As part of O'Neal's Alabama Brigade (Rodes' old brigade), Robert E. Rodes' Division, Second Corps, ANV, at Chancellorsville the 3rd Alabama Infantry would take part in Jackson's march around Hooker's flank and the attack on the XI Corps on May 2. The following day saw the ferocious battle over Hooker's line at Fairview Heights, in which Rodes' Division would play a premier role. At about 8:30 a.m. Rodes would attack the Federal line at Fairview in support of Heth and Colston's divisions, which were stalling before a strong Union defense. Rodes placed himself alongside the 3rd Alabama and gave the order to the charge, shouting, "Forward, men, press on over friend or foe alike." The troops then took off into a hailstorm of shot and shell, the amassed Federal artillery atop the Fairview plateau concentrating their fire on Rodes' advance.
In the following letter by Captain Nick Weekes to his former captain, Captain T. Casey Witherspoon of Company A "Mobile Cadets", he gives a harrowing account of the regiment's charge.
Galveston, Jan. 11, 1903.
Captain T. C. Witherspoon
Waco, Texas.
My Dear Captain: Your welcome letter was received today and it put me in a reminiscent mood. My mind has just been straying back to my boyhood days, and I am living again among friends and companions of those happy times, which will never return, and when I stop to think so many of those that formed a part of my life then have passed out, too, and the few of us left behind are scattered far apart.
I promised you some letters I wrote during the war and in this will send two about Chancellorsville fight, in which we were together. My memory is good; time has not dimmed it, and I hope age has not illumined my imagination—that I do protest.
I have an hour to spare, but don't know that you have, or the patience either to bear with me. If I impose, forgive me, but should you read this letter and find me in error pray tell me of it, and I will "fess up" that I am getting old and imaginary. Sometimes I have told things so often that I wasn't quite sure after a time whether they did actually happen or not, but I have never ventured to tell this before, so it must be true. This old letter pinned here will suffice for the battle Saturday. I had scarcely handed it to Oliver Keeler when the ball opened again, and the command rang out: "Fall in. Attention, Third Alabama. In four ranks, right face. Forward march!" And we moved away from out of the clearing we occupied, into the wilderness again. Our orders were to keep 200 yards in the rear and conform to the movements of the line in front of us. We were in the third line of battle now, having been in the fight from 5 until 10 o'clock, as you know, we wound up that dance by moonlight. Fresh troops were put in the lead. As we advanced, solid shot and shell greeted us, and when we got nearer, grape accompaniment was added. There must have been fifty guns at play in front and flank. The biggest tree afforded no protection. One might as well have been in front as behind it. Limbs and the tops were falling about us as if torn by a cyclone. Then from the rear shells came shrieking over our heads from Carter's battalion of artillery. We were enveloped, as it were, in dense fog, the flashing of guns could be seen only a few feet away. A fellow can't see very far in a fight, but he sees a plenty when he is scared. At every breath we were inhaling sulfurous vapor fresh and hot from cannon mouth and bursting shell. What a din. What a variety of hideous noises. The ping of the minnie ball, the splutter of canister, the whistling of grape, the "where are you,'' "where are you" of screaming shells and the cannon's roar from a hundred mouths went to make up the music for the great opera of death.
I saw the arm and shoulder fly from the man just in front exposing his throbbing heart. Another's foot flew up and kicked him in the face as a shell struck his leg. Another disemboweled crawled along on his fours, his entrails trailing behind, and still another held up his tongue with his hand, a piece of shell having carried away his lower jaw. Others sank to earth as if to rest, and some plunged forward, as though tripped by a snare, never to rise again. I had just about made up my mind that "this is hell sure enough" when one, two, three, and the fourth shell dropped almost in the same spot as fast as one could count, exploding as they struck the ground—and all was darkness around me. I should say blackness, so black and thick I could feel it, and my feet seemed to rest on a sheet of flame. It could have been only a few seconds when I recovered to find myself standing alone and fourteen lying in the space of about ten feet around me. Among this number I recall the two Chapman brothers and Capt. Neal Robinson of the Lowndes Beauregards. At this juncture General Rodes dashed up to Captain Bonham who commanded our regiment, and ordered him to charge regardless of those in our front. We were near the colors and Captain Bonham in the lead, other regimental commanders, not having received the command, thinking Bonham had gone wild endeavored to stop him. You joined him and reported that our left was uncovered and exposed to a crossfire. He replied only by shouting out the command "Forward, Third Alabama! The order is forward—follow me!" The other regiments quickly responded. I can see Bonham now. What a magnificent picture, what a grand man he was to lead a charge! ''Knight of the Black Plume" you fitly styled him. When we reached the lines in our front they had lain down on the brink of a ravine, on the opposite side of which was the enemy's artillery, and half way down the slope their infantry line behind breastworks. The very air seemed black with shot. Over and down we went and our line melted away as if swallowed up by the earth.
It was here that Cecil Carter fell, the noblest and bravest of all. I halted an instant, and with the help of Jim Harrison, the old wheelhorse of the Company, dragged him to a tree. He opened his eyes and asked, "What are you fellows doing?" "Nothing, Cecil, you are wounded; don't try to get up." ''No, I am not. Where?" "In the breast," we said. He stuck his finger in the wound. "The bullet must have bounced out," he said. "I can't feel it." The blood gushed forth, and he sank back. I thought, dead, and his dream verified. We reached the bottom of the ravine and started up the other side in the face of artillery on top of the hill and infantry just below—and both busy. Here we encountered their abatis, which destroyed everything like order in our ranks and every man went on his own hook, crawling over and under the felled trees, not stopping to fire a shot till we struck the infantry and drove it back to their guns. The whole earth seemed to be ablaze before us, and other than gunpowder smoke was stifling us now. The woods were afire, and the leaves a foot thick on the ground with the wind blowing direct in our faces. There was a rush for the clearings and road, and then we stood huddled together under the pitiless rain of canister and shell till the flames swept by. As soon as the fire had passed we rushed back through still hot and burning leaves to our places. If you remember we recovered none of our wounded alive on this part of the field. Their charred bodies dotted the ground and we could see by the ashes where they had scratched the leaves away in a vain attempt to save themselves from the more awful fate of burning alive.
We were back at work again and had reached the embrasures of the enemy's batteries when a withering fire of musketry opened upon us from the rear. We thought it was our own people coming up to our support for we had hardly men enough left to drive the gunners from their places. So we laid down to escape this fire. I was hugging the ground pretty close. Hauxthall, the matchless soldier, remained standing. We called to him to lie down, not to make a fool of himself, that he would be shot in the back by our own men. He laughed and said it mattered little to him, where or how he was shot. From my proximity to Mother Earth I spied under the smoke the blue line of the Federal troops, and believe I was the first to give the alarm that they were Yankees in our rear—notwithstanding others to the contrary. Tom Carter of the "Wetumpkies" and I lit out on a flank movement to the rear. To have to die is bad enough, but being captured was out of the question. I think if a rabbit had jumped in front of us we would have originated that saying "Get out of my way, Mr. Rabbit, and let some one run who knows how." Carter was not, strictly speaking, a Sunday school boy, but a brave one—only a child in years, but a veteran in experience. I had the pleasure some years afterwards of meeting the Commander of the Federal column that got in our rear. A wholesouled fellow. It was in New York and we celebrated. With a letter I wrote a few days after the battle from our old camp, I will, to your great relief, wind up these ramblings.
After reading these two old war letters, let me have them and I will send you others that will refresh your memory about camp and the boys. With all my blessings for your happiness and prosperity believe me, always as of yore,
Your friend,
Nick
- Third Alabama!: The Civil War Memoir of Brigadier General Cullen Andrews Battle, CSA by Cullen A. Battle, ed. by Brandon H. Beck, pp. 70-74.
Here are several maps from The Campaign of Chancellorsville: A Strategic and Tactical Study by John Bigelow depicting the advance of O'Neal's Alabama Brigade on May 3. Note that O'Neal was wounded so the brigade was commanded by Col. Josephus M. Hall. Click to expand.
In the following letter by Captain Nick Weekes to his former captain, Captain T. Casey Witherspoon of Company A "Mobile Cadets", he gives a harrowing account of the regiment's charge.
Galveston, Jan. 11, 1903.
Captain T. C. Witherspoon
Waco, Texas.
My Dear Captain: Your welcome letter was received today and it put me in a reminiscent mood. My mind has just been straying back to my boyhood days, and I am living again among friends and companions of those happy times, which will never return, and when I stop to think so many of those that formed a part of my life then have passed out, too, and the few of us left behind are scattered far apart.
I promised you some letters I wrote during the war and in this will send two about Chancellorsville fight, in which we were together. My memory is good; time has not dimmed it, and I hope age has not illumined my imagination—that I do protest.
I have an hour to spare, but don't know that you have, or the patience either to bear with me. If I impose, forgive me, but should you read this letter and find me in error pray tell me of it, and I will "fess up" that I am getting old and imaginary. Sometimes I have told things so often that I wasn't quite sure after a time whether they did actually happen or not, but I have never ventured to tell this before, so it must be true. This old letter pinned here will suffice for the battle Saturday. I had scarcely handed it to Oliver Keeler when the ball opened again, and the command rang out: "Fall in. Attention, Third Alabama. In four ranks, right face. Forward march!" And we moved away from out of the clearing we occupied, into the wilderness again. Our orders were to keep 200 yards in the rear and conform to the movements of the line in front of us. We were in the third line of battle now, having been in the fight from 5 until 10 o'clock, as you know, we wound up that dance by moonlight. Fresh troops were put in the lead. As we advanced, solid shot and shell greeted us, and when we got nearer, grape accompaniment was added. There must have been fifty guns at play in front and flank. The biggest tree afforded no protection. One might as well have been in front as behind it. Limbs and the tops were falling about us as if torn by a cyclone. Then from the rear shells came shrieking over our heads from Carter's battalion of artillery. We were enveloped, as it were, in dense fog, the flashing of guns could be seen only a few feet away. A fellow can't see very far in a fight, but he sees a plenty when he is scared. At every breath we were inhaling sulfurous vapor fresh and hot from cannon mouth and bursting shell. What a din. What a variety of hideous noises. The ping of the minnie ball, the splutter of canister, the whistling of grape, the "where are you,'' "where are you" of screaming shells and the cannon's roar from a hundred mouths went to make up the music for the great opera of death.
I saw the arm and shoulder fly from the man just in front exposing his throbbing heart. Another's foot flew up and kicked him in the face as a shell struck his leg. Another disemboweled crawled along on his fours, his entrails trailing behind, and still another held up his tongue with his hand, a piece of shell having carried away his lower jaw. Others sank to earth as if to rest, and some plunged forward, as though tripped by a snare, never to rise again. I had just about made up my mind that "this is hell sure enough" when one, two, three, and the fourth shell dropped almost in the same spot as fast as one could count, exploding as they struck the ground—and all was darkness around me. I should say blackness, so black and thick I could feel it, and my feet seemed to rest on a sheet of flame. It could have been only a few seconds when I recovered to find myself standing alone and fourteen lying in the space of about ten feet around me. Among this number I recall the two Chapman brothers and Capt. Neal Robinson of the Lowndes Beauregards. At this juncture General Rodes dashed up to Captain Bonham who commanded our regiment, and ordered him to charge regardless of those in our front. We were near the colors and Captain Bonham in the lead, other regimental commanders, not having received the command, thinking Bonham had gone wild endeavored to stop him. You joined him and reported that our left was uncovered and exposed to a crossfire. He replied only by shouting out the command "Forward, Third Alabama! The order is forward—follow me!" The other regiments quickly responded. I can see Bonham now. What a magnificent picture, what a grand man he was to lead a charge! ''Knight of the Black Plume" you fitly styled him. When we reached the lines in our front they had lain down on the brink of a ravine, on the opposite side of which was the enemy's artillery, and half way down the slope their infantry line behind breastworks. The very air seemed black with shot. Over and down we went and our line melted away as if swallowed up by the earth.
It was here that Cecil Carter fell, the noblest and bravest of all. I halted an instant, and with the help of Jim Harrison, the old wheelhorse of the Company, dragged him to a tree. He opened his eyes and asked, "What are you fellows doing?" "Nothing, Cecil, you are wounded; don't try to get up." ''No, I am not. Where?" "In the breast," we said. He stuck his finger in the wound. "The bullet must have bounced out," he said. "I can't feel it." The blood gushed forth, and he sank back. I thought, dead, and his dream verified. We reached the bottom of the ravine and started up the other side in the face of artillery on top of the hill and infantry just below—and both busy. Here we encountered their abatis, which destroyed everything like order in our ranks and every man went on his own hook, crawling over and under the felled trees, not stopping to fire a shot till we struck the infantry and drove it back to their guns. The whole earth seemed to be ablaze before us, and other than gunpowder smoke was stifling us now. The woods were afire, and the leaves a foot thick on the ground with the wind blowing direct in our faces. There was a rush for the clearings and road, and then we stood huddled together under the pitiless rain of canister and shell till the flames swept by. As soon as the fire had passed we rushed back through still hot and burning leaves to our places. If you remember we recovered none of our wounded alive on this part of the field. Their charred bodies dotted the ground and we could see by the ashes where they had scratched the leaves away in a vain attempt to save themselves from the more awful fate of burning alive.
We were back at work again and had reached the embrasures of the enemy's batteries when a withering fire of musketry opened upon us from the rear. We thought it was our own people coming up to our support for we had hardly men enough left to drive the gunners from their places. So we laid down to escape this fire. I was hugging the ground pretty close. Hauxthall, the matchless soldier, remained standing. We called to him to lie down, not to make a fool of himself, that he would be shot in the back by our own men. He laughed and said it mattered little to him, where or how he was shot. From my proximity to Mother Earth I spied under the smoke the blue line of the Federal troops, and believe I was the first to give the alarm that they were Yankees in our rear—notwithstanding others to the contrary. Tom Carter of the "Wetumpkies" and I lit out on a flank movement to the rear. To have to die is bad enough, but being captured was out of the question. I think if a rabbit had jumped in front of us we would have originated that saying "Get out of my way, Mr. Rabbit, and let some one run who knows how." Carter was not, strictly speaking, a Sunday school boy, but a brave one—only a child in years, but a veteran in experience. I had the pleasure some years afterwards of meeting the Commander of the Federal column that got in our rear. A wholesouled fellow. It was in New York and we celebrated. With a letter I wrote a few days after the battle from our old camp, I will, to your great relief, wind up these ramblings.
After reading these two old war letters, let me have them and I will send you others that will refresh your memory about camp and the boys. With all my blessings for your happiness and prosperity believe me, always as of yore,
Your friend,
Nick
- Third Alabama!: The Civil War Memoir of Brigadier General Cullen Andrews Battle, CSA by Cullen A. Battle, ed. by Brandon H. Beck, pp. 70-74.
Here are several maps from The Campaign of Chancellorsville: A Strategic and Tactical Study by John Bigelow depicting the advance of O'Neal's Alabama Brigade on May 3. Note that O'Neal was wounded so the brigade was commanded by Col. Josephus M. Hall. Click to expand.
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