Augusta County: "The Battle of Piedmont, Part II," by Gen. J. D. Imboden, 1883
Summary: Continued battle account of Piedmont, with praise for veterans and criticism of General Jones' decision-making before the fighting began.
When the General said he had received my note a few moments before, I inquired whether he had ordered the artillery and supports to report to me? He replied that he had, and that they would be up in less than five minutes, I was astonished to hear that they were so near, when he remarked that all his troops were just back of us a few hundred yards. This astounded me; and my first thought was that his guides had misled him, or had left him and he had lost his way from Mrs. Gratton's to Mowry's hill. I exclaimed, "My God, General! You are not going to fight here, and lose all the advantage of position we shall have at Mowry's hill?" Poor Jones is dead, was killed that day and it might be well to drop this interview right here. But the truth of history is perhaps the best policy, and I will give it all. Col. Robert White, commanding the 23rd Virginia Cavalry, was with me and heard it, perhaps others, but I do not now remember who. Jones replied: "Yes! I am going to fight right here, if Hunter advances promptly to the attack. If he don't, I will go over there and attack his where he is," pointing to his troops then deploying into line. I answered: "We have no advantage of ground here, and he outnumbers us nearly three to one, and will beat us." This seemed to anger him, for he replied with great warmth and an oath: "I don't want any advantage of ground, for I can whip Hunter anywhere." I then said with equal warmth, "General I will not say you cannot whip him here, but I will say, with the knowledge I have of his strength, that if you do, it will be at the expense of a fearful loss of life on our side, and believing we have no right to sacrifice the lives of our men where it is possible to avoid it, as it is now, if you will even yet fall back to Mowry's hill, I enter my solemn protest against fighting here to-day." This aroused his anger still further, and turning sharply upon me, he said: "Sir! I believe I am in command here to-day." I responded: "You are, sir, and I now ask your orders and will carry them out as best I can; but, if I live, I will see that the responsibility for this day's work is fixed where I think it belongs."
This ended the colloquy, which was carried on very rapidly where we sat on our horses a little way off to ourselves, for just then Lieut. Carter Berkeley dashed up with his guns and reported to me for orders. I directed him to unlimber and open fire at once on Stahl's Cavalry, then massing about 1,200 or 1,500 yards in front of us. In less than a minute Berkeley was at work, and the effect of his well-directed shots was the rapid demoralization of Stahl's troopers, whose confusion was very great, till they withdrew to a safer distance. General Jones, almost immediately calmed down as soon as the firing of Berkeley's guns began, for he was brave to a fault, and I believe enjoyed the roar of the battle field. He asked me to ride with him alone over the ground between the road and the river toward Samuel B. Finley's house, directing his staff to remain till our return, remarking jocularly: "Gentlemen, I don't want any of you killed and don't want to be killed myself to-day." We had not ridden 500 yards, when, emerging from a belt of woods, the enemy discovered us and opened fire with a rifle battery, so well aimed that one shot did not miss Jones ten feet. We galloped back and examined the line of battle Jones had selected for his left, in the edge of the woods on the north side of the road, just a few rods below the village of Piedmont.
Here all the infantry were in line, including the Augusta reserves, and constituted the left wing of Jones's little army. The men were in high spirits and cheered us as we rode along their front, where, for a part of the distance, they had torn down fences to form breastworks of the rails. Jones was gleeful, and often repeated as we passed from one command to another: "Aim low, boys, aim low, and hit 'em below the belt. And be sure you see them before you shoot. Aim low and make every shot tell." Thus cheering his men, we regained the road. By this time the enemy had opened a heavy artillery fire on Berkeley, and had driven in my skirmish line so far that they had brought our guns under the range of their musketry. I had received a message from that part of the field saying that all Berkeley's horses would soon be killed and the section would be unable to withdraw. I turned to Jones and said, "General, you have heard the message, what orders shall I give Lieutenant Berkeley?" "Direct him to move his guns back to this point immediately, and will put him and the rest of our artillery into the fight. Riding again toward the brow of the hill where there was considerable skirmish firing and a pretty heavy discharge from the enemy's batteries, then all in position on the opposite hill, we obtained a view of the whole of Hunter's army forming line for the attack.
My brigade, mounted, was in a field on the south of the road, and a good deal exposed, where they could do no good. Seeing which, I asked the General for orders. His reply was: "Move your men back. You will find Vaughan dismounted just back of the village. Dismount your men, sending your horses to the rear in the woods, and take position on Vaughan's right. You see that hill over there (pointing toward the round hill), throw out flankers to the foot of that hill, and protect my right flank. Hunter will try to turn my position there, and if you can proventthat, it is all I shall ask of you. I'll attend to the rest of the field." I replied, "Your orders will be carried out fully," touched my hat in salute and rode away. That was the last time I ever saw Gen. William E. Jones. In an hour afterwards he was dead and his body in the hands of the enemy.
In seeking the position to which I was ordered on Vaughan's right. I had to pass through Piedmont, and found his left resting on the road, and his line extending southward just in the edge of the woods on the Beard farm. Jones, with the infantry and artillery, was more than a quarter of a mile farther down the road, which left an unoccupied gap to that extent between the left wing of his little army and the right, a most dangerous and, as the result showed, fatal mistake in the formation of our lines.
I had reached my position, which commanded a view of nearly the whole field, when we discovered a heavy body of troops advancing on the north side of the road to attack Jones. These were the large brigade of Gen. R. B. Hayes, of Ohio (afterwards President of the United States) and of Coloned Utzy (pronounced "Yute-sey"), of Pennsylvania (a very gallant officer and noble-hearted gentleman, who has since the war become my warm and intimate friend, commanding a brigade). They had been preceded by a cavalry dash that was easily repulsed. Hayes and Utzy came bravely and steadily to their work, but were met with a fire so galling and destructive that they recoiled and fell back over the brow of the hill in disorder. Protected by the hill, they rapidly reformed and returned to the attack, and were again driven back. This was the supreme moment, the crisis in the battle. Hunter was alarmed and had his wagon train in his rear turned around preparatory to retreat. If Vaughan and I had then been ordered forward the day would undoubtedly have been won. Our joint commands, 1,600 to 1,800 strong, had not fired a shot, for there was no enemy in our front, but there was a dense copse of woods over a quarter of a mile distant, and in front of us, and that extended to within 300 or 400 yards of Jones's infantry right flank on the road below the village.
By his two assaults on Jones's front, Hunter had discovered the "gap" of fully one-fourth of a mile between Jones's right flank on the north side of the road and Vaughan's left flank on the south side. He resolved, therefore, to make one more assault on Jones, and this time to assail him in flank. The copse of wood in front of Vaughan's troops and mine favored this, as it enabled Hunter, unseen by us, to throw a brigade into these woods, form it in line at right angles to Jones, and dash through the exposed opening or "gap"-within perhaps thirty minutes after Hayes and Utzy's second repulse. From our position on the right, we saw this flanking brigade emerge from the woods and move at quick time up a gentle slope directly on Jones's flank. This movement was immediately in front of Vaughan's Brigade, distant perhaps 600 yards. My brigade was still further off, being to Vaughan's right. Even then, if Vaughan and I had had orders, or permission discretion, to move, a rapid charge on the left flank of this flanking brigade of the enemy would have at least checked it and given Jones time to change front to the right and repel it. But Vaughan's orders, like mine, as he informed me that night, were peremptory to take the position assigned him and hold it till further orders.
So there he an I were held inactive, and, in less than ten minutes from the time the enemy emerged from the woods, they struck Jones in flank, killed him and many of his officers and men, and, doubling up his whole line, drove what they did not kill, wound, or capture toward Middle River and across it, with the exception of a few men who escaped in the direction of New Hope under cover of the woods.
The moment Jones was struck in flank I saw the day was lost, and ordered my men to regain their horses and mount so as to be ready to cover the retreating infantry. The artillery had fortunately been posted a little farther back than Jones's main line and escaped the charge of the flanking brigade of the enemy, and thus had a chance to escape up the road toward New Hope, about a mile distant. I started to see General Vaughan to concert a joint movement under his command, as my senior, to hold the now victorious enemy in check, supposing that he, being nearest Jones, would have received orders. I met a courier from Vaughan coming for me to go and meet and confer with him. Within a minute afterwards he and I met, when he remarked: "I am the senior and in command. Jones has been killed, and the infantry are in full flight. We must save all we can of our poor fellows, but don't know this country, was never in it in my life before. You know it well, I hear, and I will adopt your suggestions." My reply was: "There is not a moment to be lost. We must gain the road as quickly as possible and, if pursued, fight our way back to Mowry's hill. We can hold the enemy there till night, collect our scattered men, and then decide where to go and what to do." I gave him guides and requested him to move out first, halt, and form at New Hope, as a support to my brigade, on the New Hope side of the belt of woods just above the Beard farm. I sent orders to my command to move out by the left flank as rapidly as possible to the Crumpecker farm, to which I galloped with some of my staff to select ground for a stand.
As I reached the open ground, I came upon McClanahan's heroic battery of six guns. They had wheeled into the first field on their right where the road emerges from the woods, and had halted 300 or 400 yards from the woods, and were rapidly going "into battery for action" on admirably chosen ground. I called out to them from the road: "That's right, boys; double shot your guns with canister, and we will support you." The officers of that battery, especially Capt. John H. McClanahan, and Lieut. Carter Berkeley, and H. H. Fulton, had no superiors of their rank in all the Confederate army for cool, undaunted courage and skill in their important arm of the service, and the company noncommissioned officers and privates was composed entirely of picked men, devoted alike to their brave, intelligent, and gentlemanly officers and to our cause and country. There was no situation before which that battery ever quailed and there never was a time when its nerve was more severely tested than at that moment, for they had just narrowly escaped from a disastrous field, and they knew they were being pursued by the flushed victors, for we could even then distinctly hear the bugle notes of Stahl's cavalry brigade sounding the "charge" with which they came sweeping through Piedmont town toward us; and the heavy thud of hoofs on the solid road from more than 2,000 excited horses was distinctly audible by the time they had reached the Beard house, though we could not see them for the belt of woods through which the road runs, it had been there cut out and cleared of timber for more than sixty feet wide.
While the battery was unlimbering, a battalion of about eighty Tennessee riflemen, under Maj. W. W. Stringfellow, as I now remember his name, a perfect little game cock, not over five feet six or eight inches in height, and who had escaped from the battle field when poor Jones and so many others were killed, came out of the edge of the woods at a double quick and on up the lane toward me. I halted the Major and asked, "Will your men fight again?" He replied: "Yes, like hell if you give them the chance." I then directed him to form his men behind a strong rail fence which ran at right angles to the road and on the opposite side from the battery, and to open fire as soon as the head of the enemy's column came in sight. He gave the order, when his men scrambled over the fence with a defiant yell and, stringing themselves along the cross fence, two or three in a corner, were ready for action. In less time than it has taken to detail these preparations, the enemy appeared in close column, platoon front, at a gallop. Just at the entrance to the lane, the battery poured a salvo of all six guns into them, and the Tennesseeans a rifle volley. The crashing of the shot on men and horses could be plainly heard. The head of the column, apparently several files deep, went down in a mass of groaning men and horses. The charge was checked, and another salvo from the battery compelled the column to retire. They rallied, however, on the other side of the wood and reformed near the Beard house.
By that time my brigade, mounted, came upon the field and formed line on some elevated ground a little in the rear of and to the right of the Tennesseeans. The enemy's bugles again sounded the charge beyond the wood, and on came the column. Just as it reached the same, to them, ill-fated spot, the six guns of the battery again belched forth their iron contents and the Tennesseeans poured out another volley from their rifles, when down went men and horses and a wild retreat began toward Piedmont. They had enough; and, no doubt, discovering the proximity of new supports to the battery, my brigade having but just arrived, deemed further attempted pursuit hazardous, for we never saw them again.
After waiting a half hour to see if they would renew the attack, I ordered the battery to retire by sections, halting the sections at intervals of about four hundred yards, unlimbering till the other guns had passed and in their turn taken position and unlimbered successively, moving my brigade and the infantry battalion parallel to the rear guns until we had passed New Hope, some two miles. Here we came up with Vaughan, and he and I consulted about our further course. The full extent of the disaster then known to us, we could not expect, with fugitives and all, to have over 2,000 or 2,500 men fit to further oppose Hunter. General Vaughan said that Jones had received a telegram from General Lee the evening before, but had not shown it to him, or anyone so far as he knew, and, as he had put it in his pocket, the enemy would no doubt find it and learn its contents. We also knew that Crook and Averill were then within one or two days' march of Staunton.
Under these circumstances, it was decided that General Vaughan in person should proceed at once to Fisherville and open telegraphic communication with General Lee, and ask for a copy of Lee's telegram to Jones so that we might judge what effect it would have on Hunter's movements; and that I should bring on the troops to Fisherville that night, so that if reenforcements were on their way from Richmond, we would be in a position to again confront Hunter near Staunton; but if no help reached us, we could retreat to Rockfish Gap and thus save our commands and baggage from annihilation.
I reached Fisherville with the troops about 11 o'clock at night and found General Vaughan at Mr. Schmucker's house. He handed me a long telegram he had received from General Lee, repeating the one sent to Jones the day before. I cannot quote its language, but remember perfectly its purport. He had telegraphed Jones that it was impossible for him to spare any troops to the Valley for at least a week to come; that he, Jones, with such troops as he had must fight Hunter and drive him back, and then turn upon Crook and Averill and drive them out of the Valley. We knew, of course, Hunter would see this dispatch, as it would be found on Jones's body, and that thus informed he would push on to Staunton next day, and we could not prevent it. We thereupon decided to fall back to Waynesboro and Rockfish Gap early next morning and await orders or reenforcements from General Lee.
This is a detailed account of the battle of Piedmont. Its incidents are indellibly impressed on my memory, for it was the first time I had ever seen Confederates routed on a battle field of their own selection. My protest against fighting where we did, and the altercation with General Jones, coupled with the disastrous outcome of the combat, fixed every incident on my mind never to be forgotten.
Our losses were very heavy and never, from the nature of the temporary organization of the fragmentary detachments of our forces, could be ascertained. Killed, wounded, captured, and missing, the aggregate was little, if at all, less than 1,500 men and their arms. Besides Gen. William E. Jones commanding, Colonel Brown, of the 60th Virginia Infantry, whom I had assigned to the command of one of the temporary brigades formed at Mrs. Gratton's, was killed. Several of the officers and men of Harper's Regiment of Augusta Reserves were killed and many wounded. The most prominent of these who fell was Robert L. Doyle, who had been lieutenant colonel in the 62nd Virginia Regiment Mounted Infantry, of my brigade, and resigned, being far beyond military age, but had turned out then as a volunteer with the reserves and was acting captain of one of the companies. Poor Doyle! He was a brave, genial gentleman, a good officer, and the life of the camp and the bivouac with his fun and anecdotes.
It would make this report too long to mention all the noted dead and wounded of that fateful day. No troops ever fought better than those who were engaged, and some day the people of Augusta County ought to erect a shaft on the spot where Jones fell and inscribe upon it the names of the glorious dead who there poured out their life's blood, dying to protect their soil and county seat from the invader's foot. In vain, it is true, but none the less glorious was their death, and its memory deserves to live as marking above all others one spot in Augusta memorable above all others, though the county teems with memories.
Bibliographic Information: Source copy consulted: Confederate Veteran, Vol. 32 (1924), p. 18-20
