Five

Balloons and Battle Flags

 

The Union cavalry had pushed the Confederates away from Washington, and now the entire army—120,000 men, 14,500 horses and mules, 44 artillery batteries, and over 1,000 wagons and other vehicles—were being loaded aboard about 400 vessels for the purpose of moving on Richmond.1

On March 17, Armstrong Custer wrote a letter to his parents to tell them about his first cavalry charge, and how he had confiscated a black foxhound from the abandoned Confederate camp, and that he now weighed 176 pounds—and had not had his clothing off in a week. He added that the present operation by the Union would assuredly result in victory due to the leadership of George McClellan. “I have more confidence in him than any man living,” Custer wrote. “I am willing to forsake everything and follow him to the ends of the earth and would lay down my life for him if necessary.”2

On March 26, Custer boarded the Adele Felicia on what he described as “the greatest expedition ever fitted out.” He may have been confident in the hands of George McClellan, whom he called “the greatest and best of men,” but he also demonstrated a twinge of apprehension about the pending mission. He finished a letter to his sister Ann just before embarking by writing a dramatic, “Good-bye my darling sister. Good-bye all of you.”3

The flotilla of steamboats, schooners, and barges, each one packed tight with troops and equipment, sailed past Mount Vernon and then beyond Robert E. Lee’s birthplace in Stratford and out into Chesapeake Bay. This massive floating caravan finally began docking and unloading a few days later at Fortress Monroe, located at the tip of the Peninsula between the York and James rivers. Although troops and equipment continued to arrive, this area was almost at once built up into a good-sized city, with thousands of men, animals, wagons, and supplies spread across its expanse.4

An operation this extensive could not be kept secret from the enemy, which had learned about it soon after it commenced. General Joseph Johnston’s main body of troops was presently stationed behind the Rappahannock River, about fifty miles north of Richmond. Major General John B. Magruder was holding Yorktown, about twenty miles up the York River from Fortress Monroe, with only around twelve thousand men. This unit was all that stood between McClellan and the Confederate capital. Magruder, however, devised a strategy that called for moving his troops from one position to another in the heavily wooded terrain with deep ravines to create the impression of greater troop strength.

Upon learning about the operation, Johnston’s army—with Jeb Stuart’s cavalry attached—was sent racing through sleet and snow to reinforce Magruder before McClellan could figure out the ruse and overpower that small force. Some officers, including Stuart, believed that Yorktown would escalate into a major battle—comparable to the Siege of Sebastopol in the Crimean War—and could very well decide the outcome of the war. After all, this was the historic place where Lord Cornwallis had surrendered to George Washington in the American Revolution.5

As it was, there was no need for Johnston to hurry. Magruder’s strategy of deception was serving its purpose to the fullest. The ever-cautious George McClellan fell for the ploy. He overestimated the Confederate strength, and refused to order an assault of Yorktown. Instead, the Union commander chose to initiate a siege intended to blast the enemy into submission with artillery before sending in troops.6

On the Union side of the lines, Custer’s cavalry unit was deployed on reconnaissance missions during this siege, and came under fire on two occasions. In the first, Custer and another officer located an enemy artillery battery by crawling up a hill and returned safely to report their findings. The second encounter, in which casualties were sustained, was more intense and made a lasting impression on the young second lieutenant.

In a skirmish that lasted an hour, Custer and his men withstood a pitted battle against enemy sharpshooters. “Everyone got behind a tree and blazed away as hard as he could,” he described in a letter to Ann Reed. “But the rebels made their bullets so thick it was all we could do to look out for ourselves.” In time, reinforcements arrived and forced the Rebels to withdraw.7

Custer was deeply affected by the burial the next day of those troopers who had been killed in the firefight. For the first time, this happy-go-lucky young man had become intimately involved with the tragic consequences of war. “We buried our dead slain in the skirmish, in the clothes they wore when killed, each wrapped in his blanket,” he wrote to his sister. “No coffin. Some were quite young and boyish, and, looking at their faces I could not but think of my own younger brother.” The sight of one particular trooper evoked Custer to emotionally write, “As he lay there I thought of the poem: ‘Let me kiss him for his mother…’ and wished his mother were there to smooth his hair.”8

His graphic description of this dangerous mission and its aftermath was received with predictable concern by his family. Emanuel Custer wrote that Maria, Custer’s mother, “troubles hir self so much about you and Thomas and she doant like to here of you being so venturesom.” Ann Reed responded with, “My dear brother I want you to be very careful of yourself. Don’t expose yourself you know how much your parents depend on you and how much we all love you.”9

The war not only raged in the North, but Union forces under Generals Ulysses S. Grant and Don Carlos Buell were campaigning in Tennessee, and had captured Forts Henry and Donelson, which opened up the middle of the state. Combined Confederate forces under Generals Albert Sidney Johnston and P. G. T. Beauregard were dispatched to halt the movements of these Yankees, but were outnumbered sixty thousand to forty thousand by their enemy. On April 6, however, the Rebels attacked inexperienced troops under General William T. Sherman, which were camped at Pittsburg Landing in a wooded area surrounding Shiloh Meeting House. The fierce battle escalated as reinforcements arrived on both sides, and after two days of desperate fighting the Union troops beat back the Confederates, forcing them into retreat toward Corinth, Mississippi.

In this first great bloody battle of the war, the North lost a total of 13,047 with 1,754 killed and the rest either wounded or captured, as opposed to the South’s losses of 10,694, 1,723 of that number dead. The Confederates mourned the loss of General Johnston, who failed to promptly treat a leg wound and subsequently bled to death. His death would be almost as devastating as that of Stonewall Jackson, leaving a vital loss of leadership in the West.

Back in the North, the troopers manning the Union fortifications at Yorktown settled in for a long siege. General McClellan hungered for intelligence, and one manner in which to spy on his enemy was by hot-air balloon. The Balloon Corps, under the command of Brigadier General William F. “Baldy” Smith, was stationed about a mile from Confederate lines. The technical aspects of the operation were under the direction of “Professor” Thaddeus S. C. Lowe, who had developed a portable hydrogen generator for the gas that was necessary to send the balloons aloft. Professional balloonists were sent up daily, weather permitting, to observe anything of note about the enemy that was visible.

Confederate gunners occasionally fired cannon rounds at the balloons, but only one had been hit and downed. Custer’s friend Tom Rosser, the Confederate artillery officer, was credited with shooting down one of McClellan’s balloons and was rewarded with a promotion to captain for the feat.

General Smith eventually became dissatisfied with the quality of the information provided by these men. It was in the interest of job security for these “acronauts” to embellish their observations, and they often reported sights and scenes from their imagination without fear of contradiction. Smith decided that he needed to put a trusted military man into the basket, and Brigadier General Fitz-John Porter, commander of the Fifth Corps, was chosen for the task.

On April 11, Porter was sent aloft—and an unexpected easterly wind captured the balloon and blew the general over the enemy line. The Rebels scrambled to aim their artillery at this target floating through the air, but the wind changed direction and Porter was saved, although he crashed roughly into a tree. This near tragedy convinced General Smith that the life of a general should not be taken so lightly. He needed a more expendable man for balloon reconnaissance.10

Orders were cut to assign Second Lieutenant George Armstrong Custer to the staff of General “Baldy” Smith as an assistant to the chief engineer, Lieutenant Nicholas Bowen. In this capacity, Custer would serve as a military observer from a hot-air balloon.

Custer approached this unusual duty with some anxiousness. “I was told to take with me in my balloon ascent a field glass, compass, pencil, and note-book. With these I was supposed to be able, after attaining the proper elevation, to discover, locate, and record the works and encampments of the enemy. The balloon was kept but a short distance from General Smith’s headquarters, fastened to the earth by numerous ropes, like a wild and untamable animal. Thither I proceeded, my mind not entirely free from anxious doubts as to how the expedition would terminate.”11

Custer had mentally prepared himself as well as possible for ground warfare in the event that a bullet would cut him down or an artillery shell might explode beside him in battle, but he had not planned for this manner of death. He not only feared that shots from below could hit and penetrate the willow basket, or car as it was called, in which he rode but that the fragile bladder of gas vapor could suffer damage or malfunction and send him plummeting to earth. He tried to act nonchalant on his initial voyage, but admitted that he was suffering from a bad case of the jitters. When the anchor ropes were cast off, Custer soared off above the trees into lower space, and could observe the tiny specs that were upturned faces below him. “I had the finest view I ever had in my life & could see both armies at once,” he later wrote of that first experience.12

After a number of ascents, Custer soon overcame his fear and became comfortable with the procedure. He was quite adept at noting enemy gun emplacements, counting campfires, and plotting the number of white tents and sketching their position in his notebook.

Custer also had the presence of mind to appreciate the view from a perspective that few of his generation were privileged to witness. “Gradually I became more familiar with the car, and was able to turn to the contemplation of the magnificent scenery which lay spread out beneath and around us as far as the eye could extend. To the right could be seen the York River, followed which the eye could rest on Chesapeake Bay. On the left, at about the same distance, flowed the James River. Between those two rivers extended a most beautiful landscape, and no less interesting than beautiful; it was being made the theatre of operations of armies larger and more formidable than had ever confronted each other on the continent before.”13

At about 2:00 A.M. in the wee hours of May 4, Custer had made his second ascension of the night when he observed indications that the enemy had abandoned Yorktown. His suspicions were basically confirmed by dawn when he could not see any breakfast fires. He signaled to bring his balloon back down to earth and hurried to report his findings to Baldy Smith.

General McClellan was notified by telegraph, and ordered Smith to dispatch troops to investigate. Custer and another officer volunteered to cross the river over the dam by themselves and approach the enemy camp. It did not take them long to discover that the Confederates had indeed vacated the earthworks and the entire town. McClellan, who understood that he would be vilified by his superiors, the press, and the public for allowing the enemy to escape without inflicting any damage, ordered an immediate pursuit.14

The day was cold and dreary, and heavy rain had turned the countryside into a quagmire, but McClellan believed that he could escape the considerable criticism for his hesitancy to attack Yorktown by striking and defeating his enemy wherever they chose to make a stand. General Stoneman’s cavalry—without Custer, who remained with General Baldy Smith—was ordered to immediately pursue the retreating enemy. General Joseph Hooker’s division was sent to support Stoneman by moving down the Yorktown and Williamsburg Road. Baldy Smith’s division would move forward by the Lee’s Mill and Williamsburg roads.15

Confederate General Joseph Johnston had chosen to withdraw from Yorktown in order to seek a more favorable location with which to engage McClellan’s huge army. The cavalry under Jeb Stuart once again acted superbly as rear guard and screened the departure of the Confederates, who slogged through muddy roads up the Peninsula. On the afternoon of May 4, Stuart’s scouts informed him that the Yankees were in hot pursuit on the road behind them. Stuart left the road and traveled along the sandy shore of the James River.

In 1861, the Confederates had erected a system of crude earthworks, consisting of thirteen redoubts, with the heavily fortified so-called Fort Magruder—named after Major General John B. Magruder, who oversaw its construction—at the center, about two miles from Williamsburg, the old colonial capital of Virginia. Jeb Stuart and his cavalry reached Fort Magruder, and he attached his command to Major General James Longstreet, whose division was presently entrenched at that location.16

That same afternoon, Custer could hear distinct sounds of battle originating from the south side of the Peninsula. Evidently, one of the Union detachments had encountered the enemy and was engaged in a vicious fight. General Smith did not respond with concern to the distant action and continued riding through the rain until dark, when he called a halt and the men went into a soggy bivouac.

Before long, a messenger rode into Smith’s headquarters with the word that the cavalry, including Custer’s Fifth Regiment, had taken a beating that afternoon and sustained heavy losses. No doubt Custer was moved by this terrible news, and may have even contemplated requesting permission from the general to rejoin his old outfit.

On the chilly morning of May 5, however, Custer remained with Smith’s column as it marched through the miserable conditions. Eventually, Custer was assigned the duty of riding ahead on roads that had become hazardous with thick mud to seek out more passable detours that would lead the troops to Williamsburg in the fastest possible manner. The sounds of battle were already emanating from the direction of that town, and Smith was anxious to enter the fray.

When Custer approached the Skiff Creek bridge, which he discovered had just been set on fire, a sniper targeted him from the surrounding brush. Custer leaped from the saddle and fired off a number of rounds with his pistol at this invisible arsonist. Then, leading his horse and all the while shooting, he reached the bridge. The sniper-arsonist was by that time discouraged from making a stand, and vanished into the woodlands. Custer stamped out the flames, burning his hands in the process, but saved the structure for the column to cross. This heroic action was recognized by General Baldy Smith, who officially cited Second Lieutenant George Armstrong Custer for gallantry.17

The Battle of Williamsburg had begun that morning at about 7:00 A.M., when Union troops under Brigadier General Joe Hooker attacked Longstreet’s position at Fort Magruder and were met with fierce opposition. On both sides of the line, artillery shells whistled overhead and tore into the rain-drenched woodland, while bullets zipped through the trees, ripping leaves and branches apart and sending debris flying in every direction.

Another of Custer’s West Point friends, Confederate captain John Pelham, would be singled out for his actions in commanding the artillery battery. Pelham had only three guns at his disposal, but fired off 360 rounds in succession that pinned down the Union troops and made it impossible for them to maneuver close.18

The men entrenched in the rifle pits along the Rebel stronghold, which stretched for almost four miles in length, were determined to hold their position against Hooker’s pressure. Bold charges by Hooker’s troops into the midst of the gray line were repelled one right after another. Jeb Stuart’s cavalry was called upon to check the enemy at various locations along the line, and responded admirably. Ultimately, counterattacks by General Longstreet’s men had started taking a toll on the Yankees.19

Baldy Smith’s division was positioned on Hooker’s right covering the Yorktown Road. Smith received word about a route through the woods that crossed a dam on Cub Creek beyond the enemy’s flank that was said to have been left unguarded. Second Lieutenant Custer was dispatched to investigate, and returned to confirm the information. Smith sought permission to cross the dam with his entire division, but that request was denied because his outfit was holding the center of the Union line. He did, however, obtain approval to advance a brigade across the dam. Smith selected Brigadier General Winfield Scott Hancock’s brigade—thirty-four hundred men and eight artillery pieces—for the movement. Armstrong Custer volunteered to accompany Hancock, and was granted permission.20

Custer, who had made the initial reconnaissance, was at the front riding with the leading regiment—the Fifth Wisconsin—as it crossed the dam and then deployed within about a mile of Longstreet’s left flank in two abandoned redoubts to prepare for contact with the Rebels. General Hancock, with Custer at his side, readied his artillery on the crest of a hill above a wheat field and placed skirmishers on the right and left of the road, reinforcing the Wisconsin regiment with the Sixth Maine. It was not long before their presence was contested. Confederate riflemen from Fort Magruder turned their weapons on Hancock’s men and laid down a ferocious base of fire to pin them down.

Several hours later, Hancock’s entrenched men were faced with a daunting sight—Confederate soldiers, their rebel yells sending chills down the spines of the surprised Federals, burst from the trees and raced toward Hancock’s position. “The Confederates,” Custer wrote, “with courage which has never been surpassed by the troops upon either side, boldly advanced, delivering their fire as rapidly as possible, and never ceasing to utter their inspiring battle cry.”21

Before long, the ranks of the advancing Rebels were being decimated by small arms fire, and the charge began to waver. Hancock rode along the line exhorting his men to counterattack with a bayonet charge into the faltering enemy. The Union soldiers were still intimidated by that mass of howling gray-clad men, however. Hancock’s troops slowly began to form ranks for a charge, but orders from their officers to move forward were largely ignored. The soldiers feared that they were outnumbered and would be slaughtered if they moved closer to that Rebel force.

The anxious Union troops refused to obey orders and were losing an opportunity to deal a severe blow to their enemy—until Second Lieutenant George Armstrong Custer decided to take the initiative to encourage the men.

Custer boldly rode out where everyone along the line could see him. He waved his hat and shouted to urge the troops forward—an act that likely none of them, officer or enlisted, had ever witnessed before then. But Custer was not finished. He spurred his mount and, hunched down in the saddle, his pistol raised and ready to fire, his yellow hair flowing behind him, burst from their midst and rode on a collision course with the enemy.

This brazen act by the lone rider inspired and rallied the men, and renewed their fighting spirit. The roar from the Union lines drowned out those terrifying rebel yells. The soldiers poured from their positions and, following Custer, charged after their enemy. General Hancock wrote in his official report that with “Lieutenant Custer, Fifth Regular Cavalry, volunteering and leading the way on horseback,” the Confederates broke into a retreat.22

Hancock’s ability to flank the Confederates had for all intents and purposes ended the battle for Williamsburg. The fighting ceased soon after dark when Johnston withdrew and resumed his escape up the Peninsula, allowing the Union army to secure that picturesque town, which boasted beautiful colonial buildings belonging to the College of William & Mary. The day’s losses totaled about twenty-two hundred for the Union army and at least seventeen hundred for the Confederates, but the Federals held the field, a requisite for victory.

Back on the battlefield, Second Lieutenant Custer emerged from the destruction—dead horses, overturned ambulances, abandoned artillery pieces, and dead and wounded men from both sides—in high spirits. He had not only led the gallant charge of Hancock’s troops, but had played a major role in beating back the enemy.23

Custer wrote, “I was in the thick of the fight from morning till dark. The Battle of Williamsburg was hard fought, far more so than Bull Run. I captured a Captain and five men without any assistance, and a large rebel flag. It was afterwards sent up by McClellan to the President at Washington.”24

If this “large rebel flag” was indeed a battle flag—although none was reported missing by the Confederate regiments—it would have been the first enemy colors taken by the Army of the Potomac. That feat would have been quite an honor for George Armstrong Custer. Nineteenth-century combatants regarded the capture of enemy battle colors to be the highest measure of glory that could be bestowed upon an individual. This resulted from the belief that the loss of a flag was a unit’s greatest shame. Consequently, had Custer indeed successfully captured this flag, it would not have been surprising that none of the Confederate regiments would admit to the loss.

Perhaps Second Lieutenant Custer also learned a valuable lesson about charges that day that he would carry with him in the future. While most officers would order a charge and send their troops forward, themselves lagging behind, as was the custom, Custer had emboldened the men into action by his visible presence at the front. In other words, he learned that a leader should lead and not expect his troopers to charge the cannon’s mouth while he watched from a safe distance. Of course, few officers shared the propensity for action and calculated risk that flowed through the veins of Armstrong Custer.

One of the Confederate prisoners taken at Williamsburg was Custer’s former classmate and friend, Captain John “Gimlet” Lea from Mississippi, who had been badly wounded in the leg. Upon seeing Custer, Lea cried and hugged him. Custer went out of his way to make sure his friend was as comfortable as possible. The two young men then talked at length about old times and exchanged information about classmates on both sides of the conflict. Custer received permission to remain with Lea for two days, and carried his meals to him and generally watched over him.

Upon leaving, Armstrong gave Gimlet Lea much-needed stockings and some money. Lea reciprocated by writing in Custer’s notebook that, if captured, Armstrong should be given good treatment by the Southerners. Custer remarked, “The bystanders looked with surprise when we were talking, and afterwards asked if the prisoner were my brother.” Despite those political and sectional differences that had led them to serve on opposite sides of this war, the youthful West Point friendship of the two young men had endured onto the battlefield.25

On May 20, Second Lieutenant Custer rejoined his outfit for the march up the Peninsula, which reached the swollen Chickahominy River—a waterway that flowed into the James River. The river was normally forty feet across, but due to recent rains had overrun its banks and flooded nearby woodlands. McClellan’s troops needed to cross this river, but the Rebels had burned all the bridges and placed sharpshooters to guard potential crossing locations. Union engineering officers were detailed the task of scouting out potential crossing sites.

Custer was assigned to accompany Brigadier General John G. Barnard, the army’s chief engineer, on this potentially dangerous mission. On a number of occasions, Custer would not simply guess at the depth of the water but would wade right into the river to find out for certain—in spite of being exposed to enemy sharpshooters. With his revolver held over his head and without removing his clothing, he would move across that river to the opposite bank in water up to his chest. This was typical of the way Custer went about his daily responsibilities, wherever he was assigned—with a guarded fearlessness and dedication to duty.26

At one point, Custer and Lieutenant Nicholas Bowen happened upon an ideal place at a bend in the river that could support the crossing of a raiding party into enemy-occupied territory. Custer crept closer and spied pickets walking their posts, as well as the main guard post, which he believed could be captured by a small force. That information was passed back to headquarters.

On May 24, an infantry and cavalry operation was mounted at that position seven miles below Mechanicsville at New Bridge. Custer and Bowen led two companies of the Fourth Michigan to this newly found ford on the Chickahominy River. One company crossed, while the other headed downstream to New Bridge, where the remainder of the regiment was engaged in a firefight with Confederate pickets from Louisiana and Georgia.

Custer attached himself to the company that crossed the stream and struck the enemy on the flank. The attack forced the surprised Confederates back, and resulted in fifty of the enemy being captured. Custer advanced with a line of skirmishers, and battled the Rebels for three hours before Lieutenant Bowen ordered a withdrawal. Bowen wrote in his official report that Armstrong Custer “was the first to cross the stream, the first to open fire, and one of the last to leave the field.”27

General George McClellan was informed of every aspect of the raid—including the process of testing water depths and the foray across the stream—and requested the presence of that heroic second lieutenant named Custer.

The commanding general remembered seeing Armstrong Custer for the first time: “He was then a slim, long-haired boy, carelessly dressed [his uniform was likely still covered with mud from the stream]. I thanked him for his gallantry, and asked him what I could do for him. He replied very modestly that he had nothing to ask, and evidently did not suppose that he had done anything to deserve extraordinary reward.”

McClellan then asked if Custer would be interested in serving as an aide-de-camp on his personal staff. “Upon this,” McClellan wrote, “he brightened up, assured me that he would regard such service as the most gratifying he could perform; and I at once gave the necessary orders.”28

So, George Armstrong Custer, at the bottom of his West Point class, had been chosen to be an assistant to the top general in the army. His bravery under fire and desire to be at the front in every battle had finally paid off for him. An assignment like this was not handed out to just anyone. Custer must have been bursting with pride as he reported to the commanding general, ready to prove once again that he could assume any role thrust upon him and excel. And he would more than live up to expectations.