A Thousand Words a Battle: North Anna

Battle of Ox Ford, North Anna River
May 24, 1864

At the North Anna River, Federal forces found themselves unexpectedly facing a daunting Confederate position. Brigadier General James Ledlie of the Union Ninth Corps was ordered to hold his ground, but fortified by liquor, he decided to storm the Confederate line instead. Captain John Anderson of the 57th Massachusetts, who carried the order for Ledlie “not to charge,” recounted the ill-fated result in the 57th’s 1896 regimental history:

It has long been a matter of mental debate whether, at this late day, the truth in regard to this affair should be told or not; whether, as long as there is no remedy for it now, it should not be smoothed over and made to appear in a favorable light; but justice to the memory of those brave men who fell upon that bloody field and our own sense of duty, prompts us to tell the truth as we saw it.

The black lowering clouds which had gathered and were fast approaching from the west indicated that a heavy shower was about to fall. . . . The condition of affairs did not give promise, to those who realized the situation, of a very great victory. The men had been required to remove their knapsacks and all other impedimenta to their rapid progress across the open space that intervened between the line and the objective battery. The General was inspired with that artificial courage known throughout the army as “Dutch courage,” the quantity of which seemed to be sufficient to sustain him through this or any other trying ordeal, but the quality was not of the enduring kind. . . .

The brigade was finally launched out like a thunderbolt from the dark, threatening clouds from which the rain was just beginning to descend. The General led in person. His courage had just the right poise and there was no knowing how long it would stay or when it would be there again. . . .

After proceeding a short distance all semblance of a lone became lost. It was just a wild tumultuous rush where the reckless were far to the front and the cautious ones scatted along back, but still coming on. Many of the Confederate soldiers stood upon their breastworks and called out in a tantalizing manner,—“Come on, Yank, come on to Richmond. . . .”

On went the furious charge until the guns of the battery became visible. Musketry fire was opened upon the assailants and men began to fall. The Fifty-Seventh colors went down ad the color sergeant was hit, but they quickly came up and the brave Karpeles again went forward with them, though badly wounded. Colonel Chandler endeavored to take the colors from him and send him back, but he clung to them and continued far in the advance, until, weakened from loss of blood, he was obliged to pass them into other hands and fall to the rear. We had almost reached the silent batteries, when suddenly every gun flashed out a shower of grape and canister which shook the very ground and swept everything in front. Beneath the clouds of rising smoke the Confederate infantry could be seen rapidly advancing and closing in from the right and left. The gallant charge went no farther, but turned into a complete rout. A further advance meant simply to rush into the jaws of death or a surrender. The only hope lay in hasty retreat. Colonel Chandler fell mortally wounded. . . . [O]ne or two others endeavored to raise and carry him from the field, but it was too late. Raising one hand, he quietly motioned them to put him down, saying, “You can do nothing for me, save yourselves if you can.” He fell into the hands of the enemy.

Colonel Harris of the 12th Mississippi communicated the fact that he survived some hours after the battle. He generously cared for him and sent tidings of his death, together with his watch, money, diary, and a photograph of a young lady to our lines, under a flag of truce, to be forwarded to his bereaved mother. . . . Such noble characters do honor even to a bad cause.

But, resuming the narrative, the charge that had been made with so little regard to military order, now became a confused and demoralized fight. The General gave no order and made no attempt to rally. Such an effort would have been utterly futile. . . . Every man became his own general, while the receding tide scattered and disappeared in the wood from which the charge had been made. . . .

Nothing whatever was accomplished, except a needless slaughter. . . . When men are called on to make such sacrifices they do not like to feel that they are entirely thrown away through a blind, temporary courage of an incompetent leader.[1]

— Chris Mackowski

Part of a series.

[1] John Anderson, The Fifty-Seventh Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers in the War of the Rebellion (Boston: E. B. Stillings & Co., 1896), 100-102.