War and Redemption Excerpt

In October Col. Ireland’s regiment joined four other New York Regiments to make up General George Greene’s Brigade, 2nd Division, 12th Army Corps. They marched across the Potomac through Harper’s Ferry and up the hill to make camp at Bolivar Heights. On October 29, not yet settled into camp, the men of the 137th got their first chance to engage the enemy.

For the past few weeks in camp at Pleasant Valley Pvt. Luke Kellogg and Billy Weed had listened enviously to stories about skirmishes fought with Virginia cavalrymen up and down the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers. Now they were getting their chance for action. Orders had come to send out pickets to ward off any surprise attacks on the camp by any roaming bands of Rebel horsemen. Leaving all their gear at camp Kellogg and Weed joined a handful of other men heading off in the twilight, led by Lt. Marshall Corbett.

As the sky grew dark over the Charles Town road the pickets were surprised by a patrol from the Black Horse Troop, 4th Virginia Cavalry. Sgt. Jack Lewis and the newly enlisted Pvt. Lathrop Emmons were among them. The Black Horse troopers exchanged shots with the New Yorkers, who quickly retreated into the darkness of the woods by the side of the road. Seeing one Bluecoat run off down the road alone, apparently disoriented by darkness and unfamiliar surroundings, Lewis and Emmons ran him down. The lone soldier stumbled and fell into the roadside ditch.

Sgt. Lewis barked out a demand, “Surrender or be killed, Yank!”

Emmons laughed. “ Well ain’t he somethin’ Jack - layin’ in th’ ditch on his back like a damn dead groun’hawg.”

With his unloaded musket lying useless in the ditch, Pvt. Newt Hunt knew he had no choice - “I surrender. Don’t shoot!”

“Well you ain’t no damn groun’hawg, Yank. Git up out a’ th’ ditch an’ start walkin’. You’re a prisoner of the Black Horse Troop, 4th Virginia Cavalry.” Jack was a bit irritated by Emmons’ groundhog comparison. His new private would learn soon enough to have more respect for the enemy’s ability to deal death. Hunt stood up and began to walk slowly down the road in front of the two horsemen.

“Do we really have t’ walk this prisoner all way back t’ Charles Town, Jack? I cud take care a’ this right quick.” Emmons raised his naked saber high, intending to deliver a quick and fatal blow to their captive. Then a single shot rang out. A bullet hit Emmons’ upraised arm. Emmons gave out a howl of pain and his saber fell harmlessly to the road. Another volley followed from behind a low stone wall on the embankment just above and behind the men in the road.

A full moon had risen, illuminating the startled faces of the Rebel troopers and the grim visages of Yankee riflemen at the wall. As Newt Hunt dove back into the cover of the ditch, Kellogg stared at Emmons and Lewis. They returned the look, images forever burned into each man’s memory. Lewis fired his carbine at the men on the embankment, then the Rebel troopers wheeled about, spurred their horses, and were galloping away when the second Yankee volley erupted from behind the wall.

“Jack, I’m hit!” Emmons cried out while spurring his horse to flee faster.

“Hang on and ride, man! We’re soon out of range. Sgt. Lewis guided his mount along side Emmons, ready to hold him if he started to slide out of the saddle.

In October Col. Ireland’s regiment joined four other New York Regiments to make up General George Greene’s Brigade, 2nd Division, 12th Army Corps. They marched across the Potomac through Harper’s Ferry and up the hill to make camp at Bolivar Heights. On October 29, not yet settled into camp, the men of the 137th got their first chance to engage the enemy.

For the past few weeks in camp at Pleasant Valley Pvt. Luke Kellogg and Billy Weed had listened enviously to stories about skirmishes fought with Virginia cavalrymen up and down the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers. Now they were getting their chance for action. Orders had come to send out pickets to ward off any surprise attacks on the camp by any roaming bands of Rebel horsemen. Leaving all their gear at camp Kellogg and Weed joined a handful of other men heading off in the twilight, led by Lt. Marshall Corbett.

As the sky grew dark over the Charles Town road the pickets were surprised by a patrol from the Black Horse Troop, 4th Virginia Cavalry. Sgt. Jack Lewis and the newly enlisted Pvt. Lathrop Emmons were among them. The Black Horse troopers exchanged shots with the New Yorkers, who quickly retreated into the darkness of the woods by the side of the road. Seeing one Bluecoat run off down the road alone, apparently disoriented by darkness and unfamiliar surroundings, Lewis and Emmons ran him down. The lone soldier stumbled and fell into the roadside ditch.

Sgt. Lewis barked out a demand, “Surrender or be killed, Yank!”

Emmons laughed. “ Well ain’t he somethin’ Jack - layin’ in th’ ditch on his back like a damn dead groun’hawg.”

With his unloaded musket lying useless in the ditch, Pvt. Newt Hunt knew he had no choice - “I surrender. Don’t shoot!”

“Well you ain’t no damn groun’hawg, Yank. Git up out a’ th’ ditch an’ start walkin’. You’re a prisoner of the Black Horse Troop, 4th Virginia Cavalry.” Jack was a bit irritated by Emmons’ groundhog comparison. His new private would learn soon enough to have more respect for the enemy’s ability to deal death. Hunt stood up and began to walk slowly down the road in front of the two horsemen.

“Do we really have t’ walk this prisoner all way back t’ Charles Town, Jack? I cud take care a’ this right quick.” Emmons raised his naked saber high, intending to deliver a quick and fatal blow to their captive. Then a single shot rang out. A bullet hit Emmons’ upraised arm. Emmons gave out a howl of pain and his saber fell harmlessly to the road. Another volley followed from behind a low stone wall on the embankment just above and behind the men in the road.

A full moon had risen, illuminating the startled faces of the Rebel troopers and the grim visages of Yankee riflemen at the wall. As Newt Hunt dove back into the cover of the ditch, Kellogg stared at Emmons and Lewis. They returned the look, images forever burned into each man’s memory. Lewis fired his carbine at the men on the embankment, then the Rebel troopers wheeled about, spurred their horses, and were galloping away when the second Yankee volley erupted from behind the wall.

“Jack, I’m hit!” Emmons cried out while spurring his horse to flee faster.

“Hang on and ride, man! We’re soon out of range. Sgt. Lewis guided his mount along side Emmons, ready to hold him if he started to slide out of the saddle.

Home

Excerpt

Purchase Copy

Auto Tour

About the Author

Col. David Ireland

Book Signing Schedule