A Thousand Words a Battle: Chancellorsville

Battle of Chancellorsville
May 1-5, 1863

Though famous for Stonewall Jackson’s flank attack and his wounding at the hands of Confederate troops on May 2, the battle of Chancellorsville continued into the next day. The fighting on May 3 proved to be the bloodiest day of the battle and saw repeated Confederate attacks thrown upon the Federal positions.

One of the Federal soldiers waiting for those attacks was twenty-year-old Corporal Rice Bull in the 123rd New York Infantry. His account is one of the most poignant recollections of the horrible violence seen on May 3:

I saw in the east the sun just coming over the forest. Never was there a more beautiful sunrise, not a cloud in the sky. It was an ideal Sunday morning, warm and fair. It seemed to me like sacrilege that such a sacred day should be used by men to kill and maim each other.

As I looked and thought of these things, a single shot in our front broke the stillness. It was the first, the ‘opening shot’ of the battle that was to break in fury on us. Most of the men of our Company were preparing or eating their breakfast, others were lying down resting after their night’s toil, a few were sleeping. That shot brought every man to his feet. . . . Within a minute we were in line, facing the front. Our guns that had been loaded the night before were at half cock. We were ready for the action to begin; with our hearts beating hard and fast we waited.

On the heels of the first shot there was lull for a moment, then followed another, and in quick succession many more. At our right and left was scattered firing, increasing in volume every second. It was the action of the two skirmish lines; the enemy’s men advancing and ours holding back to give us time to get ready for the assault that was coming. We had not long to wait. . . . .

Soon their main line reached their skirmishers and the battle was on. The attack began, as it always did, with their yell, not a cheer, not a shout, or hurrah, but a shrill, long, continued, high-pitched yell that finally was drowned by the roar of musketry.

When the enemy began to yell, our batteries that had waited until that time to locate them opened up. As they were only about two hundred yards from our front, the fire from the many guns passed about fifteen feet over our heads and the shells exploded only a short distance beyond us. The noise was deafening as the shells went howling and singing over our heads, and we nervously ducked as they went by. . . .

 It was then load and fire at will as fast as we could. Soon the nervousness and fear we had when we began to fight passed away and a feeling of fearlessness and rage took its place.

The enemy continued to advance, firing as they came nearly to the fallen trees. Finding our fire too heavy to face they wavered and fell back over the ridge and we gave a ‘Yankee shout and hurrah.’ We had a short breathing spell for perhaps five minutes, the musketry fire nearly ceased on our front; but the artillery kept pounding away. After we all loaded our guns we took a long breath and waited, but not for long. We again heard their yell and they were coming on, this time not making the mistake of firing before they reached the top of the hill. There they gave us a volley and advanced on the run. . . . We loaded and fired as fast as possible but still they came on. The smoke was so dense we could seldom see them but we could see the flash of their guns as they advanced yelling. The crash of the musketry was deafening. Climbing over and pushing aside the fallen timber in their front they were soon not more than twenty feet from our barricade.

I had just fired my gun and was lowering it from my shoulder when I felt a sharp sting in my face as though I had been struck with something that caused no pain. Blood began to flow down my face and neck and I knew that I had been wounded. . . . I took my knapsack that lay on the works in front of me and started to go to the left of our Regiment where our Surgeons were located. I passed in the rear of several Companies, all were firing rapidly, and when back of Company K felt another stinging pain, this time in my left side just above the hip. Everything went black. . . .

I do not know how long it was before I became conscious but the battle was raging furiously; two dead men who were not there when I fell were lying close to me, one across my feet. Captain Wiley of Company K was standing near by. I attempted to rise and when he saw my effort stooped over me and said, ‘I thought you were dead. Who are you?’ The Captain was an old friend of our family but I was so covered with blood he did not recognize me. . . . He had two stretcher-bearers come; they did not take me to the Surgeon but carried me back about fifty yards to a small stream that ran parallel to our battle line. Here was a depression some three or four feet below the general level of the ground where the wounded would be protected from musketry fire. When I reached the stream its banks were already well lined with many dead and wounded. Some had been carried there, had dragged themselves to the place to die. . . . No Surgeon was with us and the men bringing back the wounded were too busy to give any aid. . . .

During this time the battle on our front continued with unlessened fury; the Minié balls sung over our heads, cutting off leaves and branches from the laurel bushes that lined the stream. . . The artillery on the ridge were pouring shot and shell over our heads into the Rebel line. Musketry made a continuous roar, the shouts of our men could be heard, and the often the shrill yell of the enemy. . . . The batteries had depressed their guns and were firing grape and canister that made a fearful noise as they passed only a few feet over our heads.[1]

Nearly five hours of ferocious and chaotic fighting on May 3 left almost 18,000 soldiers killed, wounding or captured—a dreadful rate of one casualty every single second.

Rice Bull spent the next nine days laying out on the battlefield with minimal care for his wounds. He recovered and did not leave the army until the 123rd New York mustered out of service in 1865. Bull received a pension for his wartime wounds in 1879 and did not die until 1930.

— Ryan Quint

Part of a series.

[1] Rice C. Bull, Soldiering: The Civil War Diary of Rice C. Bull, 123rd New York Volunteer Infantry, edited by K. Jack Bauer (San Rafael: Presidio Press, 1977), 54-59.