Here's Capt. D. Augustus Dickert's account of the snowball fights along the Rappahannock during the winter of 1862-63, from his history of Kershaw's Brigade. He was then a 1st Lieutenant in Co. H, 3rd South Carolina Infantry.
That winter in Virginia was one of the most severe known in many years, but the soldiers had become accustomed to the cold of the North, and rather liked it than otherwise, especially when snow fell to the depth of twelve to sixteen inches, and remained for two or three weeks. So the reader can see that the soldier's life has its sunny side, as well as its dark. The troops delight in "snow balling," and revelled in the sport for days at a time. Many hard battles were fought, won, and lost; sometimes company against company, then regiment against regiment, and sometimes brigades would be pitted against rival brigades.
When the South Carolinians were against the Georgians, or the two Georgia brigades against Kershaw's and the Mississippi brigades, then the blows would fall fast and furious. The fiercest fight and the hardest run of my life was when Kershaw's Brigade, under Colonel Rutherford, of the Third, challenged and fought Cobb's Georgians. Colonel Rutherford was a great lover of the sport, and wherever a contest was going on he would be sure to take a hand. On the day alluded to Colonel Rutherford martialed his men by the beating of drums and the bugle's blast; officers headed their companies, regiments formed, with flags flying, then when all was ready the troops were marched to the brow of a hill, or rather half way down the hill, and formed line of battle, there to await the coming of the Georgians. They were at that moment advancing across the plain that separated the two camps. The men built great pyramids of snow balls in their rear, and awaited the assault of the fast approaching enemy. Officers cheered the men and urged them to stand fast and uphold the "honor of their State," while the officers on the other side besought their men to sweep all before them off the field.
The men stood trembling with cold and emotion, and the officers with fear, for the officer who was luckless enough as to fall into the hands of a set of "snow revelers," found to his sorrow that his bed was not one of roses. When the Georgians were within one hundred feet the order was given to "fire." Then shower after shower of the fleecy balls filled the air. Cheer after cheer went up from the assaulters and the assaultant—now pressed back by the flying balls, then to the assault again. Officers shouted to the men, and they answered with a "yell." When some, more bold than the rest, ventured too near, he was caught and dragged through the lines, while his comrades made frantic efforts to rescue him. The poor prisoner, now safely behind the lines, his fate problematical, as down in the snow he was pulled, now on his face, next on his back, then swung round and round by his heels—all the while snow being pushed down his back or in his bosom, his eyes, ears, and hair thoroughly filled with the "beautiful snow."
After a fifteen minutes' struggle, our lines gave way. The fierce looks of a tall, muscular, wild-eyed Georgian, who stood directly in my front, seemed to have singled me out for sacrifice. The stampede began. I tried to lead the command in the rout by placing myself in the front of the boldest and stoutest squad in the ranks, all the while shouting to the men to "turn boys turn." But they continued to charge to the rear, and in the nearest cut to our camp, then a mile off, I saw the only chance to save myself from the clutches of that wild-eyed Georgian was in continual and rapid flight. The idea of a boy seventeen years old, and never yet tipped the beam at one hundred, in the grasp of that monster, as he now began to look to me, gave me the horrors. One by one the men began to pass me, and while the distance between us and the camp grew less at each step, yet the distance between me and my pursuer grew less as we proceeded in our mad race. The broad expanse that lay between the men and camp was one flying, surging mass, while the earth, or rather the snow, all around was filled with men who had fallen or been overtaken, and now in the last throes of a desperate snow battle. I dared not look behind, but kept bravely on. My breath grew fast and thick, and the camp seemed a perfect mirage, now near at hand then far in the distance. The men who had not yet fallen in the hands of the reckless Georgians had distanced me, and the only energy that kept me to the race was the hope that some mishap might befall the wild-eyed man in my rear, otherwise I was gone. No one would have the temerity to tackle the giant in his rage. But all things must come to an end, and my race ended by falling in my tent, more dead than alive, just as I felt the warm breath of my pursuer blowing on my neck. I heard, as I lay panting, the wild-eyed man say, "I would rather have caught that d——n little Captain than to have killed the biggest man in the Yankee Army."
- History of Kershaw's Brigade With Complete Roll of Companies, Biographical Sketches, Incidents, Anecdotes, etc by D. Augustus Dickert, page 205-206
And as mentioned, there was also a "Great Snowball Fight of Dalton, GA." when the AoT was winter quartered there in 1864.
Pvt. Philip D. Stephenson, in the 5th Company, Washington Artillery, described the Dalton snowball battle in his memoir, The Civil War Memoir of Pvt. Philip Daingerfield Stephenson, D.D.:
But perhaps the most interesting of all episodes was the Snow-ball Battle! A battle indeed! A battle royal! A battle in which ultimately thousands of men engaged. In regular organization too, by batteries, regiments, brigades and divisions. One of those late March blizzards had come upon us, the last compliments of a stern winter. The snow lay deep upon the ground, six inches or so, and things looked dismal, and men felt dismal. The tent flies in the woods, stretching as far as the eye could reach, and the snow over everything, trees, tents, underbrush, streets, and other open spaces of the camps! Not much moving around! A figure now and then. That was all. Depressing picture!
Suddenly, some fellows in Cobb's Battery, next door to us, ran out in the open and began snow-balling each other. Others joined them and more and more! Presently there was a lull and a sort of conference, and then--the whole crowd broke into our grounds and began "shelling" us in our tents! Come out, yelled they, "Come out and fight!" No response. Our Louisiana boys were shivering and demoralized. They were not used to snow, and that was the biggest one most of them had ever seen! It was all very well for Cobb's men. They were Kentuckians and used to snow. As for the Louisianians, they did not see where the fun came in. A few of us (I being a Missourian) ran out and "engaged the enemy," but the rest kept close in their holes. The Kentuckians kept jeering and daring us and bombarding us! "Come out, come out and fight!" At last there was a shout, "I can't stand this any longer! Here boys let's at them!" And out from an officer's tent shot a figure, stooping down as he ran, gathering snow and charging into the midst of the foe. It was Chalaron our peppery little 1st Lieutenant, hatless and his bald head shiny and red, while his Louis Napoleon moustache and imperial beard bristled up like the whiskers of a cat. It needed no second cry! Our men had stood it long enough. Out they tumbled after their leader.
We drove the enemy back to their quarters, but we had a tough time doing it. Such pounding and thumping, and rolling over and over in the snow, and washing of faces and cramming snow in mouth and ears and mixing up in great wiggling piles together. But we drove them back and made them respect us. By that time our blood was up and we wanted other worlds to conquer. We concluded to combine forces and attack the other battery of our battalion, Tennessee boys. Our battalion was made up of three batteries: our own, Cobb's Kentucky, and Mebane's (I think) Tennessee. We pitched into them and "wiped them out" in short order. Then we proposed combination with them and to extend operations on a grander scale. To this they agreed, and so, with increased and formidable front, and tremendous yelling and great stores of ammunition, we went forth to conquer.
This time the onset was upon the infantry, those nearest to us. It happened to be an Alabama regiment and they at first were like our Louisiana boys--no fight in them, shivered and demoralized by snow, moping about the fires or rolled up in their blankets in the tents. But we put life into them! I remember helping to drag one fellow out of his tent myself. We would not let them alone. We yelled and searched, ran through their streets, pelted them in their tents, around their fires, everywhere, until at last, in desperation, they became aroused also and went for us. After a while, a junction of forces was made again and we charged other camps.
By this time other portions of the army had heard what was going on and had caught the infection. Officers and all. Yes, Generals of brigades and divisions! I remember seeing a group of them, with their staff officers, in grave conference together, planning evidently some "big strategy," but nightfall was now near, and so decisive operations were postponed until the next day.
And the next day, we had it sure enough! Brigades and divisions were on either side, and it was a pitched battle, full of vim and dead earnestness. How I wish I could recall the details: the troops engaged, their numbers, and disposition, also the generals who led us. I think it was confined mostly to Hardee's Corps (our Corps) with volunteers from elsewhere. Cheatham and Cleburne led the opposing sides, but I cannot speak positively. Nor can I say who whipped. My impression is both "whipped." Partial advantages were gained by each side. It was an all day fight and everybody covered himself with glory and with snow. The incidental value of this episode is that it shows the rejuvenated spirits of the men, how altogether different they were from what Johnston had found only four months before.