Posted on 09/19/2017 8:28:01 AM PDT by fugazi
The 1 day casualties at Antietam were about 22,700 men in both Armies. At Gettysburg, the casualties for the AOP was 23,000 men. The casualties for the ANV was between 23-28,000 men. At Gettysburg, each army lost more men than the combined armies had lost at Antietam lost in that one day.
Since you asked, as told to me by my great Uncle, who used to sit on his lap and hear his stories, I will try to recite.
Now children when in school you might be called upon to readnd worse recite Thomas Buchanan’s epic poem called “Sheridan’s Ride”, which details the story of how General Sheridan was awakened by the sound of gunfire the direction of Winchester and how he leaped into his saddle and spurred his noble steed down the Pike towards the noise of the terrible battle.
The poem counts off the miles, 20, 15, 10 and 5 and then on the home stretch he encountered some retreating men. Waving his hat and shouting words of encouragement to enhearten them, they rush back to the front to win a glorious victory for the Union.
That’s how the history in the poem tells what happen, but Grandpop insisted that they were wrong. He was the one who started Phil on his wild ride. It was him and his chicken which turned the tide of the battle.
He said it was up to him to set the history straight.
It is 1864 near Winchester Virginia both the Yankee and the Rebel forces had been making faces at each other for some time, daring each other to fight.
At that time Grandpop was a trooper in the U.S. Cavalry his squadron was around 20 miles away from Winchester patrolling the turnpike looking for confederates who may have worked their way behind the Union lines to raid supply wagons moving up into the front.
To prevent a surprise ambush from the woods along side of the road, scouts were sent out to comb the vicinity. Lucky Grandpop was assigned to a point on the left of the column and his orders were to proceed to appoint a 100’ abreast of the group and move forward from there, unfortunately at about 75’, he ran into a dry watercourse that ran down the mountain.
Being young and stupid and impressed with the necessity of obeying orders he slid his horse down the steep bank and found himself trapped on the stream bed, the sides of which were to sleep to ascend.
Now countless years of exposure to the torrents rushing down a mountainside had polished the stones on the bed the roundness of ball bearings. The same applied to huge boulders as high as his horse. Since his steed could gain no footing grandpop had to dismount and lead him to make any progress. All the while, the stream bed meandered away from his troop. In other words he got lost.
As the hours passed he heard distant firing taking place but thought nothing of it, he was more worried that he was going to spend the rest of his life trying to find his way out of this mess. Then he came to spot where the stream bed was crossed by a bridge road and fortunately the bank sloped enough for him to lead his horse up and out and on to the road.
Since all the roads intersect with other roads he rode placidly along, confident he would sooner or later find his unit.
The woods thinned out a bit where a farm clearing had been made and his sharp eyes saw a lonely chicken in the field pulling a long juicy worm out of its hole.
Grandpop could almost smell the aroma of roast chicken as he drew his saber and thundered down on the startled bird. With a sweep, he cut off his head and then pulling up his mount, he returned and skewered it with his saber point. He tied it to the pommel of his saddle and returned to the road, as he rode forward again, he heard the thud of horses’ hooves.
He was startled to see a group of horsemen approaching and a trot. There was about 20 of them and dressed in the nondescript uniform of the Confederacy in the late period of the war. They were probably part of a troop of cavalry out foraging, or were looking for trouble, knocking out supply wagons or cutting off straglers.
One of the rebels yelled. He didn’t say “look at that Yank” he said “Look at that chicken” and the whole hungry bunch spurred their horses into a gallop and whooped down on Grandpop. Bending low in the saddle and hugging his horse’s neck he dug his spurs into the animal’s ribs and shot off in a race with his pursuers.
Grandpop was riding a good horse and he soon out distanced his foes. It was with relief that he saw ahead another small group of horsemen, and those were dressed in blue.
It consisted of General “Galloping Phil” Sheridan and his staff making their way leisurely towards the front. Grandpop was in such a hurry that he flew past them without saluting.
If there was one thing a General or any other officer will not tolerate it’s a private on the loose, not saluting. Every distinguish voice in the staff including the General shouted “Halt!”
Grandpop pulled his horse up so forcefully the trail left the furrow in the dirt.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Demanded Galloping Phil. “T-There’s” Stuttered Grandpop. Waving his hand in the direction of the rear and pointing.
“Shut up” Shouted the General. His aide Baker added “You know we shoot deserters in this army.” Grandpop looked hopelessly towards a cloud of dust appearing from down the road.
Galloping Phil then took a glance down the road at the rebels chasing and began his famous ride.
Since tradition always has officers leading a parade, Grandpop was destined to bring up the rear. It was a ticklish spot to be in, with Johnny Reb slashing at his coat tails with his sabre.
According to history the Union line, was faltering and breaking up under the Confederates’ assault but according to Grandpop, the lines were holding firm.
The truth, swears Grandpop, is that because their guns were getting too hot to hold from so much firing and their beards and mustaches were getting sooted up from the black powder that they were loading with, some of the boys decided to take a break and take it easy behind the lines.
It was it this particular moment that Phil came tearing up.
Historians (who incidentally were not there) paint a glorious word picture of how he rode up-and-down the retreating line waving his sword, encouraging the faltering troops to reform and advance.
Grandpop calls this version “so much hogwash”.
What actually happened was that the boys having their coffee break behind the front lines looked up and on seeing this mean hungry looking bunch of Rebs chasing their General and his staff decided: what was good enough for their commander was good enough for them, so they scooted back towards the front.
Now the troops holding the frontline, when they saw the boys come back from their interrupted coffee break assumed that they were reinforcements and seeing “Galloping Phil” riding hell bent for leather, thought they were supposed to charge. So they did.
The Confederates taken by surprise decided to pack up and move further South.
Grandpop never objected to Phil Sheridan getting the credit for winning the battle of Winchester and said the private soldier always does the work and the general gets credit. But, he always wondered if that Reb detachment hadn’t wanted his chicken so badly, what would have actually happened on that historic day in Winchester.
Yes, and it took three days for them to do it. See?
Still a lot more dead men, wounded men, or missing men.
Thanks Old Timer. It’s a real treat to be able to hear something like this second hand more than a century and a half after the event.
Great story! Thanks for sharing!
That’s fascinating. Thanks for sharing!
thanks for reading!
Glad my Great Uncle told it to me. He had many stories from Grandpop, as well as his own.
And then Bragg promptly threw it all away by not pressing the attack against the shattered Army of the Cumberland and Chattanooga itself. Just sat there until General Grant, General Sherman, and General Thomas pushed them off Missionary Ridge and the long withdrawal to Atlanta began.
Antietam was the bloodiest single day of the war. But there were four other battles spread out over two or more days - Gettysburg, Chickamauga, Chancellorsville, and Spotsylvania - that had more casualties.
Monarchist b*st*rd Cavalier!!
Down Styphon!! (oops, wrong war.)
I believe they are referring to The War of Northern Aggression.
For a very long time I thought Damned Yankees was one word.
INTO THE BREECH! WE BAND OF BROTHERS!!!!
Uhh, or something like that.
Did you see me write otherwise?
I'm thankful that grandpa Patton procreated prior to his demise.
My GGrandaddy, arrived on a ship from europe at the age of 17 and was paid $50 to take the place of a gentlemen in NYC to join the Union in his place. So says the family history.
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