By Max Shaw, 47th. New York Reenactors
Part of Civil War @ Charleston Website
It was my honor to bear the National Banner - Color Sergeant.
Reveille came in the dark Saturday morning. Muster reports in, we had just enough time to relieve our bladders and the Battalion formed to meet Lee's men in the woods. The roads were muddy from the rain the night before, but we weren't going to go far. We were assigned Color Company for the 2nd Wisconsin [distinguish career in the Iron Brigade going all the back to Bull Run] and were brigaded with the 7th Wisconsin. Our mission this morning was to provide support for an artillery battery and the Colonel declared we would not give ground.
The fighting was confused. Several times we were flanked and face to face with the Johnnies. Eventually we maneuvered into a clearing and marched back to camp. Only the right wing of the battalion was intact. There was no sign of the Colonel. We were led out by the Adjutant. Had we been captured and paroled? Was the Colonel hit or had we been separated from the remainder of the Battalion which was fighting on? No one knew, but the Colors had not been surrendered and we brought them back to the camp with pride.
Now there was time for some breakfast . . . it was 8 am. After about half an hour, the Colonel and the remainder of the Battalion returned to camp. The morning was ours. The men cleaned their weapons and talked about the battle. Some went again to visit the sutlers; some went back to sleep. Our next formation was drill in the early afternoon. We practiced a few maneuvers and then made canteen runs and otherwise got our gear in order. It was time to face Bobby Lee's men again.
This time it would be a stand up fight. The sun was high and the air was stifling. I unfurled the Colors and to the sound of fifes and drums, off we marched. I felt proud when the breeze caught our banner. Seeing those colorful stripes and stars in a sea of blue figures always moves me. And my blood is always stirred by marching to the cadence of battalion music. I was ready to die for freedom's sake.
As we left the cover of the woods and onto Saunder's Field, the Colonel ordered the Battalion into column of companies. Despite the 90 degree temperature, portions of the ground were still muddy. As we began to double quick into position, I lost my footing in the mud and down with our honored banner I went. But I was assisted up by two of the best Color Corporals in the entire Army of the Potomac, Ronnie Bargaineer and Mike Jones. Back on my feet, we charged off to regain our position.
The Colonel stopped the column near the crest of the hill and we rested. The heat had sucked most of my endurance away as the sweat poured down my face. I thought to myself, if I make it home from this campaign I would dedicate some time to working off all that hardtack and fatback that the army had place under my waistbelt. But before I could dwell to much on how life would be when I could lay down the Union blue for a spell, we were ordered into line and marched down the hill behind another Brigade. Another was to the right at the woodline on the base of the hill. We halted about 300 yards from the Brigade to our front. The musketry had ceased and there was an unnerving quiet on the field. No secesh could be seen. I turned to look behind us to see two more Brigades moving into line behind us.
Then the air was rent with the sound of death and destruction. As a thick blue cloud began to rise over the woodland, sea of gray and butternut emerged from the cover of the pines. They surged into the two Brigades to our front and the most intense and fierce firing erupted. The gray line recaptured the field pieces which had previously been captured and began to press forward as if immune to the wall of minie balls in flight from the Federal ranks.
Then it happened. The Brigade in front of us began to give ground. Our officers ran up and down the line shouting, "We will hold the line here!" As our fellow Yanks retreated, the Rebs advanced. Suddenly, one of the fatal maneuvers that cost men their lives was ordered by the Brigade now only yards in front of our muzzles. They were ordered to the right instead of breaking to the rear by companies and passing through our ranks so that we had a clear shot at the advancing enemy. To make things worse, the retiring bluecoats were moving at a death pace and we could see that before they were clear of our line, the Johnnies would be on top of us. Men began yelling Ōget out of the way!Ķ and trying to wave them off to the right but it was to no avail. Before we could fire a volley, the southern hordes were yards away and let lose a murderous volley. I went down; others fell around me.
When the smoke and my mind cleared, I rose up on one elbow to see that nearly the entire Color Guard had been hit, but the colors were recovered and waving about 200 yards back up the hill as if a challenge to the men in gray. I looked to what had been our line and could see several dozen men in blue on the ground. Some were moving; others were still.
Rather than get captured by the halted Confederate line I moved with Sergeant Lyons and Private Sanderson to a grove of trees which had anchored our left. In the shade we found other men recovering from the heat of the day and the heat of battle. Most of our canteens were empty now. As the fight intensified and began to move our way, Sergeant Lyons and I went for water. I gave the extra canteen I had to Private Ford and Corporal Krogman who were too weary to move. Private Sanderson was not to be found. We thought he had been hit again or captured. Lyons and I found our way to water and stumbled back to camp. Shortly, came the remainder of the men of the color company. The battle was over for today.
Everyone was bone tired from the heat but not too tired to get some real homemade victuals. As was customary but not expected, we had been invited to join Karen and Amy of the Northeast Sewing Society and share a plate of black beans and rice. After a respectable meal and plenty of good camaraderie, the boys headed back to the company streets. Some made preparations for the dance while others went to Sutler row or just sat around camp and talked about the war. The starry night was interrupted at least three times by the rotating red light of someone in distress; more than likely from the heat and fatigue of the day. All slept that night as if we would never wake up, reminded that many of the men we honored earlier in the day had done just that.
Reveille was late Sunday morning. Everyone was up and busy with toilet duties, fixing breakfast and policing camp, except First Sergeant Lyons. The Sergeant Major came looking for the muster report so we managed to get him on his feet without incurring his well known wrath. No doubt while we were slumbering that night, Sergeant Lyons was about making plans for the next day and checking on camp security and the men in his charge.
After morning parade, we had time for breakfast and a short company drill. The 21st Ohio had sustained heavy losses on Saturday and pulled out of line Sunday morning. We were disappointed to see them go. At 9, the Brigade was formed and raffled off the 7th Wisconsin National and Regimental Banners. These had been purchased by Col. Rambo for this event and had cost $1200. No one in Barton's Brigade won.
After cleaning muskets and inspection, the men were free until 12:30. Most returned to camp by 11 and filled canteens and rested. At 12:30, the remainder of the Color Company minus a few stragglers formed and marched to the Color Line. The other companies formed and took their places on time on our flanks. When the last company was in place, the Colonel orders us forward. It was even hotter than the day before. But unlike past campaigns, after a beating instead of crossing over the river to lick our wounds, we were heading right back at Lee's men. This Grant must have really been a man to reckon with.
The ground was dry now; it was 96 degrees. We formed in the woods at the base of a hill. Atop was Widow TappÕs Farm. A Confederate line was moved in front of us about 25 yards away. There were the usual ugly remarks from the ragged ranks but there were also pards who greeted each other with kindness despite their differing loyalties. I reckon some people just don't get it.
After a short rest, the Rebs faced us and let loose a volley. We then returned with two. With much cat-calling and some physical resistance we were ordered forward through their line and out of the woods. IÕm still not sure what that was all about!
Although feeling better physically now then I had the day before, I was suffering a bit of guilt for having hogged the Colors most of the event. I knew that Mike Jones was as eager to carry our bloodied banner as I had been. To be honest, he was more knowledgeable than I on the duties of the Color Bearer and the Color Guard in general. I let him know that I would take an early hit so that he could feel the pride and exhilaration while advancing on the enemy I had known the day before.
We were ordered to advance up the hill. Midway we were fired on by Confederate batteries on the crest but their aim was short. By luck or providence, no one was hit by the secondary projectiles; we continued to advance.
The muskets were firing sporadically from the Rebel line but not directly to our front. As we approached to within 75 yards, a sudden volley came from immediately in front and I was down. Mike took up the Colors with great energy. I watched our Brigade push the Confederates nearly to the crest and an awful fight ensued.
After a short time our army was pushed back down the hill. When the blue line reached me I rose and joined my pards in the Color Guard, having picked up Corporal Jones' musket. We rallied and began pushing the Rebels back up the hill. Another dreadful volley went up in our faces and Jones and I went down again. This time I moved off the field. I was exhausted. I turned back to see the Colors bravely carried by another, flying boldly, beautifully and courageously in the wind above the deathly smoke. I thought, "I love that flag!"
As I slowly made my way back to water, I eventually saw many of my pards from the weekend and several other past campaigns. I said my farewell and moved on out, leaving Virginia's bloody soil behind.
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