In the last two posts, I offered accounts from the Army of
the Potomac’s 6th Corps to describe the action at Rappahannock
Station. For this one, I intend to rely on an account from an officer in the 5th
Corps. It describes an interesting situation, a death threat gone unfulfilled.
Although historians often remember the Battle of
Rappahannock Station as a fight between the 6th Corps and Maj. Gen.
Jubal Early’s division, in fact, Union regiments from other corps supported the assault. As
the 6th Corps’ two brigades prepared for their epic attack, the 1st
Division, 5th Corps, formed on their left and stretched a line of
skirmishers across their front. To the immediate left of Col. Peter Ellmaker’s
brigade, on the other side of the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, sat one of
those 5th Corps regiments, the 118th Pennsylvania.
Captain Francis A. Donaldson commanded Company H. The moments
before the battle captivated Donaldson. Taking time to look to his right,
he beheld the awesome sight of Ellmaker’s brigade as it poised for its
assault. On November 9, Donaldson wrote about what he saw:
It was an indescribable spectacle, grand, stirring,
impressive, and from my position in the centre of two corps, I gazed upon a
pageant such as was never before seen by me, and a sight never to be forgotten
by any one who beheld it. Upon our right was Colonel Ellmaker’s brigade, 6th
Corps, in mass, and it appeared that the whole division was also heavily
massed; certainly they were in several lines deep and close together. The
burnished arms and every bit of metal on this splendid mass of men glistening
in the nearly setting sunlight; the colors and lines so well dressed, and the
faces of men aglow with excitement, the ceaseless riding back and forth of
mounted officers giving final orders made the blood tingle in my veins with a
sense of admiration at the picture. . . . Yet the glow [of the sun] was on them
also, its golden rays sparkling on the mica dust covering their uniforms made
them appear as though they were profusely powdered with gold dust. In fact the
whole landscape was covered with a golden glory.
Although Donaldson briefly admired the golden grandeur of Union troops
drawn for battle, his mind suddenly shifted to
different sort of image, the memory of threat delivered by a violent,
insubordinate soldier. The troublemaker was Private James Shields, age
twenty-five, an Irish-born sailor, described by Donaldson as a “big brawny
fellow.” Shields had a bad habit of drinking to excess. He often became drunk
on Jamaica Ginger, his favorite liquor, drinking whole bottles of it in just a few minutes.
Donaldson remembered that Shields, when sober, was “quiet and inoffensive, and
being a handsome soldierly fellow would have made a name for himself.” But in
liquor, he was “a veritable devil incarnate.” On October 17, 1863, just three
weeks earlier, Shields had asked Donaldson if he could have permission to leave
camp. Donaldson replied that he did not trust Shields, who had given him much
trouble on account of his intemperance. When Shields walked away muttering that
he would just leave camp anyhow, with or without permission, Donaldson rose from his seat and called
back to Shields, warning him that if he did so, it would be his last offense, as Donaldson swore
he would kill him.
Within an hour, a report arrived at Donaldson’s tent that
Shields was roaring drunk, “disgracing the regt. by unseemly language and
conduct.” Donaldson ordered Shields arrested and thrown in the guard house, but
in the ensuing struggle, the Shields threw off his captors and grabbed a
musket from the stack of arms. In haste, Donaldson arrived on the scene,
grabbed a musket off the stack, and tried to club Shields with the butt. Donaldson
wrote, “He was so very powerful that had he been sober he would have finished
me in no time.” When he saw an opportunity, Donaldson swung the musket and
clubbed Shields on the head, felling him with a sickening thump. Blood poured
out of Shields’s motionless body and the regimental surgeon confirmed that
Shields had suffered a skull fracture. For several hours, Donaldson endured the
quiet abuse of his men, who accused him of being a black-hearted man-killer.
The next day, when passing the 5th Corps ambulance
train, Donaldson noticed that Shields had survived his wound. In fact, Shields appeared to be on the way to a full recovery. “He was
perfectly sober and sane,” Donaldson wrote in his diary, “and his head was tied
up in bandages.” Donaldson spoke a few words to Shields, not expressing any
remorse for what happened—not for hitting him on the noggin, anyway—but instead Donaldson told Shields that
he would do his best in future days to quell Shields’s bad habits, his
intemperance and insubordination. This conversation did not please Shields,
who, according to Donaldson, “made but one reply and that to the point—in
the next battle he would remember me, a threat that gave me clear insight
into his character.” Donaldson’s expression grew stormy, and he replied that he
would keep Shields’s threat in mind should he return to duty. The angry captain
sauntered off, not expecting to see Private Shields ever again, but he remarked in
his diary, “At all events, come what may, I am glad he is alive.” Donaldson was
happy not to have a fellow soldier’s blood on his hands.
As it happened, only twenty days later, Shields returned to
duty and both he and Donaldson found themselves in line-of-battle at
Rappahannock Station, calmly waiting for the order to advance. As captain,
Donaldson occupied the far fight of his company, and Shields being the tallest
man in the company, stood next to Donaldson. As the Union artillery thundered and
as the stretcher-bearers took out their implements, Donaldson’s mind suddenly drifted
away from the golden glow of the sun to the thought of Shields’s threat. In his
diary, he remembered how he dealt with it:
Whatever made me think of his threat just then I cannot say,
but I did, and I turned and looked at the fellow. He was as calm as a May
morning, perfectly cool and rigid, in fact a splendid looking soldier. He
appeared not to notice my scrutiny, so I said to him, ‘Shields, do you remember
threatening me when I visited you in the hospital?’ I had drawn my pistol at
the thought of him, and was deliberating what to do. He said he did. ‘Well,’
said I, ‘I think you will have enough to do in a few minutes to protect your
own life without attempting mine. I could shoot you down like a dog if I chose
to, and be justified in the act, but you are not worth the exertion. Let the
enemy waste their ammunition in killing you, for I won’t!’ I then dismissed him
from my thoughts as the word came to move forward.
Both Donaldson and Shields survived the fighting at
Rappahannock Station, although their regiment was only lightly engaged. In
December, Shields requested a transfer to another unit, and he went to the
5th Massachusetts Battery. The next time Donaldson saw Shields, he was
being punished by the officers in his new unit, who had lashed him,
spread-eagle, to the spare wheel of one of the cannon, a painful, humiliating
retribution often used by artillery units to discipline incorrigible soldiers.
Apparently, this convinced Shields that he did not have what it took to be a soldier. In January 1864, Shields deserted. Authorities eventually captured him, tried
him for desertion, and saddled him with a dishonorable discharge.
It is interesting to consider the thoughts that flitted across a
Civil War soldier’s mind when he prepared for battle. In this case, there was something in the beautiful golden
sunlight at Rappahannock Station that triggered Donaldson’s mind to remember the
death threat that awaited him. I do wonder what, precisely, in the unholy melding of war and beauty made Donaldson think of Shields at that precise moment. In any event, he dealt with Shields’s threat in his own bold way, and
by so doing, lived to tell the tale.
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| Captain Francis Adams Donaldson, Co. H, 118th Pennsylvania, fretted that one of his soldiers might kill him at Rappahannock Station. |
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