined to repair and strengthen the old fortification before advancing any further. His time spent there went by wasted as he just simply could not get his army properly supplied or moving to capture Fort Niagara. He returned east to New York City and left his army at Oswego hoping to resume the offensive the following summer. As William Shirley failed to capture Fort Niagara, so too did William Johnson fail to capture Crown Point. However, Johnson’s army was able to secure the southern end of Lake George and defend New York from a French advance into the colony’s interior.

William Shirley

Among the dead and dying of Braddock’s command along the Monongahela River in July 1755, wagons filled with the general’s personal and official military correspondence were captured by the French-Canadians and their Native allies. Within these papers were the plans for the British offensives against New France. Freshly arrived from France and now having the knowledge of his enemy’s intentions, Jean Armand, Baron de Dieskau, the newly appointed General-in-Chief of regular troops in the colonies, sought to move against Johnson’s force south of Lake George from Crown Point, and then move west to deal with Shirley. On September 8, 1755, roughly three thousand British and French troops clashed south of and at the base of Lake George. When the day finally came to an end, Dieskau’s army had been repulsed and was sent retreating north towards Ticonderoga. With the southern shore of the lake now securely in British hands, Johnson’s army began construction of what would become Fort William Henry. Had Dieskau succeeded in dislodging Johnson’s men from the lake, it is quite possible that he could then have overrun Fort Lymann (Edward) fourteen miles to the south, and then marched his victorious army against Albany where he could have captured a major supply base and cut New England off from the rest of the colonies.

Battle of Lake George, September 8, 1755

Even though Johnson failed to capture his objective, he still claimed a victory for England in a year of military disasters. Braddock was dead and his army mauled by the French outside Duquesne; Shirley was bogged down at Oswego and refused to go any further; Johnson was recovering from a wound received at Lake George while his army erected defenses; and Monckton’s men were deporting Acadians following their sole victory. Britain had failed to expel the French from North America before a full-scale war could be declared. As tension grew in Europe over alliances and territorial possessions, the world went to war in May 1756. Ultimate control of North America would be determined by how much attention could be placed on defending the British colonies and New France without risking defeat elsewhere throughout the world’s battlefronts.

“It is my father!”: Francis Halkett Travels to the Monongahela Battlefield

Tonight, we take a look at the very sombering story of Major Francis Halkett’s journey to the 1755 site of Edward Braddock’s defeat along the banks of the Monongahela River.

On July 9, 1755, 1,400 British Regulars and Colonial Provincials were attacked en route to capture Fort Duquesne by a contingent of French-Canadians and their Native American allies. In what became known as Braddock’s Defeat or the Battle of the Monongahela, nearly 900 members of the expedition were either killed, wounded, captured, or declared missing come nightfall as the mortally wounded Edward Braddock and what was left of his force limped back to Fort Cumberland. Among the dead left behind were the commanding officer of the 44th Regiment of Foot, Colonel Peter Halkett, and his son James who served as a lieutenant in his father’s unit. Amidst the chaos of combat the elder Halkett was gunned down by a concealed Indian and immediately his son rushed to his aid only to meet the same fate. They were two of sixty-three commissioned officers with Braddock to become casualties that tragic day.

Sir Peter Halkett

Three years later another British force moved into the Ohio country to accomplish what Braddock could not. Under the overall command of General John Forbes, His Majesty’s forces were able to force the French out of Fort Duquesne and eventually out of the Ohio River Valley. Accompanying this expedition was another son of Colonel Halkett. Major Francis Halkett, attached to the 42nd Regiment of Foot, made it his mission to locate the site of his father and brother’s deaths to ascertain their fates. With a group of Native American guides, officers of his own regiment, and a company of Pennsylvania riflemen, Major Halkett returned to the battlefield. An account of the party’s search can be found in Winthrop Sargent’s The History of an Expedition Against Fort Du Quesne:

“Captain West [commanding the Pennsylvanians] and his companions proceeded through the woods and along the banks of the river, towards the scene of the battle. The Indians [many of whom had served with the French against Braddock] regarded the expedition as a religious rite, and guided the troops with awe and in profound silence. The soldiers were affected with sentiments not less serious, and they explored the bewildering labyrinths of those vast forests, their hearts were often melted with inexpressible sorrow; for they frequently found skeletons lying across the trunks of fallen trees – a mournful proof of their imaginations that the men who sat there had perished of hunger, in vainly attempting to find their way to the plantations. Sometimes their feelings were raised to the utmost pitch of horror by the sight of bones and skulls scattered on the ground – a certain indication that the bodies had been devoured by wild beasts; and in other places they saw the blackness of ashes among the relics – the tremendous evidence of atrocious rites … In reply to his [Halkett’s] anxious questions, one of his tawny guides had already told Halkett, that he recollected during the combat to have seen an officer fall beneath such a remarkable tree as he should have no difficulty in recognizing; and that at the same moment another rushing to his side was instantly shot down, and fell across his comrade’s body. As they drew near the spot, the detachment was halted, and the Indians peered about through the tree to recall their memories of the scene. With speaking gesture, they briefly discoursed in their own tongue. Suddenly and with a shrill cry, the Indian of whom we have spoken sprang to the well-remembered tree. While the troops rested on their arms in a circle around, he and his companions searched among the thick-fallen leaves. In a moment two gaunt skeletons were exposed lying together, the one upon the other, as they had died. The hand that tore away their scalps had not disturbed their position; but no sign remained to distinguish the relics from the hundred others that strewed the ground. At the moment Sir Peter [Francis] remembered him of a peculiar artificial tooth which his father bore. The bones were then separated, and an examination of those which lay undermost at once solved all doubts. ‘It is my father!’ exclaimed the unhappy youth, as he sunk into the arms of his scarce less affected friends … Brief and stern , as befits a soldier buried upon the battlefield, were the rites that followed. Wrapped in a Highland plaid, the twain who “in death were not divided,” were interred in a common grave. In lieu of solemn dirges and the passing bell, the rattling sounds of musketry awoke the long-slumbering echoes of the mountains as the customary volleys were fired above their breasts. As the chasm was being closed, a stone was brought from the hill-side and placed within its mouth.”[1]

As we are now amidst the 260th anniversary of Braddock’s march to Fort Duquesne, GTR History will be covering a wide variety of subjects regarding the expedition and the campaigns of 1755 in North America – all part of what was then an undeclared war between England and France that would ultimately decide the fate of the continent.

[1] Winthrop Sargent, The History of an Expedition Against Fort Du Quesne in 1755 (Philadelphia: Lippincott, Grebo & Co., for the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, 1856), 275-276.

 

“I advise that all preparations be made for leaving Richmond to-night”

As the sun began to rise over Petersburg, Virginia during the early morning hours of April 2, 1865, elements of the Army of the Potomac relentlessly crashed through the Confederate entrenchments south and east of the city. The fate of a nation hung in the balance as the men in blue swarmed their gray-clad adversaries, killing, wounding, and capturing them by the hundreds. As the rebel fortifications crumbled like a bursting dam, they could no longer hold back the rushing wave of enemy infantry before them. The entire Petersburg line was in jeopardy. The crucial rail city of Petersburg was as good as lost.

Behind his shattered army’s lines, Robert E. Lee sat anxiously within his headquarters at the Turnball House. Meeting with his subordinates, Lee urged them to throw everything they had into the breach to buy time for his men to reorganize. Riding out to the scene of the fighting, he realized the dreadfulness of the situation. Ordering a telegram to be forwarded at once to President Jefferson Davis in Richmond, the general admitted to his aide Walter Taylor: “I see no prospect of doing more than holding our position here until night. I am not certain I can do that. If I can I shall withdraw to-night north of the Appomattox, and, if possible, it will be better to withdraw the whole line to-night from James River. I advise that all preparations be made for leaving Richmond tonight. I will advise you later according to circumstances.”[1]

Jefferson Davis

Embarking for Sunday morning services at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Davis received Lee’s message from Colonel F. R. Lubbock and Postmaster General John H. Reagan. Before he made any further decisions, the president would wait for more word from Lee on the development of the situation around Petersburg. He continued on his way.

The congregation had proceeded normally with its services until late morning when another messenger entered the church and made his way up the aisle to Davis’s pew. The note read:

Petersburg

April 2, 1865

His Excellency President Davis, Richmond, Va.:

I think it is absolutely necessary that we should abandon our position to-night. I have given all the necessary orders on the subject to the troops; and the operation, though difficult, I hope will be performed successfully. I have directed General Stevens to send an officer to your Excellency to explain the routes to you by which the troops will be moved to Amelia Court-House, and furnish you with a guide and any assistance that you may require for yourself.[2]

R. E. Lee

Conveying no sense of emotion to the citizens and government officials surrounding him, Jefferson Davis rose and exited the church. Later that night he was on a train set for Danville, Virginia, and the Army of Northern Virginia was retreating north across the Appomattox River.

Put yourself in Jefferson Davis’s shoes as he received the second message from Robert E. Lee. Imagine the horror that must have overtaken him as he read the dispatch revealing that the Union Army had broken through the Confederate lines at Petersburg and that Richmond would inevitably fall. For four years he had led the Confederacy and held the burden, along with his generals in the field, of determining the fate of an independent nation. On April 2, 1865, his whole world must have been turned upside down as the dreams, sacrifice, and suffering of millions came crashing down upon him.  

[1] Noah Andre Trudeau, Out of the Storm: The End of the Civil War, April-June 1865 (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 1994), 56.

[2] Ibid., 57.

The 15th New Jersey and the Petersburg Breakthrough, April 2, 1865

Today, the sesquicentennial of the triumphant Union breakthrough at Petersburg, we will take a look at the experience of one New Jersey regiment that participated in the attack. Below is an excerpt from Regimental Chaplain Alanson A. Haines’s History of the Fifteenth Regiment New Jersey Volunteers, published in 1883.

“We were in readiness at half-past four [A.M.], April 2d, and waited only the firing of a signal-gun from Fort Fisher, which came soon after. It was still so dark we could see only a few paces in advance. Moving promptly, the enemy’s picket line was taken; and as the pioneers cleared the way for them with their axes, the troops poured through the abattis [sic]. They reached the main works under a fierce fire of musketry and artillery, and, after a sharp conflict, all the work before us was carried.

Chaplain Alanson A. Haines

The New Jersey Brigade took part in the charge and capture, following the order previously given — the Fortieth Regiment in advance, then the Fourth and Tenth, and lastly the Fifteenth in the third line of battle. The Fortieth had never been engaged before, and broke three times, although a portion did admirably, and first entered the work before us was carried.

When the assault was made, our men recoiled from the terrible fire of the enemy’s artillery and riflemen. The Thirty-seventh Massachusetts Regiment of the Third Brigade, with seven-shooter Spencer rifles, kept them from their guns, so that a handful of men, under protection of their volleys, found a standing place under the angle of a parapet, where they could not be reached by artillery or struck by the riflemen, unless they exposed themselves. After a continuous volley of musketry, a few more would rush into the place, until there was a sufficient number to leap into the fort and carry it by assault. The defenders of the fort showed the greatest obstinacy. Some refusing to surrender, were shot down. One, William Cheatham, said he would never surrender; when a man of the Fifteenth, before the words were hardly spoken, drove a bayonet into his body. Major Augustus Fay, of the Fortieth, led the storming party, which was joined by men from all our regiments. He was uninjured, but had a number of bullet holes in his clothing. The color-bearer in the fort would not give up his flag, and the Major had to draw his pistol and wound him before he would drop them.

The Breakthrough, April 2, 1865 (Civil War Trust)

[According to Major General Andrew A. Humphreys,] ‘General Wright told me that this was weakest part of all the line he saw, and the only point where it could have been carried. His loss in killed and wounded was 1,000, all of which occurred in the space of fifteen minutes.’ — [Humphrey’s Virginia Campaign.]

When the fort was taken the bright sun was just rising. Passing through the broken lines of works, our troops swept up both right and left, driving the enemy who made but little show of resistance, great numbers being taken prisoners. The brigade moved to within a mile of the edge of Petersburg, to the vicinity of a large house that had been recently occupied by General Lee. Many of his papers were left behind, which came into possession of our officers.

All the outer defenses have fallen, the enemy drew back into a line of works south of Petersburg, holding them, for a time, for defense of the town. At ten o’clock Longstreet sent reinforcements, and a sally was made upon a part of the Ninth Corps, which was thrown into some confusion. In making dispositions for the attack, General A. P. Hill had ridden forward, and was fired upon and killed. This was the last resistance offered at Petersburg, and when it ended Lee sent the message to Davis, that he should evacuate Petersburg and Richmond that night. Columns of smoke during the day announced the burning of the warehouses and public stores in preparation of withdrawal. All that afternoon we lay quiet expecting the order to assault, and spent the night before the works. We could only conjecture what was taking place within the city.

The Division Hospital had been established by Dr. Sharpe, Surgeon-in-Chief, in the vicinity of Fort Fisher, within the Union line of defense. By daylight the wounded began to come in, and from this time until four P. M. the surgeons were occupied in dressing wounds, extracting bullets and amputating limbs. There were the usual sad and terrible scenes of suffering and death. Thirteen of the wounded died after receiving attention. There were in all three hundred cases, among whom were Confederates, who shared the attention bestowed by the surgeons, and expressed their gratitude for kindness shown. As fast as possible ambulances carried away the wounded to General Hospital at City Point. Levi Padgett, Company I, was among the mortally wounded, and died at City Point.

At sunset, April 2d, 1865, and for two hours later, there was heavy cannonading from Petersburg. As night wore on all became quiet between the contending armies. The Union forces slept, but among the Confederates the greatest activity prevailed. At midnight the troops that garrisoned Petersburg moved toward the river and across the bridges to the northern side of the Appomatox [sic]…”[1]

[1] Alanson A. Haines, History of the Fifteenth Regiment New Jersey Volunteers (New York: Jenkins & Thomas, 1883), 301-303.

The Boston Massacre, March 5, 1770: 245 Years Later

During the dark and frigid night of March 5, 1770, a crowd of several hundred Bostonians gathered in front of the Custom House on King Street. This was not a peaceful demonstration against the King’s policies, but rather an aggressive mob that began threatening His Majesty’s soldiers occupying the city. Snowballs filled with ice were hurled through the air at the “bloody lobster backs,” and colonists swung their clubs taunting the small detachment of nine British regulars to fire their muskets. Amidst the chaos, Private Hugh Montgomery was knocked to the ground by an object thrown from the crowd. With the taunts of “Fire, damn you!” being screamed all around him, he rose to his feet and discharged his musket into the crowd. After a brief pause of astonishment at what had just occurred, the rest of the detachment opened fire. When the smoke cleared, five colonists – including an African-American and two seventeen-year-olds – were dead or mortally wounded, and another six were injured.

“The Bloody Massacre” by Paul Revere

The incident, although only one of many tumultuous events to occur during that build up to revolution in Boston, was a target for many propagandists, like Paul Revere. His famous engraving of “The Bloody Massacre” is easily recognized today.

As for the nine British soldiers who fired into the crowd, all nine would be charged and put on trial in Massachusetts. They were defended by none other than John Adams. Six of the men were acquitted, but two were charged with manslaughter due to overwhelming evidence that they had actually fired directly into the crowd.

Around nine o’clock this evening, take a moment to pause and remember the lives lost during this tragic event that continued us on the path towards revolution.

“Remember the Maine!”: The USS Maine’s Destruction 117 Years Later

Today, Billy Griffith takes a look at the destruction of the USS Maine in Havana Harbor, Cuba, which occurred on this date 117 years ago, and explains his personal connection to this monumental event in American History

It was ten minutes past nine o’clock on the night of February 15, 1898 when bugler C.H. Newton solemnly played “Taps,” signaling the 350 crewmen aboard the battleship U.S.S. Maine to retire to their bunks for sleep. Thirty minutes later an explosion rocked Havana, Cuba as the harbor illuminated with embers and flames. “I was just closing a letter to my family when I felt the crash of the explosion,” recalled the ship’s captain, Charles D. Sigsbee. “It was a bursting, rending, and crashing sound, or roar of immense volume, largely metallic in character. It was succeeded by a metallic sound – probably of falling debris – a trembling and lurching motion of the vessel,” he continued, “then an impression of subsidence, attended by an eclipse of the electric lights and intense darkness within the cabin. I knew immediately that the MAINE had been blown up and that she was sinking.”[1]

USS Maine

As the Maine lay engulfed in fire and sparking cables, rescue boats made their way to the wreckage in an attempt to save those thrown into the water by the blast and others who had tried to escape. Unfortunately, their efforts would not prove fruitful enough. Two-hundred and fifty eight American crewmen were dead and another eight would die from their wounds in a Havana hospital. Outraged by the tragic incident, the United States government initially placed the blame on the Spanish Empire and an underwater mine strategically placed in the harbor that would send a message to President William McKinley and his administration – a message to leave Spain’s Cuban colony alone. With American citizens and economic interests on the island threatened, congress approved McKinley’s declaration of war in April 1898 and the country plunged into its first oversea conflict, rallying behind the battle cry, “Remember the Maine, to Hell with Spain!” By August the fighting was over and America emerged as an imperial power.

Later naval courts of inquiry and modern day studies have since come to the conclusion that Spain was most likely not the ones to be blamed for the Maine’s destruction. In fact, the explosion that destroyed the ship actually came from inside the vessel and not externally as would have been caused by a submerged mine. The main perpetrator was most likely the spontaneous combustion of coal in the ship’s coal bunker that just so happened to be situated on the other side of the Maine’s powder magazines. In such humid and scorching hot conditions the coal actually warmed up enough to cause the ammunition and powder on the other side of the wall to explode. Although it was a smart idea to keep the munitions storage deeper within the ship so it could remain further away from the ships exterior and incoming enemy torpedoes, placing the coal bunker directly beside it was not thought through.

One of the bodies pulled out of the wreckage that warm Cuban night was Coal Passer John Henry Ziegler’s – my great-great-great uncle. A native of New Brunswick, New Jersey, John had just celebrated his twenty-third birthday while onboard the Maine in Havana Harbor ten days earlier. His remains were brought back to Key West, Florida, where the Maine had been stationed for the winter months not even a month prior, before arriving off the coast of Cuba on January 25. On March 1, John and twenty-three of his crewmates were laid to rest in Key West Cemetery, but for some reason all Navy casualty reports had listed him as “missing.” When the Navy contacted the families of the deceased giving them the opportunity to have their loved one’s remains returned home for burial, John’s mother (my great-great-great grandmother) requested to have her son’s body sent to New Jersey. The Navy could not comply, informing her that they did not know of John’s whereabouts and it was most likely that his body was just too mangled to be identified.

John Henry Ziegler

This was the family story accepted up until 2009 when I decided to dive into an investigation and find out what truly was the fate of my fallen ancestor. After months of researching newspapers and naval records, a few phone calls led me to the sexton of the Key West Cemetery and the discovery of John’s remains. There, amidst the U.S.S. Maine memorial and his brothers-in-arms stands the grave marker of John Henry Ziegler… with his name inscribed upon it! How did the Navy not know what happened to his body when it was identified and buried in Key West? This is just a question that remains unanswered now and probably will for generations of my family to come.

Following my find and a handful of local newspaper articles written about it, in February 2010 my family and the Manville VFW dedicated a memorial stone to John Henry in the Ziegler’s North Brunswick cemetery plot. In attendance were over fifty people and not a single eye was left dry during and after the ceremony. It was finally closure for myself and my family. Although John’s body is interred with his comrades in Key West (which I am sure that he would have wanted it that way), his spirit is now home, his memory honored within the confines of his family grave plot. Resting beside him is his mother – hopefully receiving closure for herself as well.

Every February 15 that passes has had a somber effect upon me. It is a day that will forever hold a place in my heart just as I’m sure it did for the Ziegler’s and the families who lost a son that night in 1898. After all the research and passion put into solving this family mystery, I truly feel as if I had known him. When 9:40 rolls around tonight, just like I have been doing for the past six years, I will take a moment to pause and remember John Henry Ziegler and his crewmates that were lost far too soon.

Billy Griffith beside a memorial stone dedicated to Ziegler in Evergreen Cemetery, North Brunswick, NJ

[1] Everett, Marshall, ed., War with Spain and the Filipinos (Chicago: Book Publishers Union, 1899) 47-49.

Personalities of the Past: Henry Kyd Douglas

Today, we begin another reoccurring series that will give readers a brief glimpse into the lives of certain personalities throughout history. Our person of interest this afternoon is Henry Kyd Douglas, a young staff officer who served with “Stonewall” Jackson and later penned a well-known memoir regarding his wartime experiences.

Henry K. Douglas

Born in Shepherdstown, Virginia on 29 September 1838, Douglas spent his youth living on both sides of the Potomac, most notably with his father at “Ferry Hill”. As war clouds loomed during the mid-19^th century, Douglas made it clear that he had no feeling of resentment against northerners, and believed that slavery was a curse to the Middle States. After the election of Abraham Lincoln in November 1860, Douglas traveled to St. Louis to practice law. “I did not believe our people would ever take up arms against each other,” Douglas assured himself, “I could not make myself believe that there could be a dissolution of the Union … I was so much opposed to it.”

Hearing of Virginia’s Ordinance of Secession passed on 17 April 1861, he returned home to fulfill his new-found duty to defend his native state. A week after his arrival he enlisted in Company B, Second Virginia Infantry with other men from Shepherdstown, and traveled to Harper’s Ferry. It was here that Thomas Jackson took on the task of training and drilling this newly formed Confederate Army.

In June 1861, with General Robert Patterson’s army — the Department of Pennsylvania — threatening to cross the Potomac, Joseph E. Johnston ordered Douglas and Company B to return to Shepherdstown and sever any crossing points along the river. A toll bridge below Ferry Hill was set ablaze by the men and Douglas stared across the river to his boyhood home as the flames flickered off the glass windows. Remembering that his father had owned stock in the bridge, it was at this point he understood that the war had officially begun and he was now cut off from his home and family.

Serving with great distinction and gallantry, Douglas distinguished himself on the battlefield and rose through the ranks, eventually being placed on Stonewall Jackson’s staff in June 1862. During the Maryland Campaign, Jackson’s force bivouacked at Martinsburg before advancing to besiege Harper’s Ferry. The young staff officer used his familiarity with the area to a great extent during the campaign, which helped Jackson tremendously. After the Battle of Shepherdstown (September 19-20), Jackson’s Corps returned to Martinsburg and Douglas was ordered to oversee the dismemberment of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, which kept him very busy.

In October 1862, as a result of the poor relationship between Douglas and Jackson, he was made Captain of Company C, 2^nd Virginia Infantry, and later appointed Inspector General of the “Stonewall” Brigade. He served now beside the brigade’s commanding officer, Elisha F. Paxton. At Chancellorsville, on the night of May 2, 1863, he and Paxton conversed about the action that would take place the following day. Douglas remembered after the war that during this conversation, Paxton spoke of not surviving the battle. “He did not seem morbid or superstitious but he spoke with earnest conviction,” remembered Douglas. Sure enough, the next day Paxton was killed at the head of the brigade.

After Jackson’s death on May 10, 1863, Henry Kyd Douglas began jumping from staff to staff of different generals. Promoted to Major as part of General Edward Johnson’s staff, at Gettysburg on July 2, Douglas was wounded and captured, spending eight months at Johnson’s Island prison. Finally ending up with Jubal Early in 1864, during the Shenandoah Valley Campaign, he found himself again in Martinsburg where the B&O Railroad was again ordered to be destroyed. Promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, Douglas commanded a brigade at Appomattox and was present for Lee’s surrender.

When the war finally came to an end during the spring of 1865, he returned home and was held as a witness at the trial of Lincoln’s conspirators, having known some of them personally. He moved to Hagerstown, Maryland and practiced law, becoming extremely active in veteran’s affairs. During the 1870’s, Douglas led the effort to have Confederate dead still buried on the Antietam battlefield to be reinterred in Hagerstown, which succeeded. However, he was not successful later when running for office in the Maryland Senate and United States Congress. As he grew older, the veteran penned his famous memoir, I Rode With Stonewall, which unfortunately is filled with exaggerated stories about his war experiences and is considered a somewhat unreliable source. Henry Kyd Douglas died on 18 December 1903 and is buried in Elmwood Cemetery, Shepherdstown, West Virginia.

Douglas’s Elmwood Cemetery Gravesite