The Siege of Vicksburg (1915)Union soldier Seth J. Wells
In the Voices section of our Fall 2024 issue we highlighted quotes by Union and Confederate soldiers about incidents of accidental deaths during the Civil War. Unfortunately, we didn’t have room to include all that we found. Below are those that just missed the cut.
“The sun rose bright and clear to usher in this most eventful day to the American people, but a sad accident happened early in the morning, which served to mar in no slight degree our rejoicing. A shell which had been lying around the quarters for two weeks with the cap taken off and most of the powder knocked out, and some of the time filled with water, was put in a post fire with the intention of scaring a certain shaky individual, and had been forgotten. Dreggs of Co. E lit it and watched the post fire burn for a while and then he picked it up and carried it and threw it over into the quarters. It no sooner touched the ground than it burst, and as good luck would have it, only one man was hurt. Brown, of Co. E, a fine fellow and a good soldier, was hit in the side, it going through and tearing off part of the lung. He lived but a short time.”
—Seth J. Wells, 17th Illinois Infantry, in his diary on July 4, 1863, the day Vicksburg, Mississippi, fell to him and his Union comrades
“This morning … a serious accident occurred in the Seventh Nebraska. A lieutenant was carelessly handling his revolver when it went off and wounded two men, one quite badly through the leg and the other mortally. The latter died during the day and was buried this evening. Such carelessness as this ought to be severely punished.”
—Albert O’Connell Marshall, 35th Illinois Infantry, on an incident that occurred during the early months of his war service, in his memoir of the conflict
“Today the crew and officers of the Conestoga came on board. Among them was Dr. [Benjamin F.] Pierce…. He was sitting in our ward room talking with us when the Admiral called him into his office and gave him orders to report to the Louisville. He came back and bade us goodbye. In just 30 minutes our doctor returned on board and said Doctor Pierce had just been drowned. He had stopped to do some business on the coal barges and asked the Captain of the Tug to wait for him. They heard someone call for help and as he has not been seen since he is probably gone. He was married some six months ago to a beautiful young lady and left the afternoon of the day of his marriage.”
—Frank Linnaeus Church, U.S. Marines, on an incident that occurred on board the steamer Black Hawk during the Red River Expedition, in his diary, March 9, 1864
“That evening, as we walked up to Mrs. Davis’s carriage, which was waiting for us at the landing…. [S]uddenly I heard her scream, and some one stepped back in the dark and said in a whisper. ‘Little Joe! he has killed himself!’ I felt reeling, faint, bewildered. A chattering woman clutched my arm: “Mrs. Davis’s son? Impossible. Whom did you say? Was he an interesting child? How old was he?’ The shock was terrible, and unnerved as I was I cried, ‘For God’s sake take her away!’”
—South Carolinian Mary Boykin Chesnut, on visiting the White House of the Confederacy in Richmond on the day of the death of Joseph Evan Davis, the 5-year-old son of Confederate president Jefferson Davis, in her diary, May 8, 1864. On April 30, the boy had fallen “from the high north piazza upon a brick pavement,” fracturing his skull.
“A sad accident happened yesterday afternoon … when a detail … was casting the fixed ammunition into the river. A man dropped a shell on the bank of the river, which exploding, caused other ammunition to explode and ignited a large quantity of powder, killing several soldiers and wounding twenty others. When Sherman heard of it, he is said to have remarked that one of his soldiers was worth more than all that ammunition or even the city of Columbia.”
—Alexander G. Downing, 11th Iowa Infantry, on an incident that occurred in Columbia during William T. Sherman’s campaign in South Carolina, in his diary, February 20, 1864
Library of CongressUnion general Joshua Lawerence Chamberlain
“In the middle of the afternoon a heavy rainstorm swept over us, opening with terrific summons of thunder and lightning, sky and earth meeting. I chanced to be at that moment on the summit of a very high hill, from which I could see the whole corps winding its caravan with dromedary patience. The first lightning-bolt nearly stunned me…. [T]his ever-recurrent pulse of flame leaped along the writhing column like a river of fire. It looked to me as if the men had bayonets fixed, the points of intense light flew so sharp from the muzzles sloping above the shoulders. Suddenly an explosion like a battery of shrapnel fell right between our divisions. An orderly came galloping up to me, with word that one of the ambulances was struck, killing the horses and the driver, and stunning the poor fellows who, unable to keep up with the rushing column, had sought this friendly aid.”
—Brigadier General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, on a difficult march he and his troops made after the surrender at Appomattox, in his memoirs
“Everything in my department is working smoothly, and I have no reason to complain. The whole army is moving forward, and there is a prospect of our brigade’s going on Sunday. Last Saturday about eighty pounds of powder, belonging to the Twenty-first Indiana Battery, exploded, through some carelessness, and severely injured six men, burning them horribly on faces, hands, and bodies, and burning their hair to a crisp. One of the number has since died, and others are not expected to survive.”
—Edward P. Williams, an officer in the 100th Indiana Infantry, on an incident that occurred in camp at University Place, Tennessee, in his diary, August 13, 1863
“While at anchor two of the soldiers went in to bathe. They swam out a little way from the boat, but the tide was so strong that they could not get back, and were swept astern. One of them called out for help, and I went aft to heave him a line, but the soldiers were crowding around the rail, and all of them telling what ought to be done, but none of them doing it. There were a lot of gunboats anchored near us, and one of them lowered a boat, and started to the rescue, but before they reached him he sank to rise no more. The other one they got and brought him aboard. The one that was drowned was a Methodist minister, and enlisted with the expectation of being made chaplain; he left a wife and six children to mourn his sudden loss.”
—Massachusetts soldier Eugene Harrison Freeman, on an incident that occurred during his regiment’s transport by steamship along the Rappahannock River, in a letter to his parents, June 1, 1864
“We had hardly been under weigh 20 minutes, when there was a cry of ‘man overboard’ and a rush to the side of the ship. It proved to be one of the crew, who fell from the vessel while engaged about the anchor. The poor fellow never rose above the surface, and was seen for a moment only under the surface, as if in the act of swimming. Ropes and life preservers were thrown him in vain. I was told on enquiry that he could not swim. Swimming indeed might not have saved him, for at the rate the ship was going, he must have been left far behind before a boat could have gone to his assistance. It’s a startling cry, that of ‘man overboard!!’ Poor fellow!”
—Union general Thomas Williams, on an incident that occurred aboard the transport ship Great Republic while in the waters off the coast of Louisiana, in a letter to his wife, April 26, 1862. In August, Williams was killed at the Battle of Baton Rouge.
“We had a sad accident happen to our company this morning. We were returning from picket from across the Shenandoah; the river was very high and running like a mill-race. The only means of crossing was in a small flat-boat which would carry but six; the boat was making one of its last trips, when a man named Freeman, sitting in the stern, gave a jump, capsizing the boat; four of the men swam ashore, but Freeman and our fourth sergeant were drowned; their bodies have not yet been recovered. It is a very sad loss. Sergeant Evans was a faithful, intelligent man, and we shall miss him a great deal. The storm of sleet and rain still continues; everything and everybody looks miserable and uncomfortable.”
—Charles F. Morse, 2nd Massachusetts Infantry, in a letter home, April 9, 1862
Library of CongressUnion general Benjamin F. Butler
“It is fitting that we pause here … to drop a tear upon the grave of a fellow soldier, a friend and brother. A pure patriot, he gave up home for his Country; a heroic, conscientious Soldier, he died in the act of discharging his duty; and although he was not stricken by the hand of death amid the clangor of arms and in the heat of contest, yet his death was no less glorious because he met it in the quiet performance of his military duty.”
—Brigadier General Benjamin F. Butler, in a “special brigade order” about the death of Charles Leonard of the 8th New York Infantry, who “was accidentally killed instantaneously by the discharge of a musket from which he was drawing the charge,” May 8, 1861
“During the first day’s engagement a most terrible accident occurred by the bursting of the 100-pounder Parrott gun, making a complete slaughter pen of the forecastle. Seven poor gallant fellows were killed outright and twelve wounded, eight of the latter seriously. It was a most heartrending sight to witness, and yet, notwithstanding the depressing effect upon the minds of all on board, it was truly gratifying to me to see how the men and officers coolly went on with the firing and not for a moment flagged. This terrible accident has produced more dead and wounded by twenty percent than the whole fleet suffered during the two days’ engagement.”
—Captain Charles Steedman, USS Ticonderoga, on an incident that occurred during an unsuccessful Union attempt to take Fort Fisher off Wilmington, North Carolina, in a letter to his wife, December 27, 1864
“The leading Company of our Battalion had originally the name of Manchester Grays and wore jackets and light blue trousers. One of the advanced pickets saw one of the Grays and taking him for a Federal soldier, fired at and wounded him severely…. We were ordered to lie down…. As soon as we rose to our feet a tremendous discharge of musketry was poured into us. We laid down quickly, and the firing was kept up for several minutes…. Some twenty-eight men were killed or wounded. Very soon afterwards we were marched slowly back to the Camp…. The prevailing opinion was that there was no enemy there and the two Battalions had fired into each other, and I now incline to that opinion, but for a long time I believed we had been ambushed. Whether any Federal troops were there or not, there was another enemy present, just as much to be feared; that was the lack of experience of our Commanding Officer.”
—Confederate officer William W. Chamberlaine, on a possible incident of friendly fire that occurred during fighting outside Richmond in 1862, in his memoirs
“Lieut. William Martin, of Company E, was buried to day at Upperville. He was accidentally shot by a comrade while riding along the road, the ball passing through his breast, from left to right. He was a brave young soldier — his daring at times seeming reckless. He had many friends, both in the command and among the citizens, and his death was a regret to all.”
—James Joseph Williamson, 43rd Battalion Virginia Cavalry, in his diary, August 21, 1864
“A few days after the assault on the Confederate fortifications, a sad accident cast a gloom over all the little community encamped in the ravine—officers, soldiers, and servants: A soldier, named Henry, had noticed my little girl often, bringing her flowers at one time, an apple at another, and again a young mocking bird, and had attached her to him much by these little kindnesses. Frequently, on seeing him pass, she would call his name, and clap her hands gleefully, as he rode the general’s handsome horse for water, causing him to prance past the cave for her amusement. She called my attention to him one morning, saying: “O mamma, look at Henny’s horse how he plays!” He was riding a small black horse that was exceedingly wild, and striving to accustom it to the rapid evolutions of the Texas troops, turning in his saddle to grasp something from the ground, as he moved speedily on. Soon after, he rode the horse for water; and I saw him return and fasten it to a tree.
Afterward I saw him come down the hill opposite, with an un exploded shrapnell shell in his hand. In a few moments I heard a quick explosion in the ravine, followed by a cry—a sudden, agonized cry. I ran to the entrance, and saw a courier … I had noticed frequently passing by, roll slowly over into the rivulet of the ravine and lie motionless, at a little distance: Henry—oh, poor Henry!—holding out his mangled arms—the hands torn and hanging from the bleeding, ghastly wrists—a fearful wound in his head—the blood pouring from his wounds. Shot, gasping, wild, he staggered around, crying piteously, ‘Where are you, boys? O boys, where are you? Oh, I am hurt! I am hurt! Boys, come to me!—come to me! God have mercy! Almighty God, have mercy!’
My little girl clung to my dress, saying, ‘O mamma, poor Henny’s killed! Now he’ll die, mamma. Oh, poor Henny!’ I carried her away from the painful sight….”
—Mary Ann Webster Loughborough, a resident of Vicksburg, Mississippi, on a fatal accident that befell two young Confederate soldiers during the Union siege of the city, in her memoir of the war
National Park ServiceSarah Emma Edmonds
“I was startled one day from my usual quietude by the bursting of a shell which had lain in front of my tent, and from which no danger was apprehended; yet it burst at a moment when a number of soldiers were gathered round it—and oh, what sad havoc it made of those cheerful, happy boys of a moment previous! Two of them were killed instantly and four were wounded seriously, and the tent where I lay was cut in several places with fragments of shell, the tent poles knocked out of their places, and the tent filled with dust and smoke.”
—Civil War nurse Sarah Emma Edmonds, in her memoir of the war
“Well, the front end of the car went down into that hole, and then the killing began.”
—Leander Stillwell, 61st Ohio Infantry, recounting a September 1862 accident in which the lead car of a train transporting Union soldiers “plunged into a cattle guard … [and] was torn to splinters,” resulting in the death of three and the wounding of many more. He and a comrade were on another car and emerged unscathed.
“I went out into the Sound a few miles yesterday to recover the bodies of three men that had been drowned. I found one. It was an awful looking thing. He was buried, poor fellow, in the sand and there he will lie, ‘unhonored, unwept, unsung!’”
—Joseph E. Fiske, 2nd Massachusetts Heavy Artillery, in a letter to his parents from his camp at Beaufort, North Carolina, December 30, 1862
“The circumstances of his death are extremely painful; that one who had often perilled his life in the front of battle, and who had distinguished himself in the service of his Country, winning the confidence of his superior officers in all stations, … should have passed away by drowning, is deeply regretted by all…. [H]e has left a proud legacy behind him of devotion to his country in this her last and deadly struggle with the enemies of liberty, of law, and of free government.”
—John C. Myers, 192nd Pennsylvania Infantry, on the drowning death of Lieutenant William C. Tyndale of the regiment’s Company K, in his journal, October 22, 1864. Tyndale had enlisted in 1861, served time in a Richmond prison after being captured at Ball’s Bluff, and subsequently fought “in nearly all the battles under McClellan, Burnside and Hooker.”
Sources: Army Life from a Soldier’s Journal (1883); Civil War Marine (1975); A Diary from Dixie (1905); Downing’s Civil War Diary (1916); Extracts from Letters to A.B.T. from Edward P. Williams … (1903); Letters from Two Brothers Serving in the War for the Union … (1871); Letters Written During the Civil War (1898); Memoir and Correspondence of Charles Steedman (1912); Memoirs of the Civil War Between the Northern and Southern Sections (1912); Mosby’s Rangers (1896); My Cave Life in Vicksburg (1864); Nurse and Spy in the Union Army (1865); The Passing of the Armies(1915); Private and Official Correspondence of Benjamin F. Butler (1917); The Siege of Vicksburg (1915); War Letters of Capt. Joseph E. Fiske (1900); A Daily Journal of the 192d Reg’t Penn’a Volunteers (1864).
