Return to McDowell, 2007
An After-Action Report by M. A. Schaffner
2nd Lieut. & A.D.C., Milroy’s Brigade, Mountain Department

Friday

Milroy’s Brigade, Mountain Department, went live around noon on Friday, May 4, for the 145th anniversary of the Battle of McDowell.  Quartermaster personnel and General Milroy (Bill Watson) had arrived that morning at the George Washington Hull House.  AAG Josh Mordin, ADC’s Mark Maranto and myself, and the Provost, 1st Lieut. Josiah Heard (Rich Hill) arrived a little later.  

AQM/Assistant Commissary of Subsistence Ron Myzie, assisted by QM Sergt. Kevin Kelley and privates Mark Trail and Neil Randolph, set up in a couple of A tents and a large fly.  The latter covered the table, scales, knives, boxes, and other materiel necessary to issue rations.  In addition to Federal units, this would include about a dozen civilians and the Confederate commissary.  By noon, Myzie, et al were already busy preparing the initial rations, consisting of a half loaf of bread and half pound of bacon for each participant to simulate the remains of a previous marching ration.  Saturday’s formal ration issue had beef, more bread, carrots (really big carrots), onions, and potatoes.

The AAG and ADCs set up two tables and desks, the latter stuffed with forms and papers, and went to work.  Josh decided which orders to issue, I wrote them, and Mark delivered them until he was sent to registration to inspect arriving Federals.   We issued four General Orders, which covered hours of service, required reports, rosters of officers, and regimental Officers of the Day.  Each required recording in the General Order book, and preparation of two or three copies (the first went to both regiments and the artillery, the others just to the regiments).  I made one round of deliveries myself, also delivering the stationery issue for each unit (company forms for the attached battery, consolidated morning reports and ration returns for each regiment, as well as sundry items, including a length of red “office tape”).  Because the ADCs were commissioned officers, we needed no receipts for orders, though we brought blanks.

HQ also sited the camps for the 82nd OVI, which were at three fairly widely separated locations in town, including one – Company A – next to HQ.  We also met key towns people and issued our first passes, using a two-part process requiring an oath of allegiance and then the actual pass form.  Later in the afternoon AAG Mordin issued Special Orders:  to the 3rd Virginia (US) to establish pickets outside of town (their camp was just across the Cowpasture River – which feeds into the larger Bullpasture – from us, between HQ and the “enemy”); and to the 82nd OVI for a police guard.  These required recording in the Special Order Book, but only one copy.

Soon enough it was 9 p.m. and time for a meeting at the Presbyterian Church.  There officers and NCOs from both sides gathered to hear Bob Denton report that all the land of the original battlefield of McDowell was now saved from development, at least in part because of our efforts.  Apart from that, the meeting gave us time to settle some administrative details within Federal command, discuss others with the Confederates, go over the plan for Saturday’s “spectator” battle, and socialize a little.  

When I finally turned in back at HQ it was only for a moment, as a group of civilians came to headquarters to demand compensation for the theft of a cow.  Josh wasn’t there, so I emerged from my tent attired in sleeping cap, nightshirt and boots, and listened to the complaint.  A certain Drew Gruber was named as suspect, but clearly this was not the hour for a hearing.  I prevailed on AQM/ACS Myzie to give the ladies a day’s ration out of charity but refused them any more – I told them to come back in the morning and noted that they could hardly expect us to issue several days worth of food to every woman with a vague story of depredation and an illusory cow.  This stilled if not satisfied them.  They went away, and I went to sleep.  The night passed uneventfully but for a little patter of rain toward dawn and the intermittent glare of the Hull House’s security lights, which came on faithfully every time anyone left their tents for the sinks.

Saturday

We rose early Saturday, a little before reveille sounded at 6:00 a.m. in the camp of the 3rd Virginia (US).  After performing my customary ablutions and getting breakfast, I made journal entries then began the consolidated morning report.  This would not only tell us who had showed up, but would allow AQM/ACS Myzie and staff to plan for the correct number of rations.  Unfortunately, despite the stationery issue, I found myself trying to consolidate two different consolidated report forms on a third, and making errors of my own to boot.   Lessons learned:  1) make sure in advance that we all use the same forms; 2) develop a short SOP for morning reports and ration returns.  This stuff is not self-explanatory and there’s a reason adjutants got extra pay.

With all that, the initial returns showed that something more than 90% of the Federal registrants had actually showed up:

Consolidated return for Milroy’s Brigade, May 5:

Post Officers Enlisted Aggregate
Staff         6* 4         10
82nd OVI 12 96        108
3rd VA (US) 10 54         64
1st PA Art’y 0 10         10
Brigade 28 164        192

(*Note:  the Provost would fall in with a rifle for the Saturday battle)

In addition to this work, I began early and often to deal with sundry other clerical matters.  We found a volunteer to help AQM/ACS Myzie cut up the meat ration, and so wrote up a Special Order detailing Gary Schwartz (from now on to be known as “The Butcher of the Shenandoah”) to said duties.  Oaths of allegiance and passes were completed for several local scouts and a variety of civilians.  Two gentlemen of the press – Joseph Borden of the Philadelphia Inquirer and Alfred Waud, esq. of Harpers – arrived with a pass from General Fremont and they, with a couple of local notables, initially  received passes without the customary oath, though later this was changed.  

After awhile I realized that most of the civilians appearing before me were attractive women, and it became apparent that Provost Heard was especially concerned that this category of the citizenry be closely examined for their loyalty.  Many were reluctant to swear the oath and needed reminding, sotto voce, that southern civilians would often swear oaths just to be able to go about their business.  Indeed, it occurred to me that the point of the exercise historically must have been less to ensure loyalty than to have something on file to dissuade the oath-taker from doing anything overtly disloyal.

Only one person refused to swear the oath.  On examination she revealed that she was German, specifically Bavarian.  “Aha!” exclaimed the ADC and Provost together – “Do you have a letter from your consul?”  “No.”  “Well, then – who’s the King?  Ludwig?”  “No, Max Joseph!”  “Correct!  Very well then.”  She got her pass, on which I dutifully noted her as a citizen of Bavaria and a loyal subject of the King, Max Joseph.

About citizens generally, another lesson learned:  always have some spare pens.  For some reason, the folks signing the forms seemed largely unfamiliar with the process of signing their names and were pure hell on nibs.

One Confederate private had, for whatever reason, attempted to capture one of our guards and instead found himself a prisoner.  Provost Heard being unable to extract any useful information from him, the fellow was remanded to me.  Although the formal exchange cartel between the US and CS would not be signed till later in 1862, I had taken care to bring a number of parole forms.  I filled one out in duplicate, had him sign both copies, and sent him on his way with one, but sans ordnance.

The ladies of the previous evening never did return, but this did not deter the indefatigable Provost Heard from tracking down the miscreant Gruber, a corporal, cutting off his stripes, and having him stand on a box holding a shovel for what seemed an awfully long time.  I don’t believe Gruber ever actually was found guilty of anything except exciting the suspicions of Josiah Heard.  But that, apparently, was enough.

The greatest excitement of this period occurred when two young locals were brought to Federal HQ and subjected to examination.  They had a large skillet of stew and a letter from the Adjutant of the 3rd Virginia asking that we give them a pass.  I was willing enough, but under the least questioning they began to appear unusually wary and excited.  Our scouts showed up, making them even more excited, whereupon the loyal locals produced handcuffs and our suspects bolted.

One slipped and fell as soon as his heel plates hit the street.  The other got about six paces before Sergeant of the Guard Pagano grabbed and held him, though unable to get him down.  I was the next one on him, followed by Mark and then Josh, so the poor fellow ended up buried under the Sergeant of the Guard, the AAG, and two ADCs, while the rest of the guard looked on idly, undoubtedly amused.  Fact was, after a morning of filling out forms I was more than ready to jump on somebody.  Both young fellows were turned over to the “local authorities” (see:  Denton, Bob) and ended up in stocks.

After this, things slowed down a bit.  With much effort, the QM staff completed the ration issue and began to pack up critical stores for an anticipated move out of town.   Additional excitement came in the form of a "Special Requisition" for jackets in lieu of frock coats.  I later found that this was prepared by Cody Harding, who deserves special notice for this small but welcome work of the scrivener’s art.  

About this time, I completed a “Safeguard” for the G. W. Hull house, made out to Mrs. Hull, and delivered it to the lady responsible for the site.  I then requested two enlisted men from Company A to remain with me to maintain the safeguard, later when the rest of the command went into action.  This had been discussed before the event, and the plan shared with the Confederate command.  We knew that after the Saturday battle the entire Federal force would bivouac in the former CS camp on the Bullpasture, leaving behind our tentage and excess materiel, including the desks, tables, lamps, etc. at HQ.  Rather than leave these unattended I volunteered to remain behind as a “safeguard” for the Hull house, maintaining that guard till relieved by a following command or, if necessary, the enemy, per para. 791 of the Regulations.   The idea was that the CS command would show up, write me out a pass, send me and my detail peaceably on my way, and make sure none of our stuff got messed with.  If everything worked out, that is.

About 3:30 in the afternoon the first shots rang out from the outposts of the 3rd Virginia (US), followed shortly by a boom from the 6-pounder of the 1st PA light artillery.  Myzie and crew loaded their essential stores onto a horse-drawn wagon, the guard formed up and marched back to their commands, and the whole 82nd OVI gathered to march to the relief of the 3rd Virginia.  The prisoners were released, and General Watson went forth to take command of his troops, accompanied by AAG Mordin (who took from our desks the Order books, maps, and files of morning reports and oaths), ADC Maranto, and standard bearer Doug Dobbs.

I called my safeguards – Pvt. Peter Kappas and Corpl. John Tartara of Company A – to the Hull House and we all watched the battle develop on the other side of the Cowpasture.  From our standpoint it was actually pretty exciting to listen to and watch the battle develop.  We could hear the artillery engage before it was over-run, then see the two Federal battalions separately engage the Confederates as they crested the steep wooded slope facing us.  There was quite a bit of maneuvering as the regiments supported and relieved each other, and several attacks were repulsed before our forces finally gave way, though not before a final energetic countercharge.  I stood on the stocks for a better view through my field glasses, then passed the glasses to the others.  At one point, I stepped up on the stocks again, zoomed in, then lowered my glasses just in time to see a spectator a couple of yards in front of me take my picture.

It was an odd feature of the entire weekend that, although we were in the middle of the modern town of McDowell, I was sufficiently busy with my 19th century duties that the 21st century intrusions just didn’t register.  I mean, there were a lot of people in funny clothes and a lot of shiny vehicles without horses passing by, and odd lights all around at night, but I hardly noticed them among the various demands of my job.

At length our army gave way.  Myzie & co. got on the wagon and left; I stayed with Tartara and Kappas.  Hastily explaining the scenario, I asked permission of the Hull House staff to position my men on the front steps, which permission was readily granted.   I stayed there with them, watching the streets for the approaching Confederates.  As their first company crossed the bridge into town it broke into two platoons, so I walked to the street to see which would arrive first.  As I stared at the approaching troops and nervously wondered why I didn’t see anyone from Pridgeon’s staff, a spectator stopped directly in front of me and asked, “Do you know where we can get tickets for the wagon ride?”

“Sorry, sir, no.  If you’ll excuse me, we’re still playing here.”

The first platoon to arrive marched by the left flank across the parking lot of a funeral home opposite us.  I called the detail to attention, then stepped up to greet the enemy.   Seeing me, the young officer at their head ordered, “Company into line!”

Dear me, I thought, and pulled out a white handkerchief.  The officer ordered his men to halt just as the second platoon approached on my left with bayonets fixed.  Noting his youth, I asked if he had a superior present.  “I command these men,” he said.

I explained that my detail formed a safeguard left to protect the Hull House and adjacent private property until relieved.  I delivered a letter from Brigadier-General Milroy to that effect.  He quickly glanced over it, commended our troops for having fought well, and assured me of his protection.  I drew my sword and saluted him, about-faced to the Hull House, and said, “Detail!  We are relieved.”

And I was indeed relieved to find myself facing Aaron Bradford.  Not only does he have a superb impression of a Confederate officer, but he had done equally well in 2005 as a local bushwhacker tried by a military commission run by Rob “hanging judge” Carter.  I know – I was there, and I’m very glad Aaron didn’t have me shot to rags when his chance came.  I knew a few others among the Confederate troops who occupied our headquarters and found myself well treated by all, with but one exception, that being a vast, Falstaffian figure named “Vaughn”, who seemed to have a special and particular grievance against all “yankees.”  He missed no opportunity to annoy us, from resting his Enfield on the toe of my boot, to simply moving very close and growling.  At any moment, it seemed, he might just topple over and crush all three of us.  He begged to be allowed to escort us back to our lines.  “I’ll take care of them,” he said, “I promise.”  “Don’t you have something to do?” his officer replied.  “I already started the fire.”  “Well put it out then.”

At the now-Confederate HQ I noticed a change in the townspeople.  Almost reticent while we were there, several cheered when the Confederates marched in.  A woman who had offered to sell us some turkey eggs brought a small bucket for the Johnnies and left it for them, gratis.  Another woman mentioned some pork and beans that had been offered for sale to spectators – “You boys just help yourself to what’s left.”  It must be hard to keep your head within your slouch hat with that kind of treatment.  I suppose it’s a tribute to our comrades in gray that so many do.

After waiting a goodly while for the CS command to show up, Lieutenant Bradford himself received permission to escort us back.  Kappas, Tartara, and I donned our packs and, when the men slung their arms with the barrels to the ground, I reminded them that we were not surrendered, but remained on duty.  We marched out in step until we passed General Pridgeon and his AAG, Paul Lockhart, about a block away.  We stopped briefly and I assured them we were OK with an escort rather than pass.  At that we continued at the rout step, Lt. Bradford and I maintaining a polite conversation in first person all the way to the bridge over the Bullpasture, with a momentary break for me to shout a greeting to Bill Rodman.  At the bridge we again saluted, and then my little detail and I continued on to Watson’s new HQ, where I dismissed them with my thanks for a duty faithfully performed.

HQ had taken over a couple of flies left by the CS command, but this was about the only canvas around.  All our other troops had to rig up shebangs or just accept the rain that began, lightly at first, just after five.  I grabbed some soap and a towel and headed off to a foot bridge over the Bullpasure built by Confederate engineers.  There I met Eric Tipton, an organizer of Rich Mountain last year, and had a good long talk.  We may have disagreed about some things, but it does not mar a friendship that goes back several years and several outstanding events, including that one in West Virginia.

I got back to HQ just in time to see the Grand Guard march out to take up a position several hundred yards away on the road up Sitlington Hill.  The rain got a little heavier as they went, and would keep up pretty much till midnight, when it got almost balmy for about a half hour before a cold front moved in.  It was a tough night to be out without tents or even shelter halves, but there was no point in pulling the guard back when conditions were no better in the rest of the bivouac.  

Before the event there was much of the usual online jabbering about whether it deserved classification as “authentic.”   For the men on grand guard, at least, it did.

Sunday

We rose at 5:30 and formed at 6:00.  Kevin, Neil, and Mark took muskets and fell in with the 82nd OVI.  Doug took up the flag.  I tied my cravat in the pre-dawn light and fell back in with the rest of HQ, which was now joined by young Jack Dickson, bugler of the 3rd Virginia (US).

On the map the march from our bivouac to the top of Sitlington Hill is something less than a mile and a half.  But on the ground it twists and turns and ascends some six or seven hundred feet.  For considerable stretches companies marching by the flank must undouble files, and half the time the slope is as steep as the average staircase, but rocky and slick.  It is, on the whole, quite a walk after a sleepless night.

Surprisingly, the early start deterred neither of our adjutants from their morning returns, which they must have put together before dawn, since it was barely light when the brigade formed up.  I was more than a little impressed.  The idea that someone could do this by candlelight in the dripping woods, accounting for the folks on detached service with the advance guard is, quite simply, freaking awesome.

Consolidated return for Milroy’s Brigade, May 6:

Post Officers Enlisted Aggregate
Staff        6 4        10
82nd OVI 8 70        78
3rd VA (US) 11 56        67      
1st PA Art’y 0 10        10
Brigade 25 140       165*

*Actual aggregate was probably 178.  The initial 82nd OVI count – prepared in the dark based on incomplete submissions – was later found to omit thirteen men on detached service.  No MR was received from the artillery, on station across the Bullpasture, but I assume their numbers remained unchanged.   Of the total for Staff, one officer and three enlisted fell in, as noted, with rifles for the battle.  Total attrition, despite the rain and the accommodations, came to less that 10%.

Back on the march, young Jack sounded Halt and Forward as directed, keeping the column in good order.  As the advance guard encountered the enemy he returned to the 3rd Virginia (US), but would soon be recalled to brigade.  

I realized during the ensuing fight that I would be unable to reconstruct it later.  I remember the 3rd Virginia going in initially, with the 82nd OVI deploying on its flank, then a series of moves where we rushed up the steep, brush-covered slope, back down, half-way up again, and several times brought one or the other regiment marching by the flank across the rear of its sister regiment, deploying under its cover, then covering it for a similar move in turn.  I remember relaying orders by voice and running them in person, going in with a charge, and falling back.  Both regiments put in what now seems astonishing performances, firing battalion volleys on a 45 degree slope, or putting on firing clinics by company.  I know the ranges could not have been very great, but most of the time the Confederates were largely masked by the smoke of both sides’ musketry.  

I recall Watson calmly managing this ballet, and various fellows I knew immersed in the fighting – Drew Gruber firing prone near the crest of the hill, John Buker blazing away from the left of his company, Spence Waldron unloosing rounds from his ’55 Springfield, and Chris Anders frowning as he was ordered to pull back, just shy of the foothold the historic 3rd Virginia gained atop the hill.  I recall Josh shouting the General’s orders, Mark running them across rough rocky ground, and, above all, Dickson’s bugle carrying the orders that could not be delivered any other way.

After a last push we fell back to the road, watered up, reloaded, and hastily raised breastworks.  The Confederates, portraying the 12th Georgia, made a counterattack that was roundly repulsed, and then it was over.  As we marched up to the top of Sitlington Hill, Jack asked the General if he could play a march, and then did, giving a much-needed lift to the rest of us.  The boy has lungs.

Both sides massed on the hill top for a look around at the countryside, a few photos, and a final good-bye.  There were the usual good-natured exchanges between north and south.  My favorite was the response given by a soldier of the 3rd Virginia (US) after a rebel cried, “Go home, yank!”

“We’re from Virginia – you go home, Georgia cracker!”

We marched back down the hill, picking up some stragglers and sending for help for one fellow who had collapsed after an asthma attack.  This last crisis was especially serious as the walkie-talkies used for coordinating the battle didn’t work over any distance in the hills.  Luckily, Frank Stevanus and his horse were there to get help from the local volunteer fire department.  Never say the days of the mounted arm are over.

Back at camp, Josh, Mark, and I packed up our knapsacks, then marched off to parking using the footbridge over the Bullpasture.  From there we returned to Head Quarters.  Despite all the arrangements, I found that one Johnny had in fact broken into my desk, taken my own pen and ink, and written a taunting, insulting screed on the back of a Safeguard form.  Initially, I was quite miffed at the fellow who signed himself “Tar Heel”, but he apparently put everything back where he found it (finding nothing of military value, anyway, thanks to the AAG) and, withal, wrote with a decent hand. And really, that counts for a lot.

And now, at the end of another long after-action report written essentially by me, for me, and about me, it seems not amiss to note those responsible for the great time I had.   Josh got me this gig, and did a great job attending to the necessary staff work while I messed around with paper.  AQM/ACS Myzie oversaw period ration issues to some 500 participants, ably assisted by Kevin, Mark, Neil, and Doug.   Andrew Dangel of the 3rd Virginia and Kim Perlotto of the 82nd OVI continue to break new ground in exploring the duties and difficulties faced by historical adjutants, as does Paul Lockhart and friends I have not yet met in the ranks of the Confederacy.  Then there were the prime movers of the event, from Bob Denton, to Dave Pridgeon, to our own Bill Watson, and those who handled the civilian side, as well as the regimental commanders, Scott Buffington and Chris Anders, as well as the men of the 1st Pennsylvania Light Artillery.  

They were all delightful to work with and remain living, breathing proof that you can have authenticity without attitude, and a love for history more often leads to respect for your fellow searchers than otherwise.  Being around them was more than a learning experience.  It was fun, too, and I look forward to seeing everyone at “Down the Valley” and “September Storm.”

Except maybe for that Vaughn fellow.  Unless, of course, Josiah Heard is there to keep an eye on him.

Enjoyable AAR.. could I possibly share a portion of that AAR on our unit's webpage?

Lt Bradford and 2nd Sgt Vaughan are in the company with me.  I was the 1st Sgt for that company and did my best to keep him from bothering you and your men, but when he gets his dander up.. well it isn't so easy.

We weren't sure what to expect at the Hull House, we were given the order to go an secure it, and to be safe we approached from 2 sides.  I had the 2nd Platoon and came up on your left.  I held my platoon in check when I saw you wave the white flag.

Quote :

At one point, I stepped up on the stocks again, zoomed in, then lowered my glasses just in time to see a spectator a couple of yards in front of me take my picture.

I have to agree with you on this.  At points being caught up in running details and getting things done, you don't always notice people standing there taking a photo or watching you.  

Sure you can use it.  I feel quite fortunate to have ended up secured by your company, Vaughn included.  I remember both of you gentlemen from Bedford Village.  Hope nobody tried to use the "sweet oil" for culinary purposes.  

Quote :

Michael Schaffner wrote : Sure you can use it.  I feel quite fortunate to have ended up secured by your company, Vaughn included.  I remember both of you gentlemen from Bedford Village.  Hope nobody tried to use the "sweet oil" for culinary purposes.

As far as I know, no one tried to use it for that purpose.  Once the evening rolled in there was a bottle of something resembling sweet tea in the camp. The soldier was arrested and placed in the stocks and his goods were "taken care of."