Hope you enjoy...
The Battle of Bath Manor Hill
This is Skates. He is part of the Union Reserve Corp, comprising men too old or wounded to fight but who desire to contribute through light duty. Though too old to fight in the line, as a veteran of the 1812 war he amiably slips into the military life. Here in this peaceful valley, he tends camp for the 18th Missouri and offers advice and cheer to the fresh recruits. The unit he has just joined is located in Cumberland, Pennsylvania. With the south seemingly on the run, he does not expect to see action again. This makes him happy, as he was just one of the many shocked witnesses at Bull Run. He is now part of a small detachment of forces, protecting an important railroad. Ordinarily marching up and down the length of the track, posting sentries, this last week two thirds of their force have assembled at Bath Manor, located in a leafy valley in Pennsylvania. They have a day of drill planned ahead of them, and the induction of new recruits. For them, both this and their duty upon the railroad is akin to a rest, the hard battles of 1862 behind them. They have little expectation of danger...
Early morning and four miles to the East, Second Lieutenant Vinson - pictured here - marches with his men of F Company, 'The Highlanders', of the 16th Tennesse Regiment. They move North on a spoiling campaign, seeking to cause panic, forcing the Union army to dilute its strength in defending large stretches of land. They have been marching for days, and though used to a gruelling pace of upwards of twenty miles a day, the men are by no means fresh. Vison's commanding officer, First Lieutenant Timothy Chance, hopes to outmarch any chance of a concerted Union response.
At breakfast time a local woman by the name of Mary Doble approaches camp. By dawn's early light she'd emerged from her house to fetch water from the well. There, from her garden on a hillside clearing, she saw the advancing army of the Tennesse. Mounting a horse she quickly rode down the valley to warn the Union forces, though not before making herself, 'presentable'. Now she stands upon the mustering field at the Union encampment amidst the assembling soldiers, seeking the Captain. Having delivered her news to a sergeant, she fretts about her property.
"Beyond that hill sits my house and my farm. The help have run away. They will be butchering my animals to eat and have probably broken in and are already drinking the sherry. What can that souse Hooker be thinking, allowing them to roam thus in Pennsylvania, of all places?"
This is Major Russell Francis, playing with a local child who is visiting camp with her family. Within moments this Union commander, with little experience of independent command in battle, will discover that he must fight an unsupported battle against a larger, attacking force. To date, the Union have lost the great majority of battles they have undertaken. To put it simply, at this point in the war the Union soldier expects to be beaten, the Southern expects to win.
The Southern army pauses at midday to rest. A mounted scout ahead has reported the presence of Union troops two miles ahead with a battery atop a small hill, overlooking the road. Upon the hill sits Bath Manor, the entire position appears unfortified according to the scout's report. Timothy Chance is unhappy with the prospect of an immediate attack. His troops need to rest a little longer. He would prefer to remain free to continue his trail of distraction born of destruction and bring a sample of the havoc the North wishes to unleash upon Virginia. But to circle the Union force and avoid contact is risky, with the Southern force relying on foraging and pillage to supply itself during the march it finds itself frequently scattered and vulnerable to attack. The officers of the 16th gather around the flag and decide to launch an assault upon the hill, trusting to surprise. But their troops are weary.
The bugle is blown and the troops begin to fall in, emerging from the nearby fields and their crowded quarters in the manor stables - the horses having already been drafted and sent away to haul cannon for Hooker. This is Emma Bull, she joined the Union ranks this summer as a drummer girl, a parade ground mascot. Now her father tells her that though he hoped to have left her behind on the march to Richmond, now the war has come to their home she must fulfil her duty and accompany them on the battlefield. Emma Bull views this development with a degree of reservation.
The men begin to assemble. The new recruits are excited, badgering the veterans with questions, needlessly running back and forth. The old hands carry a pained look in their eyes, fearful of the threat that has tramped down from the hills upon their rural idyll. Michael Skate had hoped to avoid further 'entanglements', though he will be out of the fight, he does not relish the hard flight and the possibility of capture should his side lose. He has seen the Union break and run too many times.
Out on the lawn the young girl watches, entranced by all the bustling activity, before being hurried away by her mother to the safety of the cellar. She joins Mary Doble down there, amidst the dust covered bottles of wine and the cobwebs. Doble is already at work with a broom, muttering under her breath.
Major Russell Francis confers with his officers. He elects to place one company down at the foot of the slope hidden within the edge of a neighbouring wood, and half his force in plain sight at the top of the hill. He hopes that the Confederate force will advance straight up the hill to deal with the artillery and consequently take fire in the flank, as well as from his cannon and defensive line.
Finally the 18th are assembled. Francis is not entirely happy. His troops were tardy in forming their lines, he prays they will be quicker in battle. They are a smartly turned out set of men. The neatly painted drum. The gleaming brass of the sword's pommell. It is a marked contrast to the raggedy clothes and unkempt looks of the majority of Confederate soldiers. But they can fight, and fight hard. Can he say the same of his men?
It is half past one and the 16th Tennessee are ready to move. They form up into lines for a quick address, prayer and an oath to the Confederacy. First Lieutenant Timothy Chance leads the march. Just as nearly all of his men, he has experienced several battles already. He has supreme confidence in his boys and in his Captain. In just two hours, some of their number will be dead or dying under the hot September sun.
.....
In the centre of a vast lawn at the foot of the manor, their officers arrayed around them, two Union officers were hunched over a table.
Lieutenant Jameson smoothed a map upon the table. "I've been getting more reports, Major. Sounds like they've been marching all day. They've brushed aside militia units further down valley, here and here. I'm afraid by all accounts they outnumber us, six companies to our three."
"The question is, whether this is a feint or a major invasion?" mulled Major Francis. "Either way I doubt we're going to get better ground than we have right here. The valley narrows, they'll have to come up here. That gives us the defensive position for once, that's worth a lot. Place your two companies down in the woods, on the right flank facing across the field. We'll ambush them and hit them with enfilade fire as they come up to take the hill. They'll react quick, so when they do use your judgement on whether to pull back up the hill under a screening force or to keep hammering them. Our two cannon will provide as much fire as possible. I'll hold third company back and use them when they push hard."
"Yes, sir." Jameson saluted and then turned to look apprehensively at the distant trees.
"They'll come straight at us, I'm sure. There won't be many of us in sight, they'll be over-confident, I think. They'll want to strike before we've got our pants on"
"Sir."
"If you've got any letters to exchange...?" added Francis, diffidently.
"Oh... yes, sir." Jameson patted his pockets and then pulled out a neat envelope. He passed it Francis, and received one in return. "Much obliged, sir."
The bugle blown, orders given. Two companies of men, stood behind the manor house filed into a long snaking column of men and marched off to fight. The cook saw their heads bob as they passed the kitchen window. Some wore caps. Some wore bearskin hats. Some had hats with feathers in. They were men from all over. Woodsmen trained to hunt. City folk who had never seen the wilderness before the war came. Lawyers and waiters and grocers and craftsmen and idlers thrown together, even the odd German mercenary. They all passed under the bovine gaze of a squat mass of uncomprehending flesh, one that ascribed no particular reason for the sudden urgency. One who only hoped that one hundred and fifty stomachs to cook for might be off someplace else.
Across the valley the Confederate men doggedly pushed their way through woodland, anxious to roll over the only remaining Union force in the county and occupy the manor. Every soldier dreamt of a night under a roof, be it bedroom, stable or shed. To enjoy the unbroken sleep of the victor, no longer having to worry about the constant hurry, hurry, hurry of trying to outpace the news of their coming. Gradually the trees began to thin and a long fence hove into view. The men scrambled over it and onto a lane cut low, swarmed across it and up the embankment the other side. Topping the crest, they saw the manor in the distance reflectant with the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. With practised ease the first three companies of Confederate troops lined up. Between the Union lines and the lane, a long gentle grassy slope rolled up a hundred yards, until suddenly it began to ramp up into a steeper gradient. The field was lined by woodland on both flanks.
Chase pulled out his telescope. Scanned the Union line. He saw two cannons being wheeled to face him. He saw a man with an officers hat urgently conferring with runners. He saw a thin line of men take position at the top of the slope. He slapped the telescope into the hand of his second and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "The Union men seem to have had some warning of our arrival. I cannot see how many they are."
Lieutenant Vinson at his side spoke up. "Want me to work some men forward sir through yonder trees, get you a report?"
"No, no. The more we delay the more time they have to prepare. They are not completely ready I think, and their numbers are not too many. We must move precipitately. Prepare to move the main body up the hill."
"Yes sir."
"And look to the right, there is an opportunity there. It is too difficult for our main force to achieve with any speed, but send a force of skirmishers up there. If we meet stiff resistence, they can fire upon the cannon from the flank. Have them move up in the traditional cibrushsille manner."
Vison saluted and relayed his orders to the sergeant, who immediately set bugles sounding and men marching.
"He's a game one," said Francis, grimacing, "but he's about to get an education. Tell the cannon they may commence firing." The moment the words left his mouth a gesture was waved by his aide, and the crew of the artillery, eager grins on their faces, immediately set about their work. The first shot pitched a little short, the second whistled over the heads of the advancing line of grey. The third pitched through the enemy, smashing four men into bloody ruin.
Vinson gritted his teeth, running with his men. Suddenly the sharp crackle of rifle fire sounded from the left. Vinson, out in front waving his sword, turned to see a dozen men on the left flank pitch forward and tumble to the ground. "Oh God and Jesus," he muttered and cried out, "First company! Wheel left, secure those woods!" He didn't have to shout twice, with the discipline and clarity of hardened veterans two hundred men immediately whirled around and advanced upon the one hundred union men in the trees. Rifle fire blazed. Another dozen Confederate men fell to the ground. The remainder raised their rifles and returned fire. Shot whipped through the trees. One Union man took a hit in the shoulder, whirled and slammed into a tree trunk. Another lost three fingers of his right hand, held up his bloodied appendage and in shock and pain recalled the sight of sausages split on the fire.
The cannon reloaded, fired again. Behind them the drummer girl watched aghast, coughing on the smoke as screams and hollering echoed up from the field below. A ball, fired on a low charge, skipped down the hillside and rolled across the field, deceptively slowly. Confederates scrambled out of the way, but one young man, not alive to the danger, put his foot out and had it promptly taken off.
The men in the woods kept up their fire, but now they began to flinch and back up before the determined fire of the Confederate line. Though the rebels still pitched forward into the grass, clutching faces, bellies and balls, they still stood firm. Meanwhile the other two Confederate companies continued their advance up the slope. Jameson stumbled about in the thickening smoke, exhorting his men to keep up their fire, but now he saw more and more bodies on the ground. He counted at least a dozen before he figured it was time to pull back up the hill. "Sergeant!" he cried.
A thin voice came back to him through the drifting smoke. "The sergeant don't answer sir, he's down an' he don't answer!"
Jamesone edged his way to the voice. It was a young private, bent over a prone body. "Kern, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"How are you doing man?"
"Warm work, sir. Very warm work."
"Good lad, good lad. You've just made acting sergeant Kern. Take everyone to the left of you up that hill. Move fast, but don't run. Keep inside the tree line. Now we see if all that drill has paid off..."
Kern nodded and grabbed two men beside him, they spread the word and to Jameson's satisfaction began to pull back up the men back up the hill, partly obscured by the smoke and covered by a still not inconsiderable fire from the rearguard. Kern pushed through the thick trees, amazed at the difference thirty yards made from the whistling whirr and snap and yell of the battleline. His senses brutalised by the assault of sound, he didn't even think on his remarkable luck.
Meanwhile, across the field the Confederate skirmishers reached their objective. They infiltrated the side of the wood facing the cannon and inched forward to the treeline. Spying the command staff and artilerymen, they opened fire. Shot whipped into the body of men surrounding the major, a young aide fell with a bullet between the eyes, a startled expression upon his face. One old man, dragging a cartridge towards the cannon, gave a low moan and dropped his load, ran his hands over his spine and tumbled into the grass.
"Enemy left!" roared Francis, "Reserves!" And at this from behind a low wall the bulk of the third company sprang up and poured its fire into the skirmishers with a deadly accuracy that surprised them, slaughtering the majority. Whether it was luck or skill, Francis could not tell, but he uttered a silent thank you unto God.
But by now the two Confederate companies were nearing the top of the hill, and they began to pour fire upon the battered Union line. A long line of grey spat curses and flame at the ragged line of blue, for behind them on the slope and field lay a full third of their number. Under this fusilade the Union men began to edge backwards, instinctively crowding away from the whizz and whistle and whine of the incoming small arms fire. Slowly, their whittled ranks were pressed into a horseshoe as the Confederate advantage in numbers caused them to seek to spread around the sides. A cessation of firing from the bottom of the slope hinted darkly to Francis that the Confederates had cleared the lower woods, and could now press their full weight upon his line. "Well, it was one of the few good goddamn plans of this war, at least," he whispered to himself and pulled out his revolver.
The Confederates, too tired by now to effect a charge, fired into the grey cloud of cordite enveloping the hillside. Here and there in the line men still pitched forward, slumped and kneeled as shot took them. Vinson took a shot in each shoulder, jerked like a ragdoll and tumbled over a dead comrade. But despite its effect the fire from the Union line - however bloody minded - was slackening. All seemed lost for the small federal force.
It was then, when Francis had fallen to his knees by a ricochet striking him upon the shin bone, scrabbling in the dirt and cursing the rebels for a parcel of grass-combing buggers, that Kern and his small, but precious, force of fifty men appeared once again on the Confederate flank and poured a deadly fire brisk and hot. It was a fire that shook the Confederate left, which began to back up, uncertain at this new threat. And as the Confederate line stumbled back, two surviving artillery men, limping and crawling, succeeded in loading grape shot into one of the cannon. They rolled away from the wheels and pulled the lanyard. With an almighty crack the cannon fired its deadly charge into the ranks of the Confederacy, dozens of musket balls tearing a bloody swathe through the men. And still yet the fire poured in from their flank, as Kern fired again and again until the barrell blistered his fingers.
And then the fatal mistaken cry...
"The Federals have reinforcements!"
And the cry was taken up by the Confederate soldiers, and to the astonishment of the Union they broke and ran, running and tripping and tumbling down the hillslope. Kern's unit charged forward and on the point of the bayonet and by the club of the rifle butt captured a few too stunned, tired or obstinate to run - but a full hundred of the rebels made the safety of the woods.
For the eighty seven survivors of the Union line, victory seemed heaven sent. Yet there was no question of giving chase, they were too exhausted. They wearily rounded up the Confederate prisoners and marched them to the stables. At least they would have a roof over their heads. The company Doctor and two nurses emerged from the house, and looked aghast at the field of ruin before them. The words of Wellington ran through Francis's ringing head, "Nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won."
At the top of the field an old man appeared, leaning on a stick. Skates stumbled down the embankment to the young drummer girl, puking into her torn drum, and gently ushered her back up to the house.
