Memoirs of a Confederate Boy

Chapter 1
Blackburn’s Ford

It wasn’t the biggest story of my life—that would have to be the one about how I came to be a Mormon and have five wives—but it was my biggest adventure. You see, there’s not many people I know who was in the Civil War and lived to see Pearl Harbor. I mean really see it. I was there, up on the heights above where the ships went down. But that’s still another story. I’ll probably tell it later if I live long enough.
Everyone, that is my kids and grandkids, great-grandkids and more, want this told. The thing is that now, being this old, being ninety-six, you see things in a different way. You see things with hindsight. So, I guess my adventure won’t seem like a young boy’s, for I was about fourteen then, but more like that of a old, old man in a young boy’s body. I may come at it from an interesting point of view. I can’t remember everything I was thinking then, but I know what I should have been thinking.
Like on July 18, 1861, I should have thinking to go on home. My life would have been different for the decision. But then I wouldn’t have met General Longstreet or been in a battle or have become the pet of the Seventeenth Virginia Regiment. They called themselves “The Bloody Seventeenth” and I guess I added a little blood to that reputation. That day has given me something to talk about for about eighty years. So, I will start there, on July 18th, and the reader can excuse me if I jump back and forth as I remember things.
My sweetheart Susannah Smith wanted me to carry a letter to her brother Ran who was somewhere over near Manassas with the Seventeenth waiting for the Yankees to attack. Susannah was very dear to me and she knew it well, for she kept me on a short tether and had me always doing this and that. She was older than me, old enough to marry almost and had men courting her. But I banked on devotion and persistance. Since Ran had gone off to Manassas with his regiment, and that was a fine day that I hope to tell about, Susannah had me for her own special messenger service. She recognized I was useful, at least. When the war started, Reverend Hawley had closed down his military school over to Waterfall and as I was too young, at that time, to enlist, and since I owned a fine horse courtesy of my father, Susannah had me running around the countryside delivering mail and packages to her beloved older brother. Of course, I knew the whole family. We’d all gone to church at a little stone chapel called Antioch.
That church is still there and I have fond memories of it. All the fine people from Haymarket and miles around would gather there on Sunday. There’d be fifteen or twenty wagons and as many saddle horses tied up out front, and after church we kids would chase around and I would try and get Susannah down by Little Bull Run and see if I could be alone with her for a moment. But her brother, James Philip, my best friend would always sneak up and interupt my romance. He’d say, “Ben I’m gonna baptize you.” And, off she’d go running not wanting to get wet. Then James Philip and I would wrassle round on the bank trying to push the other into the pool where Reverend Hawley had presided over our immersions some years before. All of us boys heard the Voice of the Lord and felt his call at an early age. It seemed to relieve the pressure we somehow felt. And, everytime I stood by the Little Bull Run and saw the light flickering through those leafy trees I could smell the fresh scent of creek water and remember the Reverend’s strong arm grip my skinny neck as he lowered me under. The Little Bull Run filled my nose and he held me down, I thought, a bit too long. Then he pulled me up and I blew water out my nose and I saw James Philip and Susannah standing on the bank smiling. We were all Baptists then. And, I suppose were they still alive, they’d be Baptists now.
Those were the days. They seem like an old photograph in my mind except that they’re in color. Ran would be in the picture, standing with the men. He was a tall, handsome fellow, much admired and respected. He was a reader, they said. He was also a good farmer, a skillful carpenter and a graduate of Reverend Hawley’s School. As such, he was recuited as one of the original members of the Prince William Rifles who drilled in Haymarket once a week much to the pleasure of boys like me.
Susannah’s father James would be with the group by the church, too. He was an important and pious man. Always smiling and shaking hands and greeting everyone. He was, they said, the pillar of the church, and since his Hagley Farm was prosperous he was much admired by the congregation. His brother John was always at his side smiling his dumb smile. Uncle John was addled but he was likeable and would often give the kids a piece of candy or a penny, making him a great favorite. Course, if any one made fun of Uncle John, they had Ran to deal with and later James Philip. Both were fierce fighters and only moved forward in a tussle. This, of course, would be Ran’s undoing. And, on one of those sunny Sundays before the war, that I’m doing my best to describe, I’m sure he had no thought that his mortal remains would end up in the little cemetary between the road and the church.
I think about that run, we call them creeks out West, think about that water and how it flowed out of the Bull Run Mountains (we called them little bumps “mountains” back in Virginia), and joined up with the Catharpin, which was the creek that flowed by the Smith’s farm, and how that water became the Bull Run, and how Bull Run became the site of those two crucial battles. I wonder now if Ran ever thought about that water that flowed by his house and by his church and joined up later to make a place for history. Because on July 18th he found himself crouching behind the Bull Run at Blackburn’s Ford.
The men were pretty certain of action. And, when I rode up with the letter from Susannah and a small package of victuals I was well-greeted. Course, I knew most everyone in addition to Ran as most of those boys were from Haymarket. And, I’d been to see them several times since they had mustered in that April. I even helped bring Ran back to Hagley when he had the measles. He’d only been back from sick leave for a short time. There’d been a lot of fussin’ with him when he was home though his poor mama already had her hands full with a house full of kids and old addled Uncle John to boot. When Ran came home sick it just added to her burden. She was some woman, though. She was an expert weaver, who loomed beautiful cloths, carpets and rugs, blankets, and bedspreads fit for a king. She used lindsay woolsey for dresses. She knit woolen scarves, gloves and socks for all the members of the household. She produced clothing for her husband, for Uncle John, and for her sons. Mrs. Smith was a worker.
The Smiths didn’t have any slaves. They were yeoman farmers raising vegetables, dairying and taking hogs and hay to sales. The only family with slaves in Waterfall were the Foley’s who lived across the road from Hagley Farm on the old Mount Atlas plantation. The Foley’s were very rich but stuck to themselves. The war sort of destroyed them. All their black folk ran off and James Phillip married one of their daughters. (That’s how bad it got for the Foley’s! Ha!) You might as well know that by then James Phillip was a rich man. He got rich in the war—just like I did. But that’s a story I’ll save for later.
So, like I was saying, when I found our army camped on the Bull Run at Blackburn’s Ford and rode up on my chesnut mare, several of the boys shouted out including Doctor Hamilton who came over to ask about my family. Captain Hamilton had been our family doctor but he got caught up in the martial fever. He’s the one that started the Rifles and put up his own money to have them decked out in their gray uniforms and fancy caps. A lot of doctors wanted to fight. That was the South for you. If you were a gentleman, you had to prove it. Trouble was that no one could really imagine Doc Hamilton in fight and that very afternoon, as it turned out, he sort of proved them right.
Alex Hunter, my cousin, was there. Alex was a gentleman who insisted in fighting the entire war as a private soldier even though he was neighbor and well-known to Robert E. Lee himself. Alex was twenty-one, but he was no taller or heavier than me and he always joked that I should serve in his place. As soon as I gave Ran his letter and package, Alex grabbed me and took me down to see the cannons of the Washington Artillery which were about seventy-five yards back of the ford. The First Virginia Infantry was on the right of the ford while the Seventeenth was directly opposite where the dirt lane dipped down into Bull Run. Behind the Seventeenth, was the Eleventh Virginia. Alex was pretty excited. He was certain there was going to be a fight.
I loved to go to the camps and since the war started that’s pretty much what I had done. The world was in an uproar. School was hit and miss with Rev. Hawley gone and the Haymarket school looking for a new master. I had a good horse and was considered responsible and so I spent lots of time dashing from Haymarket to Centreville or Alexandria or Manassas carrying letters and personals. Of course, Susannah gave me my start in this career. I got so close to Washington one day that I could see Yankees on the bridge across the Potomac. Colonel Corse said if I spent any more time in camp he was going to have to muster me, put me on the roster and pay me. I was in my glory. Yes, indeed. I was almost a soldier. I learned the soldier’s life. Some of it smelled pretty bad, believe you me. Blackburn’s Ford was pretty fresh. The army hadn’t been there long enough to stink it up.

The boys had got up early after sleeping on the other side of the run and had splashed back across the creek and formed a line. I got there about lunch time and by then it was getting hot. The fellas was stripping off clothing and looking for shade. A bunch of them were clustered around a giant sycamore tree down along the run. Alex told me that when he first arrived he thought the terrain wasn’t a very good military position. Even though Alex was only a private, he liked to think like a colonel or a general. After the battle was over he changed his mind but you can read about it in his book if you want. It’s a pretty good one but goes on for about a thousand pages. I read most of it.
I had lunch with Company A even though they were mostly Alexandria boys. But I’d been with the Seventeenth enough times to know they had the best mess and were generous with it. They even had a couple of slaves to do the cooking. After lunch I walked over to where I knew Ran would be writing his letter to see if he was finished. I could see General Longstreet up the hill sitting on his horse with a bunch of officers around him. He looked really relaxed although he kept looking across Bull Run.
All of a sudden there were Yankees across the creek and they opened fire with a volley that scared me out of my wits. This was pretty much the first volley taken by the regiment in its history and I was there almost in the middle of it. At the same time I heard the roar of artillery and balls went crashing into the trees behind us. Branches busted and leaves were blowing all over the place. There was lots of confusion. I was lucky enough to find a little depression in the ground that I could duck into. Balls were whizzing by, humming like bees. There was lots of shouting and screaming even and soldiers running this way and that. In the excitement, some of the boys forgot their discipline and had to be reminded of it by Colonel Corse who was slapping with his sword at fellas who was trying to attack by running in the opposite direction of the enemy. I looked back to see if Lily, my mare, was safe where I had tied her in the trees and I could see her rearing up. So, I got up and ran hunched over like a crab to get her. I got her reins and decided to mount up. Looking back down toward the run I could see Company A and Company C charge across Bull Run and up the hill into the brush. I knew it was those two companies because I could clearly see Alex and Ran. Captain Marye of Company A was way out in front. Captain Hamilton was still trying to get across the creek.
After that it was hard to tell exactly what happened. Some of the boys was fighting and some wasn’t. The thing I remember most was a line of fellas behind that big sycamore trying to use it for cover. Trying to keep that tree between them and the enemy, they were swinging back and forth like a snake. Some officers had to ride down there and swat them and drive them back into line. I told Alex about this after things was over and he wrote it up in his big book and added some to it.
That’s the thing about a battle. I don’t know how anyone knows what to do or where to go or where to send someone next. Yet, old Longstreet sat there on his horse as calm as could be giving this order and that. All I could see was trees across the way and once in awhile a puff of smoke from a rifle. How these historians figure out what happened and write it down is a mystery to me. For all I remember is the smell of powder and the infernal racket of cannons and muskets. From what I heard the senior officers wrote up reports and all this was put together to figure out what happened. And, that’s how they came up with the history of the thing.
But after the shooting was all done and the companies had come back across the stream, the stories started to flow and it was hard to tell who to believe and who was flat out lying.
Alex came back with two Yankees walking behind him so I knew it was true he took those prisoners. I saw Ran come across the run with Lige Clowe and they were laughing. Of course, Lige told his story over and over again and it got better every time.
“I was on the skirmish line behind an old rail fence,” he told us as we sat and gulped water. A battle can build a tolerable thirst even when you’re not fighting.
“Capt. Hamilton ordered us to lie down and fire, but I saw a copperhead snake on the fence in front of me and wouldn’t lie down. Capt. Hamilton ordered me down again, saying, ‘Lie down, Clowe or you’ll be shot.’
So, I says, ‘I’d rather be shot by a damn Yankee than be bit by a copperhead.’ A little later, when we closed on the enemy, I had the laugh on the captain, who found it convenient and safer to get behind a tree that stood near the line. I got behind the captain who ordered me back to the ranks, I said, ‘I volunteered to follow my captain, and I am going to do it.”
I noticed, though, that the Haymarket boys was somewhat alarmed as they didn’t have any casualties. Of the three companies that went across they was the only ones that didn’t. And, I couldn’t miss the fact that Capt. Marye, when he rode by, gave Doctor Hamilton a look of pure disdain and was talking to Colonel Corse and gesturing to where the Prince William Rifles was sitting on the grass.
The fellas was excited for hours after their battle and the Yankees had run as we all had knew they would. A few of our boys were wounded and a couple were killed outright. But across the run they told of dead scattered everywhere and a couple of days later when Alex’s company was sent across as a burial party they discovered dead men all through the brush who were all swelled up, bloaty and turning black like a cow that’s been left out in the sun. Alex said then that being dead didn’t seem like such a fine thing. All agreed that it was better them than us.
The Yanks they killed were from Massachusetts and wore gray uniforms same as ours. Alex’s company came back with all kinds of buttons and other souvenirs. I was surprised they would take them off the bodies but, truth is, that kind of behavior continued right through the end of the war.
I’d collected some letters to take to Haymarket and was getting ready to leave for home and report to the folks there that the war was almost over when General Longstreet himself called me over and asked me who I was.
“My name is Ben,” I told him and gave a kind of salute which seemed to amuse him.
“Master Ben,” said the General in reply, “If you aren’t in any hurry to be anywhere you and your mighty fine horse could stay around in case I run out of courriers.”
I could hardly turn down the General and his casual request gave me official status in the camp. I was darn near mustered in. One of the boys I knew well said, “It’s about time they gave you something to do. You’ve spent the good part of the summer with us.”
Well, that was true. I’d taken a great interest in the Seventeenth Virginia and folks at home relied on me for news although there was constant traffic back and forth from Haymarket to the various camps. So, I stayed on and happy to do it for it seemed to me a wonderful life being the soldier I almost was. I loved to sit around the fires at night and listen to the stories (I learned a lot too soon, I expect) and eat whatever the army was eating. I slept good on the ground, too.
Things seemed pretty peaceful the next couple of days. That, as they say, was the lull before the storm and proved to me at an early age that you can’t predict what life has in store for you. There was occasional musket fire and once in awhile a cannon ball arched overhead. This didn’t appear to be much to worry about but that shows how much we knew. We were all young and the war, at that point was still a game. It was a chance to show how much courage the South had and how cowardly the Yankees were. I suppose I could have kept that attitude for a long time in my youth if it hadn’t been for a cannon ball with my name on it.
I was just standing there talking to a couple of the boys when one said, “This one is comin’ in pretty close!” You could actually see them on the fly.
I’ve told this story about two thousand times and I’m pretty sure it’s the truth. So, this is what happened. I started to turn around to look and as I did that Yank cannon ball hit me right in the back of the left elbow and pretty much knocked my arm clean off. The force of the blow spun me around like a top about three times and I landed on my back with my breath knocked out. I looked up and saw the soldiers standing looking down at me but I couldn’t hear a thing. It was like I was deaf. That’s all I remember until I woke up in the hospital tent. Lucky for me, I never felt a thing. Since most of my limb below the elbow was gone anyway, they didn’t have to do much sawing. I expect the reader will think this is a horrible thing and I’m sure it was. But the horror of it is long past and I’ve been missing that arm five times longer than I had it.
Doc Hamilton stopped by to tell me that I would be alright, that is I was going to live. I didn’t have a fever or infection. By then, the big battle was finished. Our boys had run the enemy back at Bull Run but unfortunately for the Seventeenth, they was stuck at Blackburn’s Ford and didn’t get in on the action. They told me later that when the Yankees retreated they ran like scared chickens and the regiment had crossed the ford and marched up the hill into their camps where they found hot coffee just waiting to be drank. They could have followed them right into Washington and won the war except someone, probably General Beauregard called them back. They said General Longstreet swore when he got that order.
Most of this I learned way later as all was in confusion. Pap Jordan came to camp to see what was going on with his sons and they had him put me in his wagon and he hauled me home to Haymarket—the youngest casualty of Blackburn’s Ford. I wasn’t entirely unhappy about the arm and that’s the honest truth. For I knew I would be welcomed as a hero.
I was unhappy, though, when I realized Lily was not tied to the back of Pap Jordan’s wagon. I hoped that some of the boys would care for her until I could get back.