It occurred to me that it might be of interest to
readers to receive a slightly different account of a recent engagement in which
I, as a British observer, inadvertently became embroiled. It happened recently
at the great encounter at Boone Hall, near Charleston, South Carolina.
Early in the morning, as I had barely emerged from my tent enjoying an
Englishman's customary first cuppa', I beheld Union troops marching briskly down
the tree lined avenue, which guard like sentinels the stately entrance to the
mansion. Upon inquiring of an officer I discovered they were on their way to
meet the foe in a tactical somewhere in the fields of the plantation. I
determined to follow and observe the action.
After scrambling into uniform and boots I caught them up some way towards the
entrance gate where they had halted, not as I had supposed, whilst a
recognisance was undertaken or skirmishers deployed, but to have their
photographs taken by a fellow perched upon a precarious platform which
apparently permitted him to capture the whole assembly. Not wishing myself to be
emulsified upon an image with Yankee troops - lest my own be tarnished in the
eyes of my Southern friends - I determined, after obtaining the acquiescence of
the Commanding Officer, to proceed ahead, down a track where I was told they
expected to find the Confederates. It was my desire to locate a large tree on
which to perch and view the action, much as I did at Gettysburg. However, after
a lonely plod of some half mile down this densely wooded path I emerged upon a
ploughed field with not a Confederate in sight. Through my glasses I did catch a
fleeting glance of horsemen on the other side and decided to advance and
investigate - under a makeshift flag of truce consisting of a white handkerchief
tied to my sword, .
It must have been a very odd sight indeed for these Confederate Cavalry to
encounter a solitary British Guards officer, stepping forward under a white
flag, when they expected the whole Union Army. We exchanged a cordial good time
of day, they permitting me to pass unhinded, but not without first inquiring if
I knew the whereabouts of the enemy. This placed me in a somewhat invidious
position since, being a neutral, I have always felt I should not disclose
information of that sort to either side. However - and I hope this frank
disclosure will not get me shot or cause a diplomatic incident - I did advise
the Captain in charge that the Yankees would be somewhat delayed on account of
their photographic adventure, no doubt the first for many of the rank and file.
To my enquiry as to the whereabouts of his own army he was in no way as
circumspect, confessing frankly that he had not the slightest idea. The brave
fellow then determined to dismount his small force along a tree lined gully to
delay the Union advance as best they could.
Not wishing to become embroiled in the skirmish which was clearly minutes
away I continued on my trek for a further half mile amongst the wilderness of
paths, looking for greybacks. At length I rounded a bend and spied, at the end
of a dead straight track some half mile distant, a solitary twelve pounder,
minus its cannoneers. Since it was highly unlikely the piece would discharge on
its own I gingerly proceeded, hoping my flag would save my skin.
Suddenly, a head popped from behind a bush and to my intense relief it
belonged to one who I have the honour to call friend, Commander Goodrich of the
Milton Light, from Florida. Afterwards he joked that it was not my flag which
had prevented him from ordering the lanyard pulled and evaporating my person,
but the fact that I was wearing his overcoat, which he had kindly loaned me the
day before on account of the exigencies of the weather - such are the fortunes
of war.
Their scarce troop consisted of only three pieces, which was also, like the
cavalry engagement now clearly to be heard, somewhat replete to check the Union
onslaught. Likewise Goodrich had not the slightest notion where the infantry
were, but determined to defend the lane to the last. The cannon was hurriedly
wheeled back round the corner, leaving the path deserted. Within minutes the
remnants of the gallant cavalry came thundering back, their horses lathering
from the exertion. They were pursued by a hail of Minnie balls from the jubilant
Yankees who had emerged into the lane and were marching triumphantly, yet
unknowingly, forward in tight formation being constricted by the dense brambles
on either side. All three cannon were quickly loaded with double shotted
canister, then, as if wishing to see the colour of their eyes the gunners
waited, every heart beating faster as the tramp of marching feet grew louder. At
no more than one hundred paces the first piece was rapidly heaved into the path
of the surprised and suddenly terror-stricken front line of blue, which, like
the magicians proverbial rabbit immediately vanished into the surrounding
undergrowth. The horrendous discharge echoed throughout the woods as a great
plume of white smoke completely enveloped and presumably decimated the
approaching hordes. However, there was no time to gloat as the second then the
third piece was rolled out and fired at point blank range, the carnage hardly to
be envisaged. As will be readily acknowledged by anyone who has experienced
these encounters, the artillerymen naturally desired to view the destruction
they had so obviously wrought and therefore desisted from further firing until
the thick billows dispersed. As the smoke cleared, to everyone's surprise we
were confronted by exactly the same faces and flag as had endured all three
fusillades. Not one man had fallen, leading me to inquire with incredulity of a
nearby fellow if, in their intense excitement, they had inadvertently omitted to
actually shove anything down the barrels of the guns. His reply, barely audible
above the general consternation, was not complimentary.
The Yankees were undoubtedly shaken, but clearly not down and stealthily
advanced as a second dose of the same was quickly administered by the
artillerymen - with precisely the same results - or rather lack thereof. The
thought occurred to me that I should afterwards examine some of these dead
chaps, assuming there were any, to see what exactly they had on under their blue
uniforms. Evidently they were protected by some new and miraculous suit of
armour, information upon which I was most desirous to carry back to England.
The extreme exigencies of the moment however allowed no such investigation,
it becoming immediately apparent that this gallant band would be swiftly
overrun. Not wishing to be captured I beat a hasty retreat in the direction of
the Confederate camp, which I guessed to be nearby, intent upon at least warning
them of the approaching, and patently unstoppable, juggernaut. I rounded a bend
at full pelt and to my relief ran smack into an approaching column of grey,
sauntering down the lane with gay abandon oblivious to the sound of gunfire in
the distance.
I immediately remonstrated with the first officer I met, suggesting his men
advance immediately, at the double-quick, to save their gallant comrades and
perhaps the day. However, as I have often observed, a conference of officers
must first be convened before such precipitous action may be mounted, but which
I confess on this occasion allowed caution to play the wiser man than valour,
and a different and diabolically cunning plot was quickly hatched. A company was
indeed dispatched down the road, with instructions to save what they could then
mount an organized swift withdrawal. The remainder were ordered to force their
way into the dense undergrowth, whereupon, not ten feet into the brush they all
promptly lay down and vanished from view, waiting.
As I supposed, it had taken but a moment for the small force to be overrun
and the Yankees could be heard jubilantly advancing, undoubtedly with designs
upon the Confederate camp. Little did they suspect they would soon be visiting
it, but not as marauding invaders. They were preceded by the remnants of the
battered artillery, including I was pleased to note, Commander Goodrich, who
scurried past oblivious of the hammer blow about to fall upon the pursuers by
those concealed in the bushes. Excitement and anticipation rose to fever pitch
as the first columns of blue entered the snare and I shall forever marvel at the
patience with which the Confederates waited for the whole lot to gleefully
charge into the trap. Instantly the order was given and with one horrendous
Rebel Yell they burst from the thickets and pounced on their bewildered foe,
herding the Bluebellies into such a tight group that hardly a shot was able to
be fired. Capitulation was the only option to certain death, this time from
bayonets which one supposed could be skewered between the joints in their
artillery armour. To a man the startled Yankees elected the former and were
promptly marched off into the Confederate camp and an ignominious prison pen.
For my part I was soon back at the mansion, addressing the crowds of
spectators flooding in hopeful of seeing the afternoon (scripted) battle of
Secessionville. They will never know what they missed.
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