In my last post, I narrated the tale of Major Thomas
Blackburn Rodgers, a Union officer captured at Gettysburg. After his release from prison,
Union authorities arrested him, accusing him of “allowing himself” to be
captured by the enemy. For a year, Rodgers (who had been promoted to lieutenant
colonel in the meantime) readied his defense. He collected witnesses who could
attest to his character. He had to prove he acted bravely and that
when we surrendered, he had not gone quietly. The very boundaries of courage
and cowardice were at stake.
So what happened? How did Rodgers come to face these charges? (Unfortunately,
for the historian’s sake, Rodgers was the only person to explain how the
charges came into being. His account seems fairly plausible, but of course, I
must acknowledge that he spoke from a position of personal bias. Perhaps, then,
his explanation is either incorrect or exaggerated. But this is all I have, so
I’ll have to accept it at face value.) As Rodgers explained it, another officer
in the 140th Pennsylvania wanted Rodgers to resign so he could
take the lieutenant colonelcy in his place. The best way to get Rodgers to
leave the service was to threaten him with a court-martial on charges of
cowardice.
Rodgers’s theory made sense. The charges were filed on April 15, 1864,
just ten days after his promotion to lieutenant colonel, which was probably the first day when the men in the 140th Pennsylvania
learned of it. As Rodgers explained, “While I was yet a prisoner of war in the
hands of the enemy, an effort was made to promote a junior Captain of the Reg’t
over me to Lt. Col. To effect this object, a letter was used, insinuating that
I had behaved in a cowardly manner at the Battle of Gettysburg.”
So who orchestrated these charges? They were
signed by the regiment’s commander, Captain John Fulton McCullough, who forwarded
them to the judge advocate for consideration. Unfortunately, McCullough never left
behind any material to explain why he wanted to prosecute Rodgers. As it happened,
McCullough was later killed at the Battle of Totopotomy Creek; however, Rodgers did
not believe that McCullough was the true author of the charges. Rodgers
wrote, “He [McCullough] was urged by others, one of whom was higher in rank than he, but at
the time absent from the Reg’t.” Who were these others? Rodgers never said, but
I can make an educated guess. Most likely, the head of the conspiracy was Captain
(later bvt. Brig. Gen.) Henry Harrison Bingham, a member Maj. Gen. Winfield
S. Hancock’s staff. An ambitious man (and a member from another political party),
Bingham was eager to take Rodgers’s place. Having heard about Rodgers’s
scuttling behind a rock at Gettysburg from a Democratic friend, Colonel Byrnes
(who himself was later killed in action at Cold Harbor), Bingham told
McCullough to prefer charges against him.
Even though McCullough (the initiator of the charges) and Byrnes (the
key witness) were no longer alive, the court martial convened on March 2, 1865,
at the headquarters of the 1st Division, 2nd Corps. Eight officers constituted the court, with Brig. Gen.
Henry J. Madill acting as president. Captain James H. Hamlin served as the prosecuting
judge advocate. Rodgers elected to defend himself. He pleaded “Not Guilty” to
all three charges. The court testimony went on for two days. The prosecution
called four witnesses. The defense called six.
After reading the court transcript, it becomes clear that the prosecution
had the weaker case. Hamlin’s witnesses could establish that
Rodgers crouched behind a rock, but nothing more. Consider this line of questioning put to
Corporal James S. Rankin:
Hamlin: Was the
accused there behind the rock when you stopped?
Rankin: Yes, sir.
Hamlin: How long
after you stopped was it before he was captured?
Rankin: Not more
than two minutes.
Hamlin: Was the
accused sitting down?
Rankin: Yes, sir.
Similar questions were put to the prosecution’s other witnesses.
However, none of them could describe Rodgers’s behavior
in a negative way. When Rodgers had a chance to redirect, all of the prosecution’s
witnesses defended their former commander. Below, see how Rodgers got praise
from Corporal Rankin:
Rodgers: Were you
captured at the same time and place with me?
Rankin: Yes, sir.
Rodgers: What was my
general reputation as an officer in the 140th Pa. Vols. previous to
the preferment of these charges?
Rankin: It was good.
Rodgers: What has it
been since?
Rankin: It has been
good since.
When Rodgers presented his own witnesses, they claimed that Rodgers had
done well throughout the battle. They saw him at various points, encouraging the
men. When Rodgers asked Corporal William Griggs if he had seen him during the
battle, Griggs replied:
Sir, you were right
in the rear of the regiment. You had your sword drawn, and was [sic] telling
the boys to go ahead and to keep cool and fire low: that we were driving them
like hell! The regiment was firing at the time. You went up as far as we went.
It was about five minutes before the regiment fell back.
Corporal George Rose delivered similar testimony:
You had your sword
drawn, and said, “Keep cool, boys, and fire low.” You had first come along the
line and was [sic] standing in the rear of our company. The company was firing
at the time.
Further, Rodgers made it clear that when he crouched behind a rock, it
had not been for long. He argued that the prosecution had erroneously concluded
that he had been hiding behind the rock for the better part of an hour. When calling his
witnesses, Captain Hamlin stumbled upon a problem, learning too late that
Rodgers had ducked down twice during two unrelated incidents. During the opening of
the fight, the 140th Pennsylvania had captured three Confederate
prisoners. Rodgers had stopped to write down their names before sending them to
the rear. To do this, he crouched beside a rock so he could write their names legibly.
Captain John Auld Burns remembered seeing Rodgers “sitting on his knee with some
two or three rebel prisoners. He was writing as if in a memorandum book.”
Rodgers seized upon this testimony, making it clear that he had not been hiding
the entire time, but he had simply sat down at the beginning of the engagement
so he could write in his memoranda book. After sending the prisoners to the
rear with a sergeant, he rejoined the fight. When he was seen again, surrendering, he had taken cover behind a different rock. In
their inexpert assemblage of witnesses, the prosecution had conflated the two
incidents.
Finally, Rodgers made it clear he had not surrendered from some idle fancy. He surrendered to Confederate forces only after he knew he could not
escape and only after he quarreled with his captors. One of Rodgers’s witnesses,
Private Hugh Shaw, described the scene this way:
Shaw: You were
kneeling down on your knees when a rebel Serg’t. came up and ordered you to
throw down your saber. You replied, you would not surrender your saber to a
private. The Serg’t. said he would run you through with his bayonet if you did
not surrender. You replied, you did not care a damn! But you would not give
your sword to any man but an officer. The Serg’t. placed a guard over you and
marched you to the rear, when you gave your sword to an officer on horse-back.
There are the particulars of your capture as far as I can remember.
Rodgers: Did you see
any person pass further to the rear than us when we were captured?
Shaw: No, sir.
Rodgers: Did you
arrive at the place where we were captured at the same time as I did?
Shaw: Yes, sir.
Rodgers: How long
had we been there before the rebels captured us?
Shaw: About fifteen
seconds.
Rodgers: What were
the chances of escape when we arrived at the ledge of rocks where we were
captured?
Shaw: From anything
that I could see, we were entirely cut off; the enemy was in our front and on
our flank. —I mean, —they were between us and the rear.
In his final argument, Rodgers asserted, “The evidence of those who
were captured with me is to the effect that escape was impossible.” Firm in his
tone, Rodgers could not understand how anyone could imagine that he’d
surrendered to the enemy in a fit of cowardice. Every witness had made it clear
that he had surrendered at the end of the fight. How could anyone go through the
hellish combat of Gettysburg, gaining glory along the way, only to throw it all
away in the last few seconds of the engagement? It made no sense; so argued
Rodgers: “It is not possible that I, after going through the whole of that
battle, the hottest in which my Regt was ever engaged (& it has been in
many) with credit to myself, would afterwards in a cowardly or disgraceful
manner allow myself to be captured by the enemy.”
After two days of testimony, the court gathered at 10 A.M., March 4, to
hear the verdict. The court found Rodgers “not guilty” on all charges.
I prefer to believe that justice was served here. Rodgers’s honor was
vindicated and he promptly resigned from the service, which was what he wanted all along. But now, he could leave without the
shameful accusation of cowardice hanging over his head.
However, it seems to me that some form of injustice occurred anyway. When Rodgers
surrendered, he sacrificed his freedom and his health, not unlike some 5,000 other
Union prisoners, some of whom died in captivity. From 1861 to 1865, Union soldiers surrendered all
the time, but none of them were prosecuted for it. Unluckily for Rodgers, someone decided to challenge him.
I cannot see how anyone could believe the insinuation that he surrendered too quickly. His regiment had fought for hours in one of the most hellish areas of the battlefield. How could anyone single out his surrender as being an exemplar of what not to do? In my opinion, the charges ought to have been dropped long before his case went to court-martial.
For whatever reason, in this instance, the Army of the Potomac felt the need to officiate
over the unclear distinction of courage and cowardice. Rodgers was nearly the victim of that
impulse.
After the war, Rodgers returned to Mercer County, Pennsylvania. In the
autumn, he married a woman named Marion E. Long, eventually raising four sons with her. The family
moved to Missouri where Rodgers got into politics. He died on October 18, 1908,
at age 73.
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