For the past several posts, I’ve been exploring the career of Charlie Pruyn, an Albany officer who resigned his commission after he learned about the disparaging comments made by Maj. Gen. George McClellan concerning the fighting qualities of Brig. Gen. Silas Casey’s division. Pruyn regretted his decision to resign almost immediately. As soon as the War Department provided another opportunity to join the army, he took it, and for the remainder of the war, he made it his personal mission never to be absent from the front for too long.
Charlie Pruyn returned home to Albany in late June 1862. He
expected to take care of his mother, who had been recently widowed; but in
actuality, she ended up taking care of him. He had contracted an illness on the
Peninsula. By the time he reached New York, it hit him full force. When he came home to Albany, he could barely stand.
Pruyn spent the next few weeks bedridden. On July 4, the Albany Independence Day procession passed his house at 109 North Pearl Street, and although
he was quite sick, he went to the front door to watch it. The massive parade
included militia companies full of military-age men. After a few minutes,
Pruyn came inside and told his mother, “I cannot stand here. It makes me
indignant to see that it is possible to get up so large a company of men in the
city of Albany. No wonder the South can beat us, when the men of the North
would rather stay at home and parade the streets.” Mary Pruyn must have been
shocked. Her son had only just returned. But she recognized the same
earnestness in his eyes that had actuated him the previous year. He said, “It
is a shame and disgrace for a young man like me to be at home in comfort while
the country is imperiled.” As soon as he regained his health, he planned to
return to duty.
It seemed as if the government, too, wanted Pruyn to come back. On
July 2, the War Department called for 300,000 more U.S. Volunteers, and the
nation underwent another surge of mobilization. The U.S. barracks in
Plattsburgh, where Pruyn’s old regiment, the 96th New York, had
organized, needed veteran officers to run it. Thus, on July 16, 1862, even as
Pruyn still lay abed, he received a commission as adjutant of that post. He
departed as soon as his health allowed it, heading to Plattsburgh sometime in
late July. He took command of the recruits who had already arrived to fill the
ranks of Colonel Samuel T. Richards’s “Adirondack Regiment.” Pruyn’s military
experience garnered the attention of Colonel Richards, who insisted that he
accompany the Adirondack regiment to the front as its adjutant. Here, Pruyn faced another
tough choice. The adjutant-general of New York had already made a promise to him. If he stayed in Plattsburgh, he could become major of the next regiment to organize. But
Richards wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. He called his officers together,
telling them that he needed Pruyn to be his adjutant. If a position later
opened up as major, Pruyn would have to receive it. The other officers agreed
to this. Thus, Richards made the offer to Pruyn, who agreed to accompany the
Adirondack Regiment to the front.
Orders arrived on September 1, 1862, and the Adirondack Regiment, now officially mustered in as the 118th New York Volunteer Infantry, boarded a steamboat that carried it down Lake Champlain. The regiment unloaded at White Hall, and there it boarded a train bound for Saratoga Springs and then Albany. (It was a rough trip because many of the poor soldiers were packed into cattle cars.) At Albany, Pruyn’s mother, Mary, prepared a luncheon for the 118th. Remembered First Lieutenant John L. Cunningham, “We were served by Albany ladies and it was a well-handled and enjoyable affair.”
Near as I can tell, this was the last time Pruyn and his mother ever saw each other.
The 118th New York continued its way south on a
serious of additional train rides, reaching Fort Ethan Allen in Northern
Virginia on September 4. The regiment joined the 7th Corps, which
was assigned to the defenses of Washington, and it remained on garrison duty
until the spring of 1863, when it received assignment to Suffolk, and from
there, in the summer of 1863, it moved to the Yorktown Peninsula.
On August 28, 1863, Pruyn received his commission as major;
however, to took some work to get it. On July 8, Colonel Richards resigned. The
colonel had reported sick with rheumatism before the 118th New York
left for Washington. When his condition failed to improve, he decided to leave the
army. The lieutenant colonel and major were promoted to colonel and lieutenant
colonel, respectively, leaving the major’s position vacant. The company
officers remembered how they had promised Colonel Richards that if that
position ever became vacant, they would endorse Pruyn’s right to take it. They held
a vote, and the majority recommended Pruyn for the position. However, the
two field officers, Colonel Oliver Keese, Jr. and Lieutenant Colonel George F.
Nichols, had other ideas. They wanted to recommend one of the captains for that
position. To ensure his promotion, Colonel Keese secured a leave of absence and
went to Albany to recommend that captain’s appointment. Meanwhile, Pruyn’s
supporters drafted a statement based upon the company officers’ vote, explaining the promise made to him by Colonel Richards. They mailed this
document to Pruyn’s mother. Ever protective of her son, she took the document
to Governor Horatio Seymour, who, at once, appointed Pruyn to the rank of major.
By the time Colonel Keese reached Albany to present his own recommendation, he
was informed that he had arrived too late.
Lieutenant Cunningham noted how this incident created
distress within the 118th New York’s officer corps. He remembered, “Naturally
this division of opinion and its result caused some regimental friction; but be
it said to the credit of the defeated officers, it was finally pleasantly
accepted and all was forgotten in a few weeks. There were many other instances
which evidenced the fine respect for harmony and mutual good-will which
prevailed in our regiment and which added to the pleasure of serving in it.”
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| Major Charles E. Pruyn |
The 118th New York remained encamped at Yorktown
and Portsmouth (as two separate battalions) until May 4, 1864. At that time, the two battalions reassembled and the regiment became attached to Maj. Gen. Benjamin Butler’s Army of the James. Under Butler’s
leadership, Pruyn and his comrades embarked upon the Bermuda Hundred Campaign.
On May 16, 1864, the 118th New York took part in the Battle of Relay
House, losing 55 officers and men. The battle resulted in the wounding of
Lieut. Col. Nichols, who had to be evacuated by ambulance. Meanwhile, Colonel Keese had
fallen ill before the campaign began; he was not with the regiment. Thus, on
May 16, Major Pruyn assumed command. Undoubtedly, the moment proved to be a challenging one. Not only had he survived a brutal engagement, but he had to assume greater responsibility because of it. That evening, he wrote a letter to his mother. Typically religious, Pruyn credited the power of his mother’s prayers in getting him through another bloodbath.
Near Bermuda Hundreds, May 16th, 1864.
My dear Mother — Thank God I am safe. Never before have I so
felt the kind protection of my Heavenly Father, and with His assistance I will
serve Him more faithfully than I have ever done before. I am worn out, used up,
sick, sick at heart, but I trust a few days rest will restore me. We have been
for eight days fighting all the time, (bushwhacking) and had worked our way up
to within nine miles of Richmond, so that from the top of a high pine we could
see the place. We carried their outer line of defences; but this morning they
came upon us in overwhelming numbers, and, after several hours murderous
fighting; on both sides, they drove us back.
But our gallant regiment did nobly, and stood their ground till the last regiment had left the
field. Indeed, they stood their ground till they were nearly all shot down. Oh,
my heart aches so to-night! Some of my best friends are killed. Those I had
learned to love so well are gone. Oh! when
will this cruel, wicked war end. We have lost heavily, I fear, but know
nothing except the thousand rumors that are floating around. But, still, there
is something for which Ave may congratulate ourselves. This action has called
away a large force, which would otherwise have been with Lee, so Gen. Grant
reaps the benefit.
I was not hurt in the least. It was your prayers my dearest mother, that saved me. Oh, I know
it; I feel it. I trust I shall live hereafter as a true Christian. Never before
have I felt as I do to-night. I am not excited as I write this, though all worn
out. Your good long letter just received; will study it. Yes, I will try.
Ever,
Charlie.
On May 31, 1864, the 18th Corps (to which the 118th
New York belonged) received a transfer to the Army of the Potomac. It arrived
in time to be present for the assault against the Confederate position at Cold
Harbor. On June 3, the 118th New York was slated to participate in
the morning attack—the infamous assault that Lt. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant later regretted.
As the regiment deployed in line-of-battle in the morning mist, an enemy ball struck Pruyn in the
foot, passing completely through it. His soldiers carried him to the rear, and
while at an aide station, he had his wound dressed. At this point, he could
hear the noise from the great Union attack arising from the western horizon.
The 118th New York was scheduled to go in with the 18th
Corps’ third wave. Pruyn wanted to head back straight away, thinking he might have enough time to reach his regiment and participate in the attack. His horse had been wounded the previous day, which meant he
had to hobble back on foot. As soon as a surgeon dressed the
wound, Pruyn was off. Along the way, he passed his corps commander,
Maj. Gen. Baldy Smith, who, upon seeing Pruyn hobbling, presumed he was going
to the rear to have his wound treated. Promptly, Smith sent an orderly to
assist Pruyn into an ambulance. Pruyn thanked him, but told him that he was on
his way back to his men. A few
minutes later, as Pruyn closed in on his regiment, the same orderly rode up,
holding a glass of brandy. He said, “Major Gen. Smith sent this to you, and
says you are a brave officer.”
Pruyn reached his regiment, which had just watched two waves
of assault troops head into the mist and come tumbling back out, broken and
bloodied. Captain Cunningham remembered that Pruyn addressed the regiment,
intending to steady them prior to the attack. He recalled, “Major Pruyn, commanding our
regiment, who had been slightly wounded, addressed the regiment in pertinent
and manly words of courage. I do not believe a heart faltered in this terrible
hour.” But the orders to attack never came. Having sent four brigades into
the fray with no discernible result, Smith ordered Brig. Gen. Hiram Burnham’s
brigade—to which the 118th New York belonged—to stay put. Thus,
Pruyn was one of the only casualties suffered by the 118th New York
on June 3, 1864.
That evening, Pruyn went to the hospital to have his wound
treated. The surgeons urged him to resign his commission. With a wound so
aggravating, they said, he had no right to remain in the army. An officer had
to be able to keep on his feet when his men were in combat. This prognosis annoyed him. According to biographer Rufus Clark, “no argument could convince
him, neither could he be induced to remain in the hospital but a few days.”
Pruyn wrote his mother, “I write you from this hospital to-day, but I expect to
leave it to-morrow. The doctor says it will be several weeks before my foot is
well, and I cannot think of staying away from the regiment so long. I am needed
there, and must go back.”
He stayed at the hospital only seven days, returning to the
front on June 10, 1864. One day later, he penned his last letter.
In the Rifle Pits, June 11, 1864.
My dear Mother — I received a few lines from you this a. m. .
. . I joined the regiment yesterday. My foot is not well, but I cannot stay
back. It seems wrong for me to do so, especially as the doctors tell me it will
be four or five weeks before it is entirely healed; but it is only a flesh
wound, and if it was on my face or hand, would heal in a short time; but a
wound in the foot, no matter how slight, always takes a long time to heal, as
the circulation in that part of the body is so slow.
My general health is tolerable. Of course, I don’t feel as
well as if I was at home, and could get my sleep and meals regularly, and where
I would not have the care and responsibilities which the commanding officer of
a regiment always has, especially a young man like me, entrusted with the lives
of more than two hundred men. But I do not mean to complain, but rather thank
God that he has kept me alive, and from being severely wounded, as so many have
been in this terrible struggle.
We had one poor fellow killed yesterday, our only casualty
during the day. Our regiment has now been in the rifle pits, under constant
fire, ever since we came here, ten days. Of course, we are protected by the
breastworks, but ‘familiarity breeds contempt,’ and the men become so
accustomed to it that they get careless, and in this way many lose their lives.
Besides, it is impossible for them to stay in the pits all the time, they must
leave once in a while.
I thank you, dearest mother, for writing to me so often. Even
if it is only a few lines, it cheers me, and makes me feel better when I am
thus constantly reminded that the dear ones at home think of me, and it seems
to bring me near to you. As I lie on the ground at night and look up at the
stars, I think those same stars are looking down on you, and I go to sleep,
dreaming of home and mother. Don’t think me romantic; the
army is the last place for that; and although I do feel anxious that this
dreadful war should end, and that I may be spared to return to you, yet I do
not get homesick. I do not allow myself to do that. Love to all.
Your affectionate, Charlie.
Charlie Pruyn had made a promise to himself never to leave the front, so long as he had two feet. On June 11, 1864, he still had two feet—barely.
His last battle was only four days away.
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