The following originally appeared in The Williamsburg (Virginia) Star in 1862, as a dispatch from newspaper-publisher-turned-soldier Pvt. Christopher Francis. His brother was now printing the Star on the private's behalf, and this is one of many dispatches Pvt. Christopher sent back home in order to give the public the "uncompromisable truth" about the War Between the States from a Confederate soldier's perspective. Indeed, some historians argue Pvt. Christopher joined the cause to supply compelling copy!
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INVADERS CRUMBLE UNDER CONFEDERATE COUNTERATTACK
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PUBLISHER OF THIS NEWSPAPER WOUNDED IN BATTLE, TAKEN HOSTAGE BY UNION FORCES
{Community of Payson --
Saturday April 4, 1862}
The crackles of muskets reverberated throughout this entire mountain town, accented by the screams of innocents as Northern aggressors brutally disturbed the tranquility and safety of the citizens for a futile victory quickly undone by the superior forces of the Confederacy, but at a cost of many lives.
During this unfathomable assault, your publisher was briefly taken hostage by green Federal troops, which did grant a new perspective into the flaws of the occupying company. Such imperfections will no doubt lead to their doom.
This morning we marched into the town to provide defense against Union encroachment. Thereapon we found the citizens plagued with worry, afraid to walk along the streets until our Captain gave several announcements that the town was safe and under our protection. Mayor Hopkins addressed his citizens, and only then did they begin to approach us with hesitant curiosity, inquiring as to our purpose and armaments.
For much of the morning, my compatriots and I mingled among the townspeople, the ladies and gentlemen and their children, while they went about their business. I should note their hospitality to us did not go ungratified by any soldier, as we did our best to satisfy all questions, most notably the young children who I daresay had never met a soldier of the Confederacy.
The source of their concern surfaced after many a conversation: a persistent rumor of Union soldiers camped a mere mile or two away from the town. Again and again we dismissed such fictions, myself saying to a worried citizen, "My Lady, we have not seen a Union soldier for miles. Just our presence here is enough to hold them back."
Still, to our regret, those rumors manifested and fed upon themselves like a bonfire. A lady asked in the height of uncertainty: "When will the battle be?"
"My Lady," I replied, "We are not expecting a fight, but Heaven Forbid, if it should come to that, I am confident that we shall resolve things quickly, in a single afternoon."
Our beloved Gen. Lee agreed with my sentiments during a brief meeting, whereupon we recognized the unpredictability of this great conflict and the need for all to be ready at a moments notice, not unlike the Minutemen who defended this nation a century ago.
The citizens warmed to us, exchanging smiles to the tips of our kepis as we moved about the town. To our honor, they asked us to pause in our steps while they made pictures of us using peculiar silver devices no larger than a deck of playing cards.
I could not help but comment, "I've seen the strangest daguerreotype makers today," to which a citizen informed me said devices "come from Japan."
"I thought they might have come from Ohio," I noted.
A compatriot of mine, itching for a scrap, ached to venture outside the town and kill as many Yankees as he saw, figuring his actions would dissolve the anxiety plaguing the townspeople.
"We are here to defend this town," I protested to him.
Another soldier said, "Do you want to be court-martialed?"
He remained firm in his resolve until he lobbied the Captain personally, who reminded him of his orders with a mild rebuke.
As the early afternoon sun shone down upon us, a detachment of scouts dashed back into the town, puffing broken sentences concerning a sighting of Federals mere miles away. The Captain inquired as to how many and where, and with haste we retrieved our stacked arms and formed for battle.
We urged the citizens to take shelter and clear way for the fight. To quell their nerves and build our resolve, our Corporal led us in a round of "The Bonnie Blue Flag." The Captain asked if there was a clergyman among the crowds to lead us in prayer, but unexpectedly, the duty fell to me.
"Father In Heaven," I prayed aloud before my brothers in arms and the citizens of Payson, a bit uneasy at speaking to THE LORD out loud, extemporaneously, in front of so many people, "give us protection in battle as we go about our mission to defend these Citizens of Payson. Give this town Your protection, in the Name of Lord Jesus, we pray."
I heard the boisterous snapping of Enfields in the distance, and without delay we marched to our position of defense, aided by several men placed in balconies overlooking the town to deal with skirmishers.
We saw the Federals formed up a hundred yards across from us, a small but feisty regiment, if the term feisty should include their resistance to movement.
"I dare you to advance on us!" the Captain taunted as we barraged them with multiple volleys. But our muskets did not intimidate them in the least, and their aim failed to diminish our numbers.
Finally, when they realized a stalemate was no victory, their ranks advanced forward as we held our positions. Musket balls singed the air, yet their targeting did not improve until another advance, wherefore they began to cut into our numbers, and the Captain ordered us back to take cover among the buildings and brush, firing at our disposition to catch them unguarded and out of formation.
Street skirmishes rippled through the entire town as the citizens watched in terrified amazement. No corner or alley was spared the crackle of gunfire or cries of the wounded, many of whom quickly assessed their injuries and regathered their stamina to rejoin the battle.
I took my shots wherever I could find cover around corners or behind trees. But in the height of the skirmish, my attempt to pick off one of two Federals from an obtuse angle across a lawn proved a tactical mistake. One spotted me and put a lead ball into my upper right arm. The burning slam felled me as I heard the Captain call a retreat. Unable to raise myself, I watched my compatriots pursue safer grounds.
At once several Federals surrounded my body, declaring me their prisoner.
"They abandoned you," one said, to my protested corrections that my brothers would not leave me for dead.
They propped me up against a shade tree near the place where they felled me and summoned a nurse.
"Would you do me the courtesy of returning my hat?" I implored, spotting it in the grass several yards away. A Federal retrieved it and tossed it into my lap like a scrap of meat to a dog.
The camp nurse wrapped my bleeding arm, doing her best to treat my injuries. "I do believe its shattered," she said, not hiding my condition.
For the next few hours, the Federals did their best to add their discourtesies to my pain.
"Those rebels ran away!" a Union private remarked.
"We're regrouping!" I said through my pain. "We will be back to retake this town!"
"How many men do you have?"
"More than you'll ever know! More than enough!"
They tried over and over again to extract information from me on our supplies and our numbers, all the while threatening to hang me and taunting.
"When's the last time you had a bath? You smell worse than you look!"
"You look worse than you smell!" I countered.
Dishearteningly, some of the young citizens, their developing minds obviously corrupted by lies and propaganda, joined the parade of insulting behavior despite my best efforts to remind them of the truth of our mission to defend their town. Many stood before me, no doubt wondering what a wounded prisoner looked like.
"You can't shoot anymore!" a young boy said, finger outstretched in accusation.
"I can shoot with my other hand."
"How are you going to hold a 10-pound gun with one hand?" a young girl remarked.
"You'd be surprised what you can do when you need to do it."
The camp nurse grew frustrated with my guards, imploring them to let me rest.
"We thought he would shut up with all the blood he's lost," one captor remarked.
"We ought to tie a bandage around his mouth!"
My voice carried throughout the town as I threatened to make their names infamous throughout Virginia, and several times their Colonel walked over and implored me to be quiet, at one time threatening me with confinement to a prison cell if I did not cease my incendiary ways. I told him I would cease only if his mean ceased their lies and rumors to the impressionable children.
"You're a gentleman," the Colonel reminded me. "You should know about keeping your word."
I must note, however, that for the Federals lack of civility, they did offer me bread, dried pork and licorice, and several ladies of the town took pity, offering to refill my canteen without a trace of a grudge.
"I regret that I cannot stand and give you proper honors," I apologized as several of them gathered to my side at one point in my captivity.
When I did not find solstice in returning the taunts of my captors, I turned to the book of hymns and meditations in my haversack, choosing to read aloud the prayer for the enemy and taking confidence that GOD had us in His favor. I knew of His intercession as the pain in my arm eased with the passing of the afternoon sun. And behold! murmurs from the Federals of my Confederate brethren in the distance soon reached my ears.
"I told you they were regrouping!" I sang. The mere thought of my compatriots' return further strengthened my arm.
Surely the news was encouraging the townspeople as well, for I spotted a young lady cheerfully waving the Bonnie Blue Flag in front of line of Federals as they formed for battle. Their Colonel saw the disruption and ordered one of his officers to deal with the disturbance. She fled with the waving flag to a nearby storefront behind the safety of her aunt, who implored the officer to halt. She restated for him her Union sympathies but reaffirmed her devotion to her niece. However, the officer was unfettered, and the lady produced a pistol from her basket.
"Not one step more!" she shouted to him.
The officer surely must have thought his order or charm could override the danger clearly before him, for he took that fateful step and walked right into a 45-caliber slug that felled him on the stairs.
Amidst the confusion as the Federals attended to him, I sensed an opportunity. My guards had deserted me in the haste to form for battle. Gritting and rising to my feet, I scampered off to the sympathetic ladies.
"Have you seen my gun?" I asked. Alas, they had not. But I ducked behind a store and discovered my trusted Springfield leaning by a back door, either left there in error by one of my captors or smuggled into position by an absent friend.
As I ran through the alleys, more shouting from the Union soldiers echoed from the walls: "The prisoner has escaped!"
I hid where I could, out of sight of any Federal pickets or sentries, looking to rejoin my Confederate brethren. As THE LORD's Providence would have it, I found a detachment of skirmishers running straight for my position, and I heartily joined them. We had no time for formal re-acquaintances or sharing of intelligence as we quickly surrounded the enemy in another street skirmish. From our position behind an outbuilding, we took turns rounding the corner, picking off a Federal or two before ducking back to safety. In minutes, the greenness of the Union line revealed itself in cries of surrender.
The skirmishers and I found a front lawn littered with bodies where the fighting had peaked. The Federal survivors stood with their hands in the air, and we cheered the victory with a coda of "The Bonnie Blue Flag."
I must note this scene of celebration took place mere yards from the tree where the Union held your publisher captive. From now on, this tree might be better known as Payson's Tree of Liberty.
All of us at We Make History thank the people of Payson and their leaders for their cooperation in making this first-ever live historical drama a huge success. Like the Confederate liberators, we'll be back!
More sights and memories from the Battle Of Payson here.
Press coverage in the Payson Roundup.
NEXT: A New Chapter in The Virginia Diaries: The Battle of New Market!
1 comment:
The "Mouth of the South" is free at last. Huzzah!!!
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