A Few Remaining Threads: Photographing the 119th Pennsylvania, Part 4.

In the last few posts, I’ve examined a photograph depicting the field and staff of the 119^th Pennsylvania at their winter encampment at Wellford’s Ford. I’ve tried my best to identify as many of them as possible. So far, I’ve offered tales for Major Henry P. Truefitt, Jr., Lt. Col. Gideon Clark, and CaptainWilliam Gray. 

Happily, I was able to attach names to two other faces.

The young man standing third from the left is Quartermaster Sergeant William Ellis Tucker. 

Here is QM Sgt. William Ellis Tucker.

Here is another photograph of him so you can match him up.

QM Sgt Tucker.

I don’t know much about Q.M. Sergeant Tucker, other than that he enlisted in September 1862 (when the 119^th Pennsylvania first formed) and that he mustered out with the rest of his regiment in June 1865. 

Also, I’m guessing he was a Republican. I discovered this letter written on October 12, 1864, from Sheridan Hospital, a 200-tent facility in Winchester. It appeared in the Philadelphia Daily Evening Bulletin. Evidently, it was written by him. In it, Tucker shares his opinion concering the upcoming election:

We are in fine spirits, and confident of a speedy ending of the war, together with the re-election of Mr. Lincoln, for whom there will be an almost unanimous vote polled here, as, at an election held yesterday in our regiment, for the State officers, the result was as follows—Union ticket, 115; Democratic, 18. Our term of service will expire on Sept. 1st, 1865, and we hope ere that to see our present distracted country restored to its former happy state, and that the (would-be) missing stars may be shining forth radiantly upon the National flag in every Southern State of this model of all countries.

Another identifiable character in the line-up is the officer seated second from the right, the one with the pipe. He is Adjutant John D. Mercer. 

Adjt. John D. Mercer

Like Tucker, Adjutant Mercer enlisted when the 119^th Pennsylvania first formed, but he died during the war’s last week. He was mortally wounded on April 2, 1865, during the 6^th Corps attack on the Petersburg entrenchments—the so-called Petersburg Breakthrough. In that battle, the 119^th Pennsylvania lost one officer (Mercer) and four men killed. It is quite sad to think that Mercer survived the engagements at Second Fredericksburg, the Overland Campaign, the Shenandoah Valley Campaign, and the Siege of Petersburg, only to die during the last grand offensive in the East. 

According to Bates’s History of the Pennsylvania Volunteers, the soldiers of the 119^th buried Mercer in an open field, 200 yards southeast of Poplar Grove National Cemetery.

Is this where Adjt. John D. Mercer is buried? The field south of Poplar Grove National Cemetery?

Protesting the McClellan Testimonial: Photographing the 119th Pennsylvania, Part 3.

In this latest series of posts, I’ve been busy profiling Union soldiers pictured in an incredible image. It shows the field and staff of the 119^th Pennsylvania encamped at Wellford’s Ford. In the previous posts, I introduced you to the tale of the valiant Major Henry Truefitt, who fell at Spotsylvania’s Bloody Angle, and the tale of the disgraced Lt. Col. Gideon Clark, who reclaimed his honor thanks to a timely interview with Abraham Lincoln.

Now it’s time to profile this fellow with the beard.

Here is Captain William C. Gray, the commander of Company E, 119th Pennsylvania.

This is Captain William C. Gray of Company E. Captain Gray mustered in on August 10, 1862. On June 29, 1864, long after this photograph was struck, he acquired the rank of major, replacing Major Truefitt, who was killed in action. And during the final days of the war, Gray took command of the 119^th Pennsylvania, relieving Lt. Col. Clark who fell wounded at the Battle of the Petersburg Breakthrough, April 2, 1865.

So what about Captain Gray? What story do I have to tell? I don’t have much information on him, except that he participated in a little-known protest that reverberated through the ranks of the Army of the Potomac. Gray led a campaign to object to the circulation of the “McClellan Testimonial.”

For those of you who have never heard of it, the McClellan Testimonial was an effort by Democratic officers within the Army of the Potomac to amass a massive fund to purchase a “mark of respect”—a presentation sword, most likely—to honor Major General George B. McClellan. The idea originated from an officer attached to Major General George Meade’s headquarters staff, and in September 1863, the Democratic officers began circulating a document asking the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac to donate a portion of their monthly salaries to fund the gift. (Specifically, it asked privates to donate 10 cents, non-commissioned officers to donate 25 cents, lieutenants to donate $1, captains to donate $1.50, colonels to donate $5, brigadier generals to donate $10, and major generals to donate $20.) The circular predicted the reward would reach $50,000.

A few regiments objected to his obnoxious request, claiming that it wasn’t intended to be a charitable gift to McClellan for all his years of service, but instead, it had been hatched as a political scheme to boost his chances at becoming the next Democratic front-runner in the election of 1864. Several regiments published objections to the circular, arguing that army officers had no right to ask soldiers to participate in such an overtly political act. The 60^th New York stood out as the most famous of these regiments. But, the 119^th Pennsylvania joined in as well. Captain Gray and another officer, Captain James Dykes, organized the anti-testimonial resolutions. When completed, the other officers endorsed them and sent them to their local newspapers as proof the army was not uniformly in favor of the Democratic Party’s aggrandizement of McClellan. Here’s what Gray’s resolutions stated:

Resolved, That we consider the movement as an ingenious political scheme, designed for some other object than as a mark of respect to General McClellan; or if not so designed, it will be used by political demagogues as a weapon for the accomplishment of their unholy purposes.

Resolved, That while making this declaration, we are unwilling to believe that General McClellan has any knowledge of its object or purposes.

Beyond this, I have little else to say about Captain Gray. But his resolutions tell us quite a bit about his character. Few regiments in the Army of the Potomac had the courage to stand up to the McClellan Testimonial, but thanks to Gray’s leadership, the 119^th Pennsylvania did. Right or wrong, Gray let future generations know where he stood.

Here's the image of the 119th Pennsylvania's field and staff. Captain Gray, the author of the anti-McClellan Testimonial resolutions, can be seen standing at left.

This photograph, likely taken the same day as the one above, Captain Gray and his unit, Company E, 119th Pennsylvania, stand at attention. Captain Gray can be seen standing third from the left with his sword drawn. Company E is the unit standing at left-center. The other unit--the one standing at right-center--is a different company. Sadly, I do not know which one it is.

Dishonor and Redemption: Photographing the 119th Pennsylvania, Part 2.

In the last post, I told the story of Major Henry P. Truefitt, Jr., an officer who appeared in a little-known photograph of the 119^th Pennsylvania.

In today’s post, I’d like to profile another personality from that image. This fellow:

 

Here is Lt. Col. Gideon Clark, the dishonored commander of the 119th Pennsylvania. Somehow, he convinced Abraham Lincoln to reinstate him.

The man seated at the right is the 119^th Pennsylvania’s commander, Lieutenant Colonel Gideon Clark. He was born on June 19, 1822. Before the war, he worked as an engraver. Like Truefitt, Clark also served in the Gray Reserves, one of Philadelphia’s premier militia regiments. Clark was among the first men from Philadelphia to volunteer for service in the Civil War, becoming the 17^th Pennsylvania’s adjutant. After serving in that regiment—which operated for only three months—Clark helped raise a three-year unit, the 119^th Pennsylvania, and mustered in as its lieutenant colonel on September 1, 1862. 

Clark fought with his regiment in most of its engagements. However, he suffered a black mark when he showed up drunk at the Battle of Rappahannock Station, November 7, 1863. According to Captain Edwin Landell, who witnessed the unfortunate incident, just as the 119^th’s skirmishers made contact with the enemy, “Colonel Clark came riding up after he had been out toward the front having the appearance of an officer very much under the influence of liquor. . . . He swayed to and fro on his horse . . . and with apparent difficulty dismounted and lay down and went to sleep.”

Eyewitnesses disputed what happened next. Some claimed that Clark missed the whole battle, while others contended he slept off his stupor and joined in the attack, albeit in a laconic way. Whichever version of events happened, the other officers of the 119^th Pennsylvania couldn’t ignore Clark’s misbehavior, and through their collective efforts, they had him ousted from the regiment. 

In January 1864, twelve concerned officers signed a petition demanding an investigation of Clark’s conduct during the Battle of Rappahannock Station. One of them wrote that, they, jointly, “decided  . . . to use every means in our power to prevent his promotion to the colonelcy.”

In early April 1864, Lt. Col. Clark faced a court martial. Surprisingly, Clark defended himself, and although the court produced a split decision, it acquitted him of the charge of being drunk on duty. However, Clark could not manage an acquittal for a second charge that came alongside it—a charge of filing a false report about regimental strengths. Apparently, Clark’s detractors worried that the dereliction of duty charge might not stick, so they appended this additional charge, just in case. 

It worked. On April 25, Clark was relieved of command and he left the 119^th Pennsylvania’s winter quarters at Wellford’s Ford. (Clearly, this photograph was taken before that day.)

For the next two weeks, Clark began writing to friends in high places, trying to get himself reinstated. On May 10, the same day his regiment participated in “Upton’s Charge” against the Mule Shoe Salient, Clark found himself inside the White House, ready to speak to the President. A mutual acquaintance—a federal judge—was supposed to introduce him, but he never showed. Undaunted, Clark walked to the door of the Oval Office and knocked.

Lo and behold, Abraham Lincoln answered.

Characteristically friendly, Lincoln opened the door and invited Clark into his office, allowing the disgraced officer a chance to tell his story.

Clark told it, and he told it well. Apparently, he convinced Lincoln of his innocence, who immediately signed an order reinstating him. Two days later—the same day that Major Truefitt fell in battle—the adjutant general of Pennsylvania restored Clark’s rank and ordered him to report to the front. On May 18, Clark rejoined his regiment and resumed command. He held that command until April 1865. During the April 2, 1865, assault on Petersburg, Clark received a gunshot wound to the leg that cost him a large portion of his tibia. As a result, he received the rank of brevet brigadier general, an award for his meritorious service.

Amazingly, Clark had reclaimed his honor. 

You might all be wondering: was Clark truly guilty of dereliction of duty or was he merely railroaded by twelve jealous junior officers? Well, that question is beyond the scope of this post, and quite frankly, I don’t believe I have enough evidence to judge properly. But it is enough, I think, to see Lt. Col. Clark here, confident and self-assured, pictured just weeks (or perhaps days) before his bitter court-martial.

Here's another look at the photograph of the field and staff of the 119th Pennsylvania. Seated at right, you can see Lt. Col. Clark.

Clark remained in Philadelphia politics for the rest of his life, serving as Master Warden of the Port and Director of Wills. He died on May 24, 1897, at age 74. He is interred at Laurel Hill Cemetery.

Killed at the Bloody Angle: Photographing the 119th Pennsylvania, Part 1.

Awhile back, I drafted a series of posts that profiled a famous set of photographs depicting the 93^rd New York while it was encamped at Bealton, Virginia, in August 1863. Recently, I came across another set of images depicting an Army of the Potomac regiment at ease. Specifically, there are four photographs showing the 119^th Pennsylvania bivouacked in its winter quarters at Wellford’s Ford, Virginia.

I’m not certain when the photographs were taken, but judging by the people depicted in them, they were probably taken in January, February, or March 1864. Sometimes, it’s difficult to unearth truly meaningful stories from Civil War photographs, and quite honestly, I’m not sure there’s much I can say about them overall, except that they are awesome depictions of Army of the Potomac soldiers during the quiet period in between the end of the Bristoe Station Campaign and the beginning of the Overland Campaign.

However, one of the four photographs has more than one interesting story associated with it. It’s this one here:

This photograph depicts the officers and non-commissioned staff of the 119th Pennsylvania. The subject of this post is seated at left, Major Henry Paul Truefitt, Jr.

It depicts the officers and non-commissioned staff of the 119^th Pennsylvania standing in front of a winter hut. For the next few posts, I’d like to profile some of the people in this photograph and tell you their stories. Individually, these tales aren’t that compelling, but taken together, they really make the viewer appreciate this image as a piece of Army of the Potomac history.

The first personality I’d like to profile is this fellow here, the officer seated on the left. In the original image—which is owned by the Massachusetts branch of MOLLUS—he’s the only one labeled. 

Here's a close-up of Major Henry P. Truefitt, Jr., an officer who was killed-in-action at Spotsylvania Court House, May 12, 1864.

He is Major Henry Paul Truefitt, Jr. Here’s another image of him, taken prior to the Civil War.

This image depicts Henry Truefitt prior to the war. Likely, this image was struck in his hometown of Philadelphia.

I don’t know much about Truefitt; however, I can say that when this image was taken, he didn’t have long to live. Major Truefitt was killed-in-action on May 12, 1864, at the Battle of the Mule Shoe Salient. Quite possibly, this was the last photograph ever taken of him.

Truefitt had been a member of the Gray Reserves, a prewar militia regiment that filled the officer corps of the 119^th Pennsylvania. Here, you can see another image of him, wearing the characteristic gray uniform of that regiment.

Here's one last image of Truefitt (shown as second lieutenant). Here, he is wearing the uniform of the Gray Reserves, an antebellum militia regiment assigned to the city of Philadelphia. Clearly, Truefitt never gave up on his mustache, did he?

When he mustered into the 119^th Pennsylvania, Truefitt started out as the captain of Company G, but on April 4, 1863, he received a promotion to major. He assumed command of the 119^th on April 25, 1864, when the regiment’s lieutenant colonel was cashiered by the War Department (the subject of a future post). Truefitt led his regiment at the Battle of the Wilderness and the battles around Spotsylvania Court House, but he fell dead while leading his it against Confederate-held earthworks near the McCoull farm.

Strangely, little is known about Truefitt’s death. Even though he commanded a regiment, I’ve never seen a single eyewitness account describing his final moments. This, I think, is testament to the confused nature of the fighting at the Mule Shoe’s “Bloody Angle.” That is to say, so much happened there so quickly that no living person ever recorded the particulars of Major Truefitt’s death.

However, I know a little bit about Truefitt’s burial. Specifically, I know that Truefitt was buried on the battlefield and I know where he was buried.

Pay attention to this other fellow in the photograph. This is Captain Charles Noble, Jr., who served on the staff of Maj. Gen. David Birney.

This close-up depicts Captain Charles Noble, Jr., who helped bury Major Truefitt near the Landrum House.

Here is another photograph of him.

During the Overland Campaign, Captain Noble served on the staff of Maj. Gen. David Birney, as A.D.C.

And another.

Here is Captain Noble posing for a photograph with the staff of the 10th Corps.

Back in 1862, Noble mustered-in as first lieutenant, Company G, 119^th Pennsylvania—Truefitt’s company. Some of you might remember that I mentioned him in a previous post. Captain Noble testified against Brig. Gen. J. H. Hobart Ward following Ward’s unceremonious retreat atop a caisson during the Battle of the Wilderness—part of my series of Hobart Ward posts.

After Truefitt fell, the soldiers of Company G sought out Captain Noble and told him about his friend’s death. Even as the Battle of the Mule Shoe still raged around them, Noble and the enlisted men dragged Truefitt’s body to the rear of the Union line and buried it. In a letter that someone eventually forwarded to Truefitt’s younger sister, Emmy, Noble included specifics about the burial. Noble said he buried Truefitt under an apple tree adjacent to the Willis Landrum House. Here’s his letter, dated May 13, 1864:

Yesterday morning, 10 A.M., I had the melancholy duty of burying Major Henry P. Truefitt of my Regt. He was killed an hour after the Regt. went into action yesterday morning and some of the men of the Regt. carried his body to where I was when I took charge of it and gave it a decent burial.

I would send it to his family but I cannot find any opportunity of doing so. I have his watch. A rebel took all the little things he had on him which I will send to his family as early as possible. I had him buried under an apple tree near Laundrum House.

Here is a painting by Keith Rocco—made in conjunction with the National Park Service—showing the Landrum House before the battle. Somewhere on the property stood an apple tree which gave shelter to Truefitt’s bones.

This is Keith Rocco's rendition of Willis Landrum's house. Somewhere on the property, Capt. Charles Noble laid Maj. Truefitt to rest.

I wonder if Truefitt’s remains are still there. Presently, a memorial exists at West Laurel Hill Cemetery in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, honoring Truefitt; however, Samuel P. Bates’s History of the Pennsylvania Volunteers indicates that, as of the publication of his roster, Truefitt was “buried in Wilderness Burial Grounds.” I don’t have a solid answer, but I lean toward the assumption that Truefitt’s earthly remains are still planted in Virginia soil.

Years ago, I read several of Truefitt’s letters to his sister, which are preserved at the Historical Society of Pennsylvania. I remember him being an attentive brother who shared his feelings about life, duty, and the hopefulness of victory. So, I can be certain about one thing: no matter where Henry Truefitt is buried—either in Virginia or in Pennsylvania—his sister cried many tears when she learned of his death.

A Portrait of McClellan: The Return of the 34th New York, Part 3.

This is the third and final installment in my series about the last days of the 34^th New York, a two-year regiment that went home in June 1863. If I’ve determined anything about this regiment, it’s this: the 34^th New York always had something to say. It was a regiment that preferred to be heard, and this often put it at odds with Union leadership. For instance, the regiment’s first brigade commander, Brig. Gen. Willis Gorman, hated the New Yorkers. He referred to them as “that New York mob.” Infamously, the officers of the 34^th New York led a campaign to get a popular newspaper, the New York Herald, banned from the winter encampment of the Army of the Potomac. The New Yorkers also thought highly of themselves. When General Gorman was transferred to another assignment, the 34^th New York’s commander, Colonel William Suiter, demanded a promotion to brigadier general in Gorman’s absence. When Suiter didn’t get it, he resigned. Finally, when a discrepancy arose concerning the 34^th New York’s date of muster-out, six companies staged a mutiny, stacking arms and refusing to perform duty. Only after Brig. Gen. John Gibbon threatened them with bodily harm—the subject of an earlier post—did they obey orders.

It comes as no surprise that, even after the survivors left for home, the men of 34^th New York still had something to say.

As they arrived in New York for their homecoming, the soldiers of the 34^th New York chose to make a political statement—an unmistakable one.

They carried a portrait of George McClellan atop their battle flag.

Now, I should make it clear to readers that McClellan-related paraphernalia usually sparked controversy. At the risk of making a presentist comparison, I’d say that carrying a McClellan portrait was akin to wearing a MAGA hat. That is to say, it invited judgment (either applause or scorn). After McClellan’s ouster in November 1862—which followed on the heels of the Emancipation Proclamation—the Army of the Potomac’s rank-and-file exhibited split opinions concerning the fate of their former commander. Some soldiers believed Lincoln had done the right thing in removing him. McClellan’s perpetual slowness and his unwillingness to accept the radicalization of the President’s war aims made McClellan’s removal wholly necessary. 

However, others believed the War Department had cheated him, that McClellan was the only leader who could achieve victory. “The enthusiasm of the soldiers has been all gone for a long time,” wrote a Democratic officer in December 1862. “They only fight from discipline & old associations. McClellan is the only man who can revive it.”

When McClellan took his departure on November 10, 1862, thousands of bluecoats expressed anger and grief when he took his leave. A soldier in a newly-raised Pennsylvania regiment stood in shock to see this outpouring of emotion. He remembered, “For the time, the general seemed to have complete possession of thousands of hearts before him.” Another young Pennsylvania officer—a Republican—considered the soldiers’ loyalty to Little Mac a tremendous threat to the war effort. He complained the army was “so attached” to McClellan than none of the succeeding commanders could enjoy any “hearty cooperation and confidence” which a new commander ought to enjoy. “Besides this,” wrote the Pennsylvanian, “that same attachment of the army to McClellan is dangerous to the liberties of the people.”

In short, thousands of soldiers in the Army of the Potomac wanted McClellan recalled at all costs. Apparently, the 34^th New York stood among that group. Presuming he spoke for most men in his regiment, Sergeant Henry C. Lyon wrote his brother that, “You have no idea what confidence the Soldiers have in this man. When so worn and tired as to be hardly able to stand, they have always a hearty cheer for the Gen’l when ever he makes an appearance. —Oh! a man must have a fearful and awful responsibility resting upon him who is thus loved and trusted.”

When the 34^th New York went home in June 1863, its members still had not gotten past McClellan’s ouster. As they mustered out, they wanted to make sure Little Mac still knew he was loved by Herkimer County.

Here’s how it played out.

After the debacle at Chancellorsville, the 34^th New York returned to the north side of the Rappahannock River and made its encampment near the Lacy House. The regiment continued drilling for the next three weeks, and at the end of May, the three-year men—those whose terms of service had yet to expire—were transferred to the 82^nd New York. For days, nothing else happened, and it even appeared as if the 34^th New York would be ordered on yet another campaign—the one that took the Army of the Potomac to Gettysburg—but then, quite suddenly, on June 9 (the same day that Union cavalry became embroiled at Brandy Station), orders arrived instructing the two-year men—all 427 of them—to pack their things and make ready to march. At last, they were going home.

The soldiers of the 34^th New York trudged to Aquia Creek and boarded a ship that took them to Washington. There, they boarded cattle cars and endured a multi-day rail trek through Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York. All along the way, the New Yorkers became terribly intoxicated, having brewed a slew of homemade gin cocktails and brandy smashes. Wrote Second Lieutenant Louis Chapin, “On the way up, several persons, who had doubtless been drinking too many glasses of ‘strawberry lemonade,’ fell asleep and accidentally rolled off upon the ground, injuring them quite severely, but none I believe mortally.”

On June 12, the veterans reached Albany, the scene of their muster-in two years earlier. The regiment de-trained at the depot and marched to the Delavan House, a temperance hotel located at the intersection of Montgomery Street and Steuben Street. (This intersection doesn’t exist anymore. A parking garage sits over top of it.) There, a fine breakfast awaited the veterans. But I imagine no one from the regiment remembered the breakfast. Instead, they remembered the crowds of well-wishers who turned out to welcome them. Cheering throngs greeted them at the depot, waving and hooting. Lieutenant Chapin wrote, “The men had of course expected that a cordial welcome would be extended to them on their return, but they had not anticipated a reception equal to that which greeted them upon their arrival here. . . . The memory of their kindness will ever be kept green in the hearts of the soldiers, blossoming afresh as each anniversary of the joyous day rolls around.” It must have felt exhilarating to be veteran that day.

As the regiment made its way to the Delavan House, the colors bore an unusual item, a portrait of General McClellan. According to a newspaper correspondent who watched the affair:

They carried with them a framed portrait of Major General McClellan, and this brought out from the people, all along the route, the heartiest cheers, which were responded to by the soldiers with great gusto. As with all the other returned regiments McClellan is their idol, and they avail themselves of every opportunity to testify their unbounded admiration of him.

I’m uncertain about the origins of this portrait, but it appears that the soldiers of Company I (from Cayuga County) procured it during their journey north and then affixed it to one of the 34^th New York’s battle flags. Presumably, they had permission from their commander, Colonel Byron Laflin, but I cannot prove this.

Whatever the case, the 34^th New York marched through Albany with McClellan’s portrait leading the way, a political statement if there ever was one. By so carrying it, the regiment affirmed their support of McClellan’s vision of the war. They were against radicalization, against confiscation, against territorial reorganization, against treason trials, and quite probably, against emancipation. The regiment marched to the capital where New York’s Democratic governor, Horatio Seymour, greeted them. Lieutenant Chapin recalled that Seymour delivered a real “copperhead speech.” Apparently disgusted by Seymour’s greeting, after the regiment broke ranks, Chapin threw “aside the hated blue,” and remained the rest of the day in civilian clothes.

For the next two weeks, the 34^th New York quartered at the Industrial School Barracks, and then, on the morning of June 27, it took a train to Little Falls, where the town’s committee had planned a grand reception. It doesn’t appear that Company I’s portrait made an appearance at this party, but dozens of other McClellans did. Everywhere along the line of march, the residents of Little Falls hung likenesses of Little Mac. 

Apparently, when news of the 34^th New York’s McClellan-portrait became known, the Democrats of Herkimer County felt comfortable in sharing their political affiliations with the returning regiment. One of the newspapers at Little Falls cataloged the various decorations that lined the march. A number of residents brought out likenesses to show political solidarity. Here are a few examples:

·         “M. M. Abel had a portrait of McClellan and ‘Welcome 34^th’ over gateway.”

·         “Rev. B. F. McLaughlin had flags waving from every window, with photographs of Washington and McClellan.”

·         “At the crossing of the streets was hung a large pencilled likeness of ‘Little Mac’ with the names of the regimental battlefields. Although the likeness was shabbily done, the design of the poles supporting it was very pretty. They were wound with cedar wreaths and stripes of red white and blue cambric.”

·         “Kibbe’s saloon was neatly decorated.—Portraits of Washington and McClellan were hung out and the words, ‘How are you, boys?’ ‘Happy to greet you.’”

·         “A. Zimmerman displayed likenesses of Washington and McClellan and wreaths very tastefully arranged.”

This McClellan love-fest did not end at Little Falls. It continued even after the companies went their separate ways. On June 30, the 34^th New York returned to Albany for its muster out. After that, the companies departed, each one enjoying a third reception at their town of origin. For instance, on July 4, Company A reached West Troy and participated in the town’s Independence Day celebration. In front of the Exchange Hotel, the officers delivered a set of “farewell” speeches. Company A’s former commander, William Oswald, who had been dishonorably dismissed in May 1862, showed up and harangued his regiment’s former brigade commander, Brig. Gen. Willis Gorman, calling him a “tyrannical old scoundrel.” Afterward, Company A’s commander, Second Lieutenant John Oathout, delivered a panegyric for General McClellan.

Meanwhile, Company I—the unit that had procured the McClellan portrait—pulled it out again. The soldiers affixed it to their company emblem and paraded McClellan’s likeness when they arrived at Penn Yan and Hammondsport. As soon as Company I landed at Hammondsport (having come from Penn Yan via ferryboat), they gave two loud cheers for McClellan. As a newspaper correspondent wrote, the cheering soldiers showed “that they are no exception to the prevailing sentiment about the Army of the Potomac, of enthusiastic commitment to ‘Little Mac.’” Clearly, the McClellan-portrait had already gained some negative press, and the people of Hammondsport worried that local Republicans might spoil Company I’s homecoming by complaining about it. The correspondent opined:

Altogether, the reception was highly enthusiastic and successful. In one respect it was unlike the ovation here in honor of our Company ‘I,’ as nobody made a fool of himself about the McClellan portrait on the flag; and the company carried the same in the procession on the Fourth of July, immediately succeeding; without any loud murmurs from the anti-McClellan Radicals. Perhaps this harmony was due to the absence of any arrogant Abolition Congressman. It is fortunate for Hammondsport that she has no such characters in her midst!

In short, when the 34^th New York returned home, the soldiers turned it into a public demonstration to vent their feelings about the removal of McClellan. Although the returning veterans made certain to reflect upon their services and upon the sacrifice of their fallen comrades, the McClellan pictures overshadowed all other matters. The soldiers—and the citizens who supported them—felt it necessary to complain long and loudly about the McClellan-less way the war had, so far, turned out.

However, at least one company didn’t experience any McClellan panegyrics, Company H. When that unit arrived at Crown Point, State Assemblyman Palmer E. Havens delivered a stirring address to the men, one that reminded them of the long-term good they had accomplished by participating in the war. Havens explained:

You have been engaged in no war of conquest incited by ambition and lust of power, but in the holy work of maintaining the only government on the face of the earth based upon the principles of equal rights and equal justice to all who seek its shelter and protection—the only government where freedom and constitutional liberty can have an untrammeled and luxuriant growth—a government which none but the corrupted and debased devotees of slavery would ever have incurred the awful guilt of attempting to destroy.

Havens warned his listeners—the men of Company H and the people of Crown Point—not to put any stock in the mutterings of rancorous Democrats who were too stubborn to accept the positive forces of abolition. The soldiers may not have enlisted for abolitionist reasons back in 1861, he declared, but as of 1863, they fought for an abolitionist cause, and that was nothing of which to be ashamed:

The cry that this is a needless war of abolition has lost all its power and political significance—is dying away with the gust of passion and political excitement that gave it birth, and is now heard only from lips accustomed to the dialect of treason and disloyalty. Nor can it be charged that this is a war of conquest and subjugation or a war to spread carnage and bloodshed over the states in revolt—but on the contrary, it is a war to stay the hand of violence which those states have raised against us,—it is bringing them back to their allegiance and to maintain the government of the country which they have wickedly conspired to overthrow, and thus to preserve the Constitution and the laws which we and they have sworn to support. I deny that this war has any other avowed or real object than this, but I hail with inexpressible delight the great truth that as an inevitable result of the conflict, the dark blot of human slavery is to be forever wiped out on this continent, and if there is a man who hears me today whose eyes are so blind to the endless train of evils which slavery has inflicted upon our nation and whose heart is so insensible to the cries of suffering, oppressed humanity, that he will not also rejoice with me, that the triumph of our arms, while it restores the nation to its integrity, removes forever the great cause of all our troubles, I will not say whether I have the more of pity or contempt for that poor benighted man. . . . We should not forget that this war is not for ourselves alone or our posterity, but for the world and for all time. The question of the possibility of maintaining free institutions is now on trial before the nations,—the problem of free government is now to be settled, and if we fail—if the grand experiment inaugurated by our fathers, and so long and so successfully carried on in our hands shall now fail and our country sink into a state of anarchy or be divided into separate sovereign states—contiguous, jealous and ever exposed to make war upon each other, for one I should feel that the sun of freedom had gone back on the dial plate of time for generations and for centuries, and might never rise again.

I do hope that Havens’s words resonated with the men of Company H. I’d prefer to believe that when the soldiers of the 34^th New York dispersed for the final time, they pondered their role in the great crusade against slavery and didn’t mutter petty recriminations under their breath concerning the removal of McClellan. Approximately 160 soldiers from the 34^th New York had given their “last full measure of devotion” during the Civil War. I hope that, in this last hour, when they were all ready to say farewell and go their separate ways, they contemplated the worth of ending the scourge of slavery.

But of course, the cynic in me remembers how the other companies all vented their frustrations by mindlessly cheering for Little Mac.

A thousand curses upon McClellan and his ego!

This portrait of George McClellan may have been similar to the one carried by the 34th New York during its homecoming to Albany.

This depicts the flag of Company I, 34th New York. (Baron Von Steuben is the man depicted in the wreath.) During the homecoming to Penn Yan and Hammondsport, the soldiers of Company I decorated this flag with their McClellan portrait.

This is the commander of Company A, 34th New York, 2nd Lt. John Oathout. He was one of the regiment's fervent McClellan supporters. When his company returned to West Troy, he delivered a long speech in favor of McClellan.

Forlorn Hope: The Return of the 34th New York, Part 2.

In the previous post, I told the story of the 34^th New York, a two-year regiment that mutinied during the first day of the Battle Chancellorsville. Just as the Army of the Potomac began its long-anticipated spring campaign, three-quarters of this regiment complained that their time had expired. Under no circumstance, the mutineers declared, would they pick up their rifled-muskets and march with the column. Only after a four-hour parley and the intervention of Brig. Gen. John Gibbon (coupled with some unwise death threats) did the intractable New Yorkers finally choose to take up their weapons.

My loyal readers might be wondering, how did the 34^th New York perform during the Battle of Chancellorsville? Some of you might assume the Herkimer Regiment, having been so mistreated and still operating under the impression that its time had elapsed, would not put much effort into its next engagement. Indeed, this seemed to be the assumption of at least one historian. While examining this case, I consulted Defeating Lee: A History of the Second Corps (2011) by Lawrence Kreiser, Jr., who believed the 34^th New York deliberately hung back at Chancellorsville. Kreiser pointed out, “Judging from their subsequent casualty figures during the Chancellorsville Campaign they fought with little enthusiasm, losing two men wounded and one man missing.”

Initially, I thought Kreiser must be correct. The mutiny in the 34^th New York probably soured the enlisted men’s willingness to fight hard. However, when I looked into the details, I found quite the opposite. Despite their bitter feelings against the government for being held in service for six additional weeks, the regiment proved eager for battle. Frankly, Kreiser’s sentence completely misconstrued the regiment’s performance at Chancellorsville.

What follows is the real story.

Let’s pick up where we left off.

On May 1, 1863—the day of the mutiny—Brig. Gen. John Gibbon’s division (2^nd Division, 2^nd Corps) had intended to march, but the orders sending it on its way did not arrive. For the soldiers of the 34^th New York, the immediate bitterness of the failed mutiny transformed into a sense of foreboding and quiet anxiety. As the afternoon droned on, the soldiers could hear the thundering of artillery echoing from across the river. All wondered if they should join the battle in progress. Eventually, night came and Gibbon’s division remained encamped on the fields outside of Falmouth, having advanced not an inch.

The next day, May 2, the dilatory orders finally arrived and bluecoats made haste, soundlessly forming on the road that hugged the shoreline of the Rappahannock River. Looking across the current, Gibbon’s men could see the wrecked vestiges of Fredericksburg, the scene of their army’s calamitous defeat five months earlier. Everyone knew what was about to happen. Engineers intended to rebuild the pontoon bridge and Gibbon’s division had to lead the way across. After dark, the 50^th New York Engineers began assembling the bridge—exactly in the same spot where the 2^nd Corps had crossed on December 11, 1862. Everything looked eerily familiar—to the men of the 34^th New York, especially. On December 13, 1862, the Herkimer Regiment had crossed the Rappahannock under fire, losing thirty-three men at the foot of Marye’s Heights. Now, under the soft moonlight, it looked as if that bloody drama would be reenacted at the crack of the next dawn.

However, one last part of Gibbon’s plan had to be determined. He needed a storming party to cross the bridge and recon the town, a “Forlorn Hope,” as he called it. To those not versed in military lingo, the term “Forlorn Hope” goes back to the medieval period. It describes a unit of men who operated as a vanguard during a dangerous operation. Typically, it was a unit that carried axes to chop through abatis or ladders to scale castle walls. In this case, Gibbon wanted his Forlorn Hope to storm the bridge and occupy the town. It would be “Forlorn Hope” because, if it encountered any enemy soldiers, it could not expect reinforcement. If the Confederates occupied Fredericksburg in force, the Forlorn Hope would be sacrificed. The Engineers would cut the bridge loose and leave the men stranded. In essence, Gibbon’s Forlorn Hope was a suicide mission.

At 1:15 A.M., as the engineers completed the bridge, Gibbon put out a call for volunteers. He wanted each regiment in Colonel Byron Laflin’s brigade had to provide twenty-five men. When Laflin approached his old regiment, the 34^th New York, he explained the mission, its danger, and the (unlikely) chance of success. Second Lieutenant Louis N. Chapin of Company K explained, “Now almost any man with an able-bodied imagination can understand what kind of duty is expected under such circumstances. Such a call means business.”

Col. Laflin called for volunteers to step forward. Although the 34^th New York’s soldiers had no reason to love General Gibbon, nor trust his plan, it took a mere five minutes for the regiment to provide the requisite number of volunteers. First Lieutenant James H. McCormick of Company H led the detachment, and of the twenty-five volunteers, eighteen had participated in the mutiny on the previous day. Clearly, these men were not dispirited by what had transpired between their regiment and General Gibbon.

The sight of these men stepping forward, vowing to take Fredericksburg or die in the attempt, resonated with Lieutenant Chapin. A few days later, he wrote home to his local newspaper, exclaiming their bravery. He wrote, “Did time and space permit, I would willingly furnish a list of the names of those brave men, for the motive and the courage displayed, both voluntary as they were, deserve the highest of mortal encomiums.”

In fact, Chapin remembered this event for the rest of his life. In 1902, when he completed his regiment’s unit history, he repeated the story in introspective detail. He recalled:

We think it is thus clearly shown that the handful of men, who, only the day before, had raised an honest point of order in regard to the date of their service, were not cowards. Although they were soon to return home, they were ready for any service, however dangerous. Some people would be very much surprised at the quality and kind of men who would volunteer to face a danger of this kind. Who could, by sight, pick out the heroes in a regiment? Would you pick the men who look the finest, bear themselves the proudest, have the most distinguished relations at home? It is fair and true to say, that, if you figured it in that way, you would miss it. The men who volunteered on this occasion were, many of them, the very humblest in the regiment; men who were not after distinctions, commissions, or glory. They were just the common men. It did not seem to them that there was any special courage displayed in their action. They were wanted for some important duty, and out they stepped.

Nor was Chapin the only New York soldier to remember the incident. Another soldier wrote similarly. Having participated in the mutiny the day before, he was eager to tell newspaper readers that the 34^th New York contained no shirkers. The eagerness of the Forlorn Hope’s volunteers proved this. He wrote, “We cannot speak too highly of the brave fellows who thus exposed their lives to danger. We would gladly make their names public would room permit. It should also be remembered that many of them had faithfully served out the time of their enlistment and, though, in their opinion, wrongfully held by the government, did not make this an excuse for hanging back.”

Although the Forlorn Hope looked like dangerous duty, no one from it was killed during the occupation of Fredericksburg. At first light, the Forlorn Hope charged across the pontoon bridge, but the soldiers discovered no Confederates to oppose them. Pushing through the town, the Forlorn Hope deployed as skirmishers and then captured the area around the Fredericksburg Canal. There, they encountered a few enemy skirmishers, routed them, and took a handful as prisoners, but otherwise the Forlorn Hope suffered no trouble. Everyone in the Forlorn Hope made it back in one piece, but most who had seen it organized recognized that when the volunteers had stepped forward, they had joined a suicide mission. So remembered one soldier, “Had there been a detachment of [Confederate] Cavalry on hand, the whole command could have been taken.”

Still, not everyone in the regiment survived unscathed. Later that morning, Gibbon ordered two brigades to cross the river and join the Forlorn Hope at the edge of town. As Maj. Gen. John Sedgwick’s 6^th Corps assaulted Marye’s Heights, Gibbon’s men endured a half-hour artillery barrage. The barrage produced heavy casualties in some regiments. The regiment adjacent to the 34^th New York suffered thirty men killed and wounded. Providentially, only a few rounds hit the New Yorkers. At the end of the day, the Herkimer Regiment counted up only two wounded: Private Warren Lamphere of Company K and Corporal Robert Bradbury of Company G. (Another soldier went missing. Unfortunately, I cannot determine this soldier’s identity.)

The light losses in the 34^th New York came from the fact that, conveniently, only a few artillery rounds hit the regiment. Clearly, the 34^th New York was just as exposed as any other regiment in the division. Further, the twenty-five men attached to the Forlorn Hope were willing to sacrifice themselves during the dawn assault across the bridge. When they volunteered, those men could not have known that no enemy soldiers would oppose them. Every one of them likely assumed they were going to their deaths. Kreiser’s line—that the 34^th New York “fought with little enthusiasm”—is flatly incorrect.

The cynic in me might wonder why they did it. Why would the embittered soldiers of 34^th New York, who believed their time had expired, be willing to throw away their lives during their war’s final hour? Of course, that question requires no convoluted answer on my part. I know enough about the Army of the Potomac to recognize that its soldiers could summon courage at any hour of any day—even in overtime.

It’s best to give the 34^th New York the last word here. On May 8, one them wrote home to the Albany Evening Journal, reflecting on what had happened at the 34^th New York’s last battle. Clearly, he felt pride in what the Herkimer Regiment had accomplished:

We are all well satisfied with the part we have taken, for we have done, and done well, all that we were asked to do.—When it is remembered that the majority of the Regiment, with much reason, regarded their time as out, its conduct is most praiseworthy, for in the most trying times every man stood up nobly and bravely and faithfully performed his duty.

What more need be said?

This is Colonel Byron Laflin (shown as lieutenant colonel), the commander of the 34th New York and the temporary commander of 1st Brigade, 2nd Division, 2nd Corps.

Lieutenant Louis N. Chapin (shown in 1902 and 1862) never forgot the awe-inspiring sight of his regiment volunteering for John Gibbon's Forlorn Hope.