What was the most significant event on June 3 during the U.S. Civil War?

Monday, June 3, 1861: Sen. Stephen Douglas, Lincoln’s main opponent in the presidential race, dies of typhoid fever in less than a year for the Presidential election of 1860.
Tuesday, June 3, 1862: Lieutenant Josiah Marshall Favill, a young officer in the 57th New York Infantry, writes in his journal his recollection of the Battle of Seven Pines: “Thank heaven I am still alive, and have gone through the stirring events of the past four days with credit, and am entirely unharmed; the only loss being my sword hilt, which was struck by a bullet and shattered to pieces, and so here I am again, at my old diary; criticising and having a good time all by myself. No one actually engaged in battle knows much about the details of the fight as a whole, at the time; if he can remember distinctly what happened under his own eye, he does well. The general details must be learnt after the fight. Of course certain officers, as staff and general officers, have greater facilities for observation than regimental officers, but in this particular fight, no one could see twenty yards ahead of him, and so it was all guess work. My account, therefore, of the battle, will not be complete, but to show what the regiment really did, I shall insert the official report of three of the prominent captains, besides giving an account of what I saw myself. . . . arriving there we found the stream swollen to a mighty flood, rushing swiftly down the river. There were no signs of banks, or crossings, all being overflowed, the water coming far up over the meadows on either side. The bridge over which we expected to cross, was completely undermined, and wholly impracticable, and so to get across we must ford the stream. The general gave the order, and our brigade led the way fearlessly stepping into the seething waters and feeling their way across. The current was so strong that it was all the men could do to hold their feet, particularly in the middle of the stream, where the water reached their hips, and made it necessary for them to hold their arms and ammunition, high above their heads; every now and then, a misstep sent some unfortunate, over head and ears, . . . Here we found a series of deep ditches, running parallel to the river, intended ordinarily, to drain the marshy banks, but now entirely hidden from view by the rising waters; we could only locate them by somebody suddenly dropping out of sight, occasionally whole ranks at a time; as the current was very swift, the danger was considerable, not to mention the discomfort. File after file bobbed under water, as they reached these hidden ditches, and were sometimes extricated with difficulty. My gallant old friend, Captain Kirk, stepping out at the head of his company, slipped into one of them, and although six feet tall, went entirely out of sight. His men soon yanked him out, . . . inwardly rejoicing I was not as they, on foot, when Horrors! I was floundering in the water, paddling away for dear life to keep myself from drowning, while floating down the current. My horse had stepped into one of these execrable ditches, and stumbled head over heels. Some of the fellows pulled me out, while others caught my horse, laughing; thinking it a great joke, as I did myself, after I got the water out of my mouth, and boots; but it was beastly uncomfortable on horseback, with boots and pockets full of water, and if I had not had so much to do, should probably have been very wretched. . . . We . . . did our best to get up before dark, but the roads were so bad, and the men so handicapped by their wet clothes, that we did not reach the battlefield until after dark, when the action for the day was over. Just before reaching Fair Oaks, we passed over a piece of scrub oak, strewn with dead and wounded men, and heard from the dark recesses of the woods the cries of wounded men calling for help. We hurried forward, coming out near a railroad track, marched across a large open field, and formed in line of battle, facing southward. This field had been the battle ground, stubbornly held till after dark by our men. There were many dead and wounded scattered about, and several parties of hospital attendants were searching the field for wounded, carrying lanterns, which looked like will-o-the-wisps, flitting here, and there, over the vast dark space.
. . . after a few minutes’ anxious watching, we heard the voices of rebel officers, forming their troops in front of us for the attack, and also the crackling of boughs, and noise made by the men in forming; we peered long and anxiously into the dark, heavy woods, hoping to see them before opening fire, when suddenly, without any warning, a heavy musketry fire opened all along the enemy’s line. The noise was tremendous; and the bullets whistled about our ears like hailstones, tearing branches, twigs, and leaves from the trees. The horses reared and plunged, and the center and left of the regiment were thrown into some confusion, but most of the men stood their ground, and opened fire. I rode along the line towards the right close behind the men, encouraging them to keep closed up, and blaze away. Captains McKay and Kirk were at once conspicuous for activity, and in a few minutes, the line was straightened out, and delivering an effective fire. I noticed the enemy’s aim was high, and cautioned the men to aim low. The firing rolled in long continuous volume, now slacking, now increasing, until it seemed as if pandemonium had broken loose, and all the guns in the world were going off at once. With all the frightful racket, I did not fail to notice how few men were being hit, and told the men to take advantage of the little danger, and fire to some purpose. The enemy did not advance, and in the course of half an hour or so, which, of course, seemed twice as long, slackened their fire, and apparently withdrew; our wounded were removed, and the line reformed, or rather, straightened out, and then the colonel ordered the men to lie down and open fire the instant they saw anything in front. . . . It was not long before a deafening volley was fired into us again, at apparently a greater distance than the first attack. Sergeant Stuart, the color bearer, and Lieutenant Folger and several men were killed by this volley, the rebels firing much lower than before. They advanced after the first volley, and came within thirty yards of us, when they received a magnificent fire, steady, effective, and determined; our fellows had no idea of giving way this time, and stood their ground; the trees were riddled, and a heavy shower of branches and leaves continuously fell upon our heads. The air, in fact, seemed full of bullets, and yet so few were hurt we began to think they could not hit us. While the second attack was at its height, McKay and I were on the right, and noticed that the rebel line did not extend as far as ours, which I reported to the colonel, who immediately directed us to wheel the two right companies inward, and sweep the line in front, taking the enemy in flank. We quickly made the movement, French watching us. The moment the men opened fire, the rebels broke and ran, getting away as fast as they could; General Richardson came up just at this time, and immediately ordered the whole brigade out of the woods, so the batteries could sweep it clear with canister and shell; we filed out in quick time, forming behind the guns, which opened at once, filling the woods with bursting shells and showers of iron hail. It was a dreadful thing for the wounded men, who were unable to move, but seemed to be a necessary evil. . . .

Pictures: 1864 Plan of the battle of cold-harbor Map; 1864 cold-harbor-june-3-1864-Map; 1862 The Abandonment of Fort Pillow; 1864 Cold-Harbor Artillery
Since RallyPoint truncates survey selection text I am posting events that were not included and then the full text of each survey choice below:
A. Monday, June 3, 1861: Battle of Philippi, West Virginia. First land engagement of the Civil War between American and Confederate forces was a minor affair that lasted less than 20 minutes and resulted in no fatalities, it marked the first inland clash between significant numbers of troops. It also was an important step on George B. McClellan’s road to becoming commander of the Army of the Potomac, the largest Union army.
Philippi, a town of less than 500, held little military significance. The real prize was Grafton, some 25 miles north. There, the Parkersburg-Grafton Railroad joined the Baltimore & Ohio, the only continuous east-west connector between the East Coast and the Ohio River and the states of the Old Northwest.
General Robert E. Lee, commanding all military forces in Virginia, sent Mexican War veteran Col. George Porterfield to organize the troops mustering at Grafton and hold the rail lines. Lee underestimated the level of long-standing resentment in that part of Western Virginia toward the government in Richmond, however, and Porterfield found only a handful of troops, with whatever weapons they had brought from home and little or no military training. He eventually received a few—very few—reinforcements from the Shenandoah Valley and "about 1,000 rusty muskets," along with 1,500 percussion caps meant for shotguns. Unable to hold Grafton—primarily a Union town—he withdrew to secession-supporting Philippi.
At the governor’s suggestion, Porterfield burned a few bridges to slow any movements against him from Wheeling in the state’s northern panhandle. That provided Major General George B. McClellan, commanding the Department of the Ohio, the opportunity he had been waiting for. Both McClellan and Porterfield had been restrained by their superior officers pending Virginia’s vote on seceding. With that issue now decided in favor of secession, McClellan sent infantry and artillery across the Ohio River to protect the lives and property of Union-loyal Virginians, most of whom lived in the most northwestern counties.
One regiment of such Virginians had already formed at Wheeling, under Col. Benjamin Kelley, and another was being raised there. Using the railroads, Kelley and a portion of the troops sent by McClellan traveled to Grafton, where they were joined by Ohio and Indiana troops that arrived on trains from Parkersburg.
On the storm-swept night of June 2–3, Col.Ebenezer Dumont of Indiana led 1,400 men, along with two cannon of the Cleveland Light Artillery, southeast toward Philippi. From the northeast, Kelley led another 1,600 rain-soaked men. Dumont was to hold the Rebels in place with a demonstration from the west while Kelley intersected the Beverly Road and swept in from the southeast to bag the lot. The plan went awry when Kelley took a wrong turn and entered Philippi not far from where Dumont’s men were.
Porterfield was well aware of his opponents’ plan and had made preparations for his little army to move to Beverly higher in the mountains the next morning. By pushing on through the stormy night, Kelley and Dumont caught the Confederates sleeping. Some of the defenders made a brief stand while others took to their heels in the direction of Beverly, giving the battle the derisive nickname "the Philippi Races."
An Indiana regiment of Dumont’s command stormed across a covered bridge over the Tygart River into town about the time Kelley’s men swept in from the east. Riding up the street in pursuit of the fleeing Confederates, Kelley was seriously wounded by a bullet in the chest, fired by one of Porterfield’s men who had concealed himself. Kelley survived and rose to the rank of brigadier general, in command of the Department of West Virginia. Dumont would be likewise promoted but would cut his military career short after being elected to Congress the following year.
B. Tuesday, June 3, 1862: The Abandonment of Fort Pillow, Tennessee. Gen P.G.T. Beauregard sends orders to Brig. Gen. John Villepigue, commander of the huge fortress known as Fort Pillow, on the Mississippi River, above Memphis, instructing him to abandon the fortress, since the Confederate abandonment of Corinth means that the Yankees can get into the rear of the fort, and Memphis. Villepigue complies.
General P.G.T. Beauregard’s withdraw from Corinth, Mississippi may have saved his army, but it doomed Confederate strongholds along the Mississippi River. The most immediately effected was Fort Pillow, a well-armed series of batteries overlooking the water, forty miles north of Memphis. Though construction started nearly a year previous, it wasn’t until May that the bulk of the construction was completed.
With two water-line batteries, several Columbiads, even more heavy siege guns, and artillery dotting the landscape for miles, Fort Pillow was an incredibly intimidating place. But with the fall of Corinth came the fall of the railroad to Memphis and the impossibility of getting supplies to the fort.
It wasn’t starvation that was the most immediate problem for Fort Pillow’s 3,600 men, however. The Union Naval flotilla that dueled with their Confederate counterparts at the Battle of Plum Run Bend the second week of May, was still close and often shelled the fort from afar.
By the end of May, Union commanders were readying themselves for a full on assault of Fort Pillow. But at the same time as they were planning it, General Beauregard sent word to the fort’s commander, General John Bordenave Villepigue.
Right before evacuating Corinth, Beauregard informed Villepigue that he must “immediately evacuate Fort Pillow for Grenada [in Mississippi – 150 miles south] by the best and shortest route” before the Union troops moved any farther west. Both understood that this meant Memphis would also fall. “Whenever you shall be about to abandon the fort you will telegraph the commanding officer at Memphis to burn all the cotton, sugar, &c, in the vicinity of that city,” instructed Beauregard.
Anything that General Villepigue could not carry with him – arms, artillery, supplies, etc. – was to be destroyed. As for resupplying, Beauregard optimistically cautioned that “arms will be furnished you from the depot at Columbus, Miss., should there be any there.”
As word spread through the Confederate ranks along the Mississippi, cries of protest were heralded from Memphis and Jeff Thompson, who, with his partisan rangers, promised to hold the river for a month if he could put the fort’s mortars on rafts.
But it was too late. All through the day, Villepigue’s troops filtered through Memphis, reminding the citizens that their city was being abandoned by the Confederacy. Villepigue, who had been wanting to abandon the fort for over a month, got his infantry away. During the afternoon, 600 troops and the rest of the ammunition were taken by steamer to Vicksburg.
Union Col. Charles Ellet, Jr., had set his eyes upon the steamer and set about to sink her with the Queen of the West, a sidewheel steamer fitted out as a ram and commanded by his son, Charles Rivers Ellet. After ordering his brother, Lt. Col. Alfred Ellet, to tag along in the Monarch, Col. Ellet prepared his men. Unfortunately, “the captain, two out of the three pilots, the first mate, and all the engineers, and nearly all the crew” thought the job too risky and declined the service.
As the Queen and the Monarch pulled in view of the fort, the Rebel steamer shoved off down the river. The remaining Rebel artillery crew, however, made their presence known. They double-shotted their guns and quickly drove off the Federal ships.
This was the last work they would do at Fort Pillow. After the short battle, the artillerymen vacated the fort, leaving behind a small crew and General Villepigue himself to do the work of destruction.
C. Friday, June 3, 1864: Ossabaw Sound, Georgia - The USS Water Witch was a 378-ton side-wheel steamer that the Union had used at the beginning of the war to help blockade the mouth of the Mississippi River. In 1864, the Water Witch, with a crew of 68 officers and men commanded by Lt. Austin Pendergrast, was serving off the coast of Georgia and assisting with the blockade of Savannah.
On May 31st, 7 small boats manned by 130 armed Confederate seamen were towed down the Savannah River by the small steamer CSS Firefly to the Isle of Hope. The seamen, commanded by Lt. Thomas P. Pelot, were beginning a daring commando-style raid to capture Water Witch, which was frequently stationed in Ossabaw Sound. Because the Union ship was not there on the night of the 31st, the Confederates camped on shore. The next night, with the Water Witch reported to be anchored in the sound, the Confederates rowed out in their 7 boats, but they could not find the ship in the darkness and so returned to shore just before daylight.
On the night of June 2, the Confederate raiders ventured out into the sound once more. This time they spotted the Water Witch, which was lit up by flashes of lightning, and rowed silently toward her. At 2:00 A.M., 5 of the small boats touched the Union ship at different spots at about the same time, and the Confederates quickly scrambled up the sides. Pelot, reported to be the first aboard the Union ship, was immediately shot through the heart.
Within 15 minutes, the Confederates had subdued the Union crew and captured the ship. Five other raiders were killed during the short, vicious fight, including the pilot Moses Dallas who had been brought along to navigate the ship back to the Georgia mainland.
Because of the loss of the pilot, the captured ship was grounded in the shallow sound 3 times, and many of the provisions that were captured with the ship had to be jettisoned to lighten the vessel the last time it went aground. It took all day of June 3rd for the Confederates to bring the Water Witch to the nearby coast.
D. Friday, June 3, 1864: Battle of Cold Harbor, Virginia. Day 3: Lt Gen Ulysses S. Grant orders the grand attack to be made at 4:30 in the morning. After an artillery barrage, the corps of Hancock and Wright went forward. Smith’s XVIII Corps was not yet engaged. Gen. Barlow’s division had the most success: even with heavy losses, they captured the first line of Confederate works. Gen. Gibbon’s division, on his flank, was broken up by a patch of swampy ground, ravines, and heavy vegetation that had to be skirted. Two of Gibbon’s brigade commanders were killed, and his advance stalled.
Angles in the Confederate works allowed Lee’s men to easily enfilade the Federal ranks as they advanced. Wright’s VI Corps made an attack that was tepid at best. The incredible rate of rifle and cannon fire from the Confederate works was deadly. By some reports, most of the 7,000 Federal casualties this day fell during the first 30 minutes of the attack. As Smith’s corps goes forward, their advance is broken up by several ravines which forced the lines into two or more vulnerable columns, which Rebel artillery fire cuts up rather badly. One New Hampshire sergeant writes: "The men bent down as they pushed forward, as if trying, as they were, to breast a tempest, and the files of men went down like rows of blocks or bricks pushed over by striking against one another." True to form, Gen. Warren’s V Corps does not go forward, and so Rebel artillery from his front also shreds Baldy Smith’s advancing columns. Finally, at 12:30 pm, after riding the beleaguered Union lines himself, Grant suspended his attack.
1. June 3, 1850: Nashville Convention - 9 slave states hold a convention to determine their best course of action if the Compromise of 1850 passes.
http://blueandgraytrail.com/date/June_3
2. Monday, June 3, 1861: Battle of Philippi, western Virginia. First land engagement of the Civil War between American and Confederate forces.
http://blueandgraytrail.com/year/186106
3. Monday, June 3, 1861: Stephen A. Douglas dies from typhoid fever, Chicago, IL.
http://blueandgraytrail.com/year/186106
4. Monday, June 3, 1861 --- Sen. Stephen Douglas, Lincoln’s main opponent in the presidential race, dies of typhoid fever.
http://civilwarsesquicentdaily-wolfshield.blogspot.com/search?q=June+3%2C+1861
5. Tuesday, June 3, 1862 --- Gen. Robert E. Lee, the new commander of the Army of Northern Virginia, directs his engineer officers to plot out a line for extensive defensive fortifications to defend Richmond.
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6. Tuesday, June 3, 1862 --- Lieutenant Josiah Marshall Favill, a young officer in the 57th New York Infantry, writes in his journal his recollection of the Battle of Seven Pines: “Thank heaven I am still alive, and have gone through the stirring events of the past four days with credit, and am entirely unharmed; the only loss being my sword hilt, which was truck by a bullet and shattered to pieces, and so here I am again, at my old diary; criticising and having a good time all by myself. No one actually engaged in battle knows much about the details of the fight as a whole, at the time; if he can remember distinctly what happened under his own eye, he does well. The general details must be learnt after the fight. Of course certain officers, as staff and general officers, have greater facilities for observation than regimental officers, but in this particular fight, no one could see twenty yards ahead of him, and so it was all guess work. My account, therefore, of the battle, will not be complete, but to show what the regiment really did, I shall insert the official report of three of the prominent captains, besides giving an account of what I saw myself. . . . arriving there we found the stream swollen to a mighty flood, rushing swiftly down the river. There were no signs of banks, or crossings, all being overflowed, the water coming far up over the meadows on either side. The bridge over which we expected to cross, was completely undermined, and wholly impracticable, and so to get across we must ford the stream. The general gave the order, and our brigade led the way fearlessly stepping into the seething waters and feeling their way across. The current was so strong that it was all the men could do to hold their feet, particularly in the middle of the stream, where the water reached their hips, and made it necessary for them to hold their arms and ammunition, high above their heads; every now and then, a misstep sent some unfortunate, over head and ears, . . . Here we found a series of deep ditches, running parallel to the river, intended ordinarily, to drain the marshy banks, but now entirely hidden from view by the rising waters; we could only locate them by somebody suddenly dropping out of sight, occasionally whole ranks at a time; as the current was very swift, the danger was considerable, not to mention the discomfort. File after file bobbed under water, as they reached these hidden ditches, and were sometimes extricated with difficulty. My gallant old friend, Captain Kirk, stepping out at the head of his company, slipped into one of them, and although six feet tall, went entirely out of sight. His men soon yanked him out, . . . inwardly rejoicing I was not as they, on foot, when Horrors! I was floundering in the water, paddling away for dear life to keep myself from drowning, while floating down the current. My horse had stepped into one of these execrable ditches, and stumbled head over heels. Some of the fellows pulled me out, while others caught my horse, laughing; thinking it a great joke, as I did myself, after I got the water out of my mouth, and boots; but it was beastly uncomfortable on horseback, with boots and pockets full of water, and if I had not had so much to do, should probably have been very wretched. . . . We . . . did our best to get up before dark, but the roads were so bad, and the men so handicapped by their wet clothes, that we did not reach the battlefield until after dark, when the action for the day was over. Just before reaching Fair Oaks, we passed over a piece of scrub oak, strewn with dead and wounded men, and heard from the dark recesses of the woods the cries of wounded men calling for help. We hurried forward, coming out near a railroad track, marched across a large open field, and formed in line of battle, facing southward. This field had been the battle ground, stubbornly held till after dark by our men. There were many dead and wounded scattered about, and several parties of hospital attendants were searching the field for wounded, carrying lanterns, which looked like will-o-the-wisps, flitting here, and there, over the vast dark space.
. . . after a few minutes’ anxious watching, we heard the voices of rebel officers, forming their troops in front of us for the attack, and also the crackling of boughs, and noise made by the men in forming; we peered long and anxiously into the dark, heavy woods, hoping to see them before opening fire, when suddenly, without any warning, a heavy musketry fire opened all along the enemy’s line. The noise was tremendous; and the bullets whistled about our ears like hailstones, tearing branches, twigs, and leaves from the trees. The horses reared and plunged, and the center and left of the regiment were thrown into some confusion, but most of the men stood their ground, and opened fire. I rode along the line towards the right close behind the men, encouraging them to keep closed up, and blaze away. Captains McKay and Kirk were at once conspicuous for activity, and in a few minutes, the line was straightened out, and delivering an effective fire. I noticed the enemy’s aim was high, and cautioned the men to aim low. The firing rolled in long continuous volume, now slacking, now increasing, until it seemed as if pandemonium had broken loose, and all the guns in the world were going off at once. With all the frightful racket, I did not fail to notice how few men were being hit, and told the men to take advantage of the little danger, and fire to some purpose. The enemy did not advance, and in the course of half an hour or so, which, of course, seemed twice as long, slackened their fire, and apparently withdrew; our wounded were removed, and the line reformed, or rather, straightened out, and then the colonel ordered the men to lie down and open fire the instant they saw anything in front. . . . It was not long before a deafening volley was fired into us again, at apparently a greater distance than the first attack. Sergeant Stuart, the color bearer, and Lieutenant Folger and several men were killed by this volley, the rebels firing much lower than before. They advanced after the first volley, and came within thirty yards of us, when they received a magnificent fire, steady, effective, and determined; our fellows had no idea of giving way this time, and stood their ground; the trees were riddled, and a heavy shower of branches and leaves continuously fell upon our heads. The air, in fact, seemed full of bullets, and yet so few were hurt we began to think they could not hit us. While the second attack was at its height, McKay and I were on the right, and noticed that the rebel line did not extend as far as ours, which I reported to the colonel, who immediately directed us to wheel the two right companies inward, and sweep the line in front, taking the enemy in flank. We quickly made the movement, French watching us. The moment the men opened fire, the rebels broke and ran, getting away as fast as they could; General Richardson came up just at this time, and immediately ordered the whole brigade out of the woods, so the batteries could sweep it clear with canister and shell; we filed out in quick time, forming behind the guns, which opened at once, filling the woods with bursting shells and showers of iron hail. It was a dreadful thing for the wounded men, who were unable to move, but seemed to be a necessary evil. . . .
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7. Wednesday, June 3, 1863: Siege of Vicksburg, Mississippi [May 26 - July 4, 1863] ongoing
http://blueandgraytrail.com/date/June_3
8. Wednesday, June 3, 1863: Siege of Port Hudson, Louisiana [May 27 - July 9, 1863] After attempting to storm the walls of Port Hudson, Nathaniel Banks digs in for a siege.
http://blueandgraytrail.com/date/June_3
9. Wednesday, June 3, 1863 --- Siege of Vicksburg, Day 12
http://civilwarsesquicentdaily-wolfshield.blogspot.com/search?q=June+3%2C+1863
10. Wednesday, June 3, 1863 --- Siege of Port Hudson, Day 7
http://civilwarsesquicentdaily-wolfshield.blogspot.com/search?q=June+3%2C+1863
11. Wednesday, June 3, 1863: Robert E. Lee begins moving the Army of Northern Virginia, encamped near Fredericksburg, west towards the Shenandoah Valley
http://blueandgraytrail.com/year/186306
12. Wednesday, June 3, 1863 --- On this date, the Gettysburg Campaign begins, as Lee’s troops begin to leave their prepared camps and then march on the road as part of Lee’s invasion of Northern territory this summer.
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13. Wednesday, June 3, 1863 --- Black troops of the 2nd South Carolina Volunteers, U.S. (Colored) attack and destroy the town of Ashepoo, South Carolina. Under command of Col. Montgomery, who has a relish for punishing the local civilians, these troops regularly conduct such raids often in the area.
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14. Wednesday, June 3, 1863 --- Navy Secretary Gideon Welles contemplates some recent actions by the government, particularly the unfortunate Burnside closing newspapers and arresting Clement Vallandigham, clearly a mistake: “The arrest of Vallandigham and the order to suppress the circulation of the Chicago Times in his military district issued by General Burnside have created much feeling. It should not be otherwise. The proceedings were arbitrary and injudicious. It gives bad men the right of questions, an advantage of which they avail themselves. Good men, who wish to support the Administration, find it difficult to defend these acts. They are Burnside’s, unprompted, I think, by any member of the Administration and yet the responsibility is here unless they are disavowed and B. called to an account, which cannot be done. The President — and I think every member of the Cabinet—regrets what has been done, but as to the measures which should now be taken there are probably differences.”
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15. Friday, June 3, 1864 --- The Richmond Daily Dispatch does an article on the famed American actor Edwin Booth, whose brothers Junius Booth, Jr., and John Wilkes Booth, were also well-known actors: Edwin Boot[h] at the North. –This young actor, a native of the State of Maryland, and whose engagements in the South previous to the war were attended with so much success, has lately been performing at the North for the benefits of the Sanitary Committee, When [t]old in Washington by a Southern lady a short time since that the people of the South would surely remember him in this matter, he repeated: “He did not care what they remembered? He knew no country but the Union.– no flag but the stars and stripes.” So much for Edwin Booth!
The Southern papers regularly excoriate people from the border states who show Northern loyalty.”
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16. Friday, June 3, 1864 --- In Wilmington, North Carolina, now the South’s most productive port in feeding the Confederate war effort, the Daily Journal publishes this brief editorial which reflects the lack of news getting there from the confused and desperate fighting on the Overland Campaign, and the Federal army’s attempts to invest Richmond: “FOR some reason we are for two days without mails from Richmond, our latest letter or newspaper dates from that city not coming down later than Monday, the 30th ult.
The Road is not in possession of the enemy, for the telegraph line is working through, and the difficulty does not seem to be with the Wilmington and Weldon Road, the trains on which Road arrived both yesterday and the day before at their accustomed hour, although strangely enough, yesterday’s train brought no papers from Raleigh, a circumstance which can hardly be looked upon as a positive loss, since all our people turn anxiously for news from the battle-field and few take much interest in the political squabbles which seem to occupy so much of the attention of our cotemporaries at the State capital.
As the majority of Butler’s forces, having accomplished “one grand failure” on the south side of Richmond, are understood to have gone round to the York River, and to have joined Grant by that route, we may take it for granted that the body of Beauregard’s forces either have joined or will soon join Lee. Some of the telegraphs mention Breckinridge in connection with the contests near Richmond. This rather puzzles us, since we thought that Breckinridge was in the valley—he certainly was there at the last previous accounts.”
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A Monday, June 3, 1861 --- Battle of Philippi, West Virginia. In a small battle in the western mountains of Virginia, Ohio regiments under command of Gen. George McClellan (who is not actually present) surprise a small Confederate force under Col. Porterfield. The Rebels flee the battlefield in disarray.
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A+ Monday, June 3, 1861: Battle of Philippi, western Virginia. in what is now West Virginia, is known as the "first land battle of the Civil War" or the "first inland battle of the Civil War." A minor affair that lasted less than 20 minutes and resulted in no fatalities, it would barely be a footnote of the American Civil War except that it marked the first inland clash between significant numbers of troops. It also was an important step on George B. McClellan’s road to becoming commander of the Army of the Potomac, the largest Union army.
Philippi, a town of less than 500, held little military significance. The real prize was Grafton, some 25 miles north. There, the Parkersburg-Grafton Railroad joined the Baltimore & Ohio, the only continuous east-west connector between the East Coast and the Ohio River and the states of the Old Northwest.
General Robert E. Lee, commanding all military forces in Virginia, sent Mexican War veteran Col. George Porterfield to organize the troops mustering at Grafton and hold the rail lines. Lee underestimated the level of long-standing resentment in that part of Western Virginia toward the government in Richmond, however, and Porterfield found only a handful of troops, with whatever weapons they had brought from home and little or no military training. He eventually received a few—very few—reinforcements from the Shenandoah Valley and "about 1,000 rusty muskets," along with 1,500 percussion caps meant for shotguns. Unable to hold Grafton—primarily a Union town—he withdrew to secession-supporting Philippi.
At the governor’s suggestion, Porterfield burned a few bridges to slow any movements against him from Wheeling in the state’s northern panhandle. That provided Major General George B. McClellan, commanding the Department of the Ohio, the opportunity he had been waiting for. Both McClellan and Porterfield had been restrained by their superior officers pending Virginia’s vote on seceding. With that issue now decided in favor of secession, McClellan sent infantry and artillery across the Ohio River to protect the lives and property of Union-loyal Virginians, most of whom lived in the most northwestern counties.
One regiment of such Virginians had already formed at Wheeling, under Col. Benjamin Kelley, and another was being raised there. Using the railroads, Kelley and a portion of the troops sent by McClellan traveled to Grafton, where they were joined by Ohio and Indiana troops that arrived on trains from Parkersburg.
On the storm-swept night of June 2–3, Col.
Ebenezer Dumont of Indiana led 1,400 men, along with two cannon of the Cleveland Light Artillery, southeast toward Philippi. From the northeast, Kelley led another 1,600 rain-soaked men. Dumont was to hold the Rebels in place with a demonstration from the west while Kelley intersected the Beverly Road and swept in from the southeast to bag the lot. The plan went awry when Kelley took a wrong turn and entered Philippi not far from where Dumont’s men were.
Porterfield was well aware of his opponents’ plan and had made preparations for his little army to move to Beverly higher in the mountains the next morning. By pushing on through the stormy night, Kelley and Dumont caught the Confederates sleeping. Some of the defenders made a brief stand while others took to their heels in the direction of Beverly, giving the battle the derisive nickname "the Philippi Races."
An Indiana regiment of Dumont’s command stormed across a covered bridge over the Tygart River into town about the time Kelley’s men swept in from the east. Riding up the street in pursuit of the fleeing Confederates, Kelley was seriously wounded by a bullet in the chest, fired by one of Porterfield’s men who had concealed himself. Kelley survived and rose to the rank of brigadier general, in command of the Department of West Virginia. Dumont would be likewise promoted but would cut his military career short after being elected to Congress the following year.
Though both sides claimed to have killed several of their opponents, there were no fatalities in the brief affair. One young Confederate, J. E. Hanger, was wounded by a cannonball and had to have his leg amputated by a Union surgeon. Returning home to the Shenandoah Valley, the former engineering student created the world’s first realistic, flexible prosthesis and went on to found what is now Hanger Prosthetics and Orthothics, still the largest such company in the world.
Porterfield was largely exonerated by a court-martial inquiry but never held field command again. McClellan, who was not present at Philippi but was in charge of the department, won accolades. Another victory soon after at Rich Mountain propelled him into command of the Army of the Potomac after the Union embarrassment at the Battle of First Bull Run (Battle of First Manassas) in eastern Virginia on July 21.
http://www.historynet.com/battle-of-philippi
Tuesday, June 3, 1862 --- Gen. Beauregard sends orders to Brig. Gen. John Villepigue, commander of the huge fortress known as Fort Pillow, on the Mississippi River, above Memphis, instructing him to abandon the fortress, since the Confederate abandonment of Corinth means that the Yankees can get into the rear of the fort, and Memphis. Villepigue complies.
http://civilwarsesquicentdaily-wolfshield.blogspot.com/search?q=June+3%2C+1862
Tuesday, June 3, 1862 --- Gen. Rosecrans of the Union Army is directed to pursue Beauregard’s withdrawal south into Mississippi.
http://civilwarsesquicentdaily-wolfshield.blogspot.com/search?q=June+3%2C+1862
Tuesday, June 3, 1862: The Abandonment of Fort Pillow, Tennessee
General P.G.T. Beauregard’s withdraw from Corinth, Mississippi may have saved his army, but it doomed Confederate strongholds along the Mississippi River. The most immediately effected was Fort Pillow, a well-armed series of batteries overlooking the water, forty miles north of Memphis. Though construction started nearly a year previous, it wasn’t until May that the bulk of the construction was completed.
With two water-line batteries, several Columbiads, even more heavy siege guns, and artillery dotting the landscape for miles, Fort Pillow was an incredibly intimidating place. But with the fall of Corinth came the fall of the railroad to Memphis and the impossibility of getting supplies to the fort.
It wasn’t starvation that was the most immediate problem for Fort Pillow’s 3,600 men, however. The Union Naval flotilla that dueled with their Confederate counterparts at the Battle of Plum Run Bend the second week of May, was still close and often shelled the fort from afar.1
By the end of May, Union commanders were readying themselves for a full on assault of Fort Pillow. But at the same time as they were planning it, General Beauregard sent word to the fort’s commander, General John Bordenave Villepigue.
Right before evacuating Corinth, Beauregard informed Villepigue that he must “immediately evacuate Fort Pillow for Grenada [in Mississippi – 150 miles south] by the best and shortest route” before the Union troops moved any farther west. Both understood that this meant Memphis would also fall. “Whenever you shall be about to abandon the fort you will telegraph the commanding officer at Memphis to burn all the cotton, sugar, &c, in the vicinity of that city,” instructed Beauregard.
Anything that General Villepigue could not carry with him – arms, artillery, supplies, etc. – was to be destroyed. As for resupplying, Beauregard optimistically cautioned that “arms will be furnished you from the depot at Columbus, Miss., should there be any there.”2
As word spread through the Confederate ranks along the Mississippi, cries of protest were heralded from Memphis and Jeff Thompson, who, with his partisan rangers, promised to hold the river for a month if he could put the fort’s mortars on rafts.3
But it was too late. All through the day, Villepigue’s troops filtered through Memphis, reminding the citizens that their city was being abandoned by the Confederacy.4 Villepigue, who had been wanting to abandon the fort for over a month,5 got his infantry away. During the afternoon, 600 troops and the rest of the ammunition were taken by steamer to Vicksburg.6
Union Col. Charles Ellet, Jr., had set his eyes upon the steamer and set about to sink her with the Queen of the West, a sidewheel steamer fitted out as a ram and commanded by his son, Charles Rivers Ellet. After ordering his brother, Lt. Col. Alfred Ellet, to tag along in the Monarch, Col. Ellet prepared his men. Unfortunately, “the captain, two out of the three pilots, the first mate, and all the engineers, and nearly all the crew” thought the job too risky and declined the service.
As the Queen and the Monarch pulled in view of the fort, the Rebel steamer shoved off down the river.7 The remaining Rebel artillery crew, however, made their presence known. They double-shotted their guns and quickly drove off the Federal ships.
This was the last work they would do at Fort Pillow. After the short battle, the artillerymen vacated the fort, leaving behind a small crew and General Villepigue himself to do the work of destruction.
http://civilwardailygazette.com/the-abandonment-of-fort-pillow/

C Friday, June 3, 1864: Ossabaw Sound, Georgia - The USS Water Witch was a 378 ton side-wheel steamer that the Union had used at the beginning of the war to help blockade the mouth of the Mississippi River. In 1864, the Water Witch, with a crew of 68 officers and men commanded by Lt. Austin Pendergrast, was serving off the coast of Georgia and assisting with the blockade of Savannah.
On May 31st, 7 small boats manned by 130 armed Confederate seamen were towed down the Savannah River by the small steamer CSS Firefly to the Isle of Hope. The seamen, commanded by Lt. Thomas P. Pelot, were beginning a daring commando-style raid to capture Water Witch, which was frequently stationed in Ossabaw Sound. Because the Union ship was not there on the night of the 31st, the Confederates camped on shore. The next night, with the Water Witch reported to be anchored in the sound, the Confederates rowed out in their 7 boats, but they could not find the ship in the darkness and so returned to shore just before daylight.
On the night of June 2, the Confederate raiders ventured out into the sound once more. This time they spotted the Water Witch, which was lit up by flashes of lightning, and rowed silently toward her. At 2:00 A.M., 5 of the small boats touched the Union ship at different spots at about the same time, and the Confederates quickly scrambled up the sides. Pelot, reported to be the first aboard the Union ship, was immediately shot through the heart.
Within 15 minutes, the Confederates had subdued the Union crew and captured the ship. Five other raiders were killed during the short, vicious fight, including the pilot who had been brought along to navigate the ship back to the Georgia mainland.
Because of the loss of the pilot, the captured ship was grounded in the shallow sound 3 times, and many of the provisions that were captured with the ship had to be jettisoned to lighten the vessel the last time it went aground. It took all day of June 3rd for the Confederates to bring the Water Witch to the nearby coast.
http://www.mycivilwar.com/battles/1864s.html
C+ Friday, June 3, 1864: Casualties of War: Two Georgia Coast Pilots and the Capture of the U.S.S. Water Witch by Maurice Melton
Pilot Background
For a slave, Moses Dallas had it made. He was a coastal pilot, guiding passenger and cargo steamers through the shoals and over the bars in the waterways from Savannah south through the sounds, down the coast to Jacksonville, Fla. and up the St. Johns River all the way to Palatka. By 1860, he was in late middle age and at the top of his profession. The steamboat companies knew his reputation, and paid good money for his expertise.
Dallas was owned by a widow named Harriet Ann Elbert, of St. Marys, Ga. on the Florida-Georgia line. Her sister, the widow of a St. Mary’s doctor named Bacon, owned Dallas’ wife (also named Harriet) and their six children. In 1860, the sisters agreed to let Dallas and his family move to Savannah, the center of the area’s shipping business. There, Moses and Harriet Dallas rented five acres and a house out Bryan Street east of town, across the bayou in the rice fields and woods behind Fort Jackson. Moses and Harriet Dallas lived there on their own, like a free family.
Whenever Dallas took a job with a new shipping line, Mrs. Elbert’s agent, G.W. Conn, negotiated the initial contract. But it stipulated that henceforth, Moses Dallas would act as his own negotiator on any contractual changes, including pay. And his salary would be paid directly to him. It was normal for a hired-out slave’s wages to be paid to the owner (who often allowed the slave a small allotment for living expenses). But Dallas kept all his wages. His hiring out earned Mrs. Elbert nothing. Dallas was good with money: His reputation for frugality matched his reputation as a pilot. He knew the value of a dollar, and trusted himself to get the best value for his services.
Harriet Dallas also had a part in providing the family’s middle class life style. The family kept some livestock, and she sold milk, butter and eggs in town. But she derived her main income from a successful laundry business, employing some of her black neighbors, both slave and free, as well as her children. While Moses paid Mrs. Elbert nothing for his time, Harriet had to hire her time from Mrs. Bacon. Still, she contributed a substantial share of the family income.
Mark Twain thought the pilot’s profession the greatest life on earth. To a young boy on the Mississippi, the steamboats’ pilots were adventure and excitement personified. Like lords they surveyed their domain from their pilot houses high above it all; and they cut a dashing figure as they sauntered uptown to grab a plug or a dram or some other of life’s necessities while the boat took on and discharged passengers and cargo. The pilot’s pride in his occupation surpasses the pride of kings, Twain said. They were the heroes of his boyhood, and a stretch as a working pilot in young adulthood failed to change his opinion of the life.
For a black man, slave or free, being part of the pilots’ profession was an incredible opportunity. When a boat was in the most dangerous part of its voyage, the pilot was in charge. He decided when and if and where the boat could go. When the pilot was working he commanded the vessel, so far as its movement was concerned. Here was one of the few places in antebellum America where a black man could not only work in an integrated profession, but could hold a position of responsibility, authority, and respect.
When the Civil War came, men like Moses Dallas would find even more adventure and opportunity. In the days before the Civil War, the U.S. Navy had cruised the seas, sailing out to hunt down slave smugglers in the Caribbean or off the African coast; charting rivers and harbors on the North and South American coasts; and showing the U.S. flag in the Sea of Japan and the Mediterranean. When these warships left port they took on a pilot to see them down the harbor and over the bar at its mouth. Once clear, the pilot took his pilot boat (a small schooner) back to shore, and the warship sailed a course ordered by her captain and charted by her lieutenants. On arrival off the next port of call, the vessel made signal for another pilot. One of the local guides came off in his pilot boat, boarded the warship, and took her safely in. Then he left ship, his work over until another vessel needed his services.
But when the war started, the contending navies found themselves working mostly along the coasts, in the sounds, and on the rivers of the Confederacy. They did what the prewar coastal steamship concerns did—contracted with skilled coastal pilots as full time employees and kept them aboard ship. The Confederate Navy, blockaded early on inside the sounds and harbors of the coast, was the first to move to full time employment of pilots. And in September of 1861 Commodore Josiah Tattnall of the Savannah Squadron hired Moses Dallas as a first class pilot at first class pilot’s wages—$60 per month.
Dallas brought aboard a curiosity—his own servant. He and his wife had acquired the services of a slave named Edward Walden. Dallas had young Walden enlisted in the Confederate Navy as a landsman, but with a peculiar proviso: Whenever Harriet Dallas needed Walden’s help at home, Dallas had the right to send the boy there. Surely, this was a unique innovation in naval/civilian/slave relations.
In the Confederate Navy, pilots (even slave pilots) carried the status of officer. Although they received no commissions from the Navy Department (they were “rated” instead), did not command midshipmen or issue orders to sailors, and performed no watch or other officers’ duties, they were routinely listed with the officers—lieutenants, masters, midshipmen, engineers, paymasters, surgeons, etc.— in Confederate official reports and correspondence.
Dallas was senior pilot on Commodore Tattnall’s flag boat, the Savannah, a coastal passenger steamer converted to a fragile and not very effective gunboat. From the beginning of his employment by the Confederate Navy until its end in June of 1864, Dallas would only enhance his professional reputation.
The U.S. Navy was fortunate to find a number of skilled pilots from the Confederate coast who were willing to help the Union against their Southern countrymen. One of the best was Rufus Murphy, who preferred to be known as R.B.K. Murphy. He was from the little settlement of Wassaw, on the sound of the same name below Savannah, and he was an experienced and knowledgeable pilot for the Georgia coast.
In 1862 the Confederate government passed a conscription act. 15 Murphy, about to be drafted into the Confederate army, instead rowed out to a blockading warship and talked himself into a trial as a pilot for the Union navy. A few weeks later, at night, he was able take a small boat back to Wassaw and rescue his wife and mother-in-law. They took temporary refuge on Sapelo Island, but soon Murphy had them at the U.S. naval repair port at Port Royal Harbor, between Savannah and Charleston.
Murphy proved his worth, gaining the trust of U.S. naval officers and serving where his expertise was most needed. In June of 1863 he was awarded the rating “first class pilot” in the U.S. Navy.
Just a month before, Moses Dallas had taken advantage of the revolving door of naval high command in Savannah to negotiate a pay raise. William A. Webb had a promotion, a new command, and a mandate to get Savannah’s great ironclad, the Atlanta, into combat. Seeing the young officer preoccupied with that mission, Moses Dallas demands a raise. He wanted $100 per month, the same pay allotted a naval lieutenant. Given Dallas’ reputation, Webb was quick to oblige. He wrote Stephen R. Mallory, Confederate Secretary of the Navy, for permission to raise Dallas’ pay, proclaiming him the best inland pilot on the coast. The Secretary accepted Webb’s judgement and personally endorsed Moses Dallas’ raise.
In January of 1864, with Admiral Samuel F. Du Pont being pushed (against his professional judgement) toward a dangerous ironclad attack on Fort Sumter, R.B.K. Murphy was assigned to the new monitor Montauk (commanded by the hero of the original Monitor, Captain John L. Worden). Murphy was to guide the Montauk into Ossabaw Sound, down the coast from his old home ground of Wassaw. Du Pont had directed the new Montauk to test her offensive and defensive powers against land-based batteries by attacking Fort McAllister on the shores of Ossabaw.
The Montauk carried a new 15-inch Dahlgren smoothbore, a monster of a weapon, just developed for this new class of monitors. In prolonged bombardments the turreted ironclad’s guns blew great divots from the fort’s thick sand and turf walls, and eventually killed McAllister’s commander. The Montauk also destroyed a privateer, the Rattlesnake , aground in a river behind Fort McAllister. But she failed to seriously damage the fort in either attack, and her failure added to Du Pont’s pessimism about attacking Fort Sumter.
As she withdrew from her second battle with Fort McAllister the Montauk struck an anchored “torpedo,” or underwater mine. These torpedoes were death to monitors. When the Tecumseh struck one during the Battle of Mobile Bay, she went to the bottom within minutes, taking most of her crew—and her captain—to their deaths. Off Charleston, the monitor Patapsko struck a torpedo and went to the bottom just as quickly, again drowning nearly all her crew. But in Ossabaw the Montauk seemed scarcely to notice the mine. The explosion under her hull appeared to have little if any effect, and no one was killed.
The difference for the Montauk was the pilot from Wassaw, R.B.K. Murphy. When the torpedo exploded he instantly grasped what had happened and slid the monitor’s fractured hull onto a mud bank, sealing the hole. 19 The Union navy owed Murphy the salvation of their newest, most prized ironclad. Her crew owed him their lives.
As the Montauk lay on the mud bank, her engineers were able to survey the damage and patch her leak. Then she steamed to Port Royal for proper repairs. From there a Charleston pilot took her into the battle against Fort Sumter, where Confederate guns beat the monitors mercilessly. Murphy missed that fight. He’d been assigned to a little side wheel gunboat named the Water Witch , peacefully keeping the blockade in Ossabaw Sound.
Water Witch in Ossabaw Sound
The Water Witch had been built in 1852 and had served in the Caribbean on slave patrol and in charting expeditions along the South American coast. She had been a stepping stone for officers on their way up. But now she was a dispatch and supply boat, a place holder on the South Atlantic blockade, and a stop for officers on their way down. Her captain was Lt. Commander Austin Pendergrast. As executive officer of the U.S.S. Congress during the Battle of Hampton Roads in March of 1862, Pendergrast had the duty of surrendering the vessel, aground and under attack by the Confederate ironclad Virginia. The Congress was helpless, unable to escape, and her guns had no effect on the armored Confederate, who could stand off and pound the stranded frigate to pieces. Her captain was dead, and Pendergrast surrendered the vessel to avoid further loss of life. Command of the Water was his punishment.
Though Capt. Pendergrast was determined to rebuild his career, Ossabaw Sound was hardly the place to do it. Nothing happened there. Seldom did blockade runners try to enter, and there was no action whatever. The officers fought boredom by planting gardens and hunting deer on surrounding islands. Pendergrast was determined to let nothing else stain his record. He worked to keep the ship and its crew in a state of readiness, and frequently told his officers that the Water Witch would never be taken.
Blockaders feared torpedoes more than they feared boarders. Torpedo threats bedeviled the blockade off Charleston; they kept the fleet in a constant state of paranoia. Pendergrast feared the Rebels at Savannah might have some Charleston-type torpedo boats. In the isolation of Ossabaw Sound, he was vulnerable to torpedo attack, and to cutting out (boarding and capture) as well.
So he took all the necessary precautions. He ordered all lights extinguished at night, and the ship kept ready to move at a moment’s notice. Every evening officers inspected the guns to insure they were cast loose, loaded, and ready for action. There were sharpened cutlasses in racks, and pistols and carbines loaded and ready in chests below the hurricane deck. The anchor chain had a pin and shackle fitted, with a hammer and punch always at the ready to drive out the pin and slip the anchor. These were inspected nightly. Banked fires kept steam up, and every half hour the engines were turned over.
But the crew was unhappy and morale was low. Their enlistments had expired and they wanted to go home. But like sailors throughout the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron, they were trapped aboard their ships until replacements arrived. The U.S. Navy had a manpower shortage, and many sailors who had done their duty were still serving long after their enlistments were up. None of them were happy. Aboard the Water Witch, the crew was particularly disgruntled. In May, twenty sailors were allowed to depart without replacement, leaving the ship shorthanded—and the unlucky ones left behind in an angry mood. It didn’t help that there were a number of blacks in the crew. The white sailors didn’t like them.
Confederate Plan
Confederate naval authorities in Savannah recognized the little gunboat’s isolated situation and looked for a way to take advantage. Just as Pendergrast feared, Commodore William W. Hunter tried to borrow a torpedo boat from Charleston to blow the gunboat out of the water. When that failed, he looked to a plan put forth by one of his lieutenants, who proposed slipping up on the ship at night, and boarding and capturing her.
The lieutenant was a South Carolinian named Thomas P. Pelot. He was a disciple of old Commodore Josiah Tattnall’s love of the cutlass and hand to hand combat, and he came to Commodore Hunter with a daring plan. He intended to take a hundred or more volunteers from the Savannah Squadron to board and capture the Water Witch, then use her as a Trojan Horse to capture other blockaders all the way down the Georgia and Florida coast. These blockaders all knew each other by sight; they brought each other mail, orders, and supplies. And Pelot was confident that with the Water Witch, he could sail up to the blockader in St. Catherine’s Sound, capture her before she realized she was in danger, then continue on down the coast to Jacksonville, rolling up the blockade and amassing a flotilla of captured Union gunboats. For such a mission, a trusted pilot with a thorough knowledge of the waters of the region was essential. Lt. Pelot asked for Moses Dallas.
Commodore Hunter approved Pelot’s plan, and on May 31, 1864 the lieutenant began making the rounds of the Savannah Squadron’s vessels. He had each crew assembled on deck and asked for volunteers for a dangerous mission. One hundred fifteen Rebel sailors were selected, along with a few officers, and pilot Dallas.
The expedition—officers and men, small boats, weapons (cutlasses only, no guns) and a few supplies—was taken down back rivers by a steamer as far as possible, then the sailors manned their boats and rowed down the narrow Skidaway River to an artillery battery on Beaulieu plantation. They would base themselves there for their assault on the Water Witch.
But Pelot found, as he telegraphed Hunter back in Savannah: The bird has flown. Pendergrast had taken the gunboat south through the sounds on an errand. The next day she was back. And that night Pelot’s expedition set out to board and capture her. But the wily Pendergrast shifted her position after dark, and with the gunboat’s lights out, the Confederates couldn’t find her. They pulled so far down the sound looking for her they were almost discovered out on the water with the coming of dawn.
The expedition stayed at Beaulie battery to try again. Pelot left a petty officer and a sailor on an island at the mouth of Vernon River to watch the gunboat. After 11 p.m. he brought his expedition down. He and Pilot Dallas went ashore and conferred with the lookouts, consulting a chart of the sound under a covered light. The lookouts pointed to a place on the chart called Five Fathom Hole. That’s just where I thought she would be, Dallas said, and told Pelot he could find it in the dark.
It had been raining all day. On this night, June 2, 1864, misting rain punctuated by occasional squalls and thunderstorms covered the sound. Pelot’s men pulled across the water in their open boats in two columns. As they neared Five Fathom Hole, flashes of lightening illuminated the darkened blockader. But as they closed on the gunboat, the watch saw something on the water and hailed.
Moses Dallas, in Pelot’s lead boat, answered the hail with: Contrabands! The Confederate sailors put muscle into their oars and closed the distance. Again the watch hailed, and again Dallas sang out Contrabands! But the Confederates, their columns of small boats approaching both sides of the gunboat, were close enough that Lt. Pelot responded: We’re Rebels, damn you! Then, to his men, he cried Give way, boys! The first boats bumped against both sides of the Water Witch. Grappling hooks flew from the small boats and snagged in the blockader’s boarding netting. In an instant Pelot and his followers were up in the netting, hacking at it with their cutlasses, trying to cut through and get to the deck.
Aboard the gunboat, the watch’s hails brought some of the officers awake. Then, as the Confederates closed, the watch sprang the rattle—a warship’s call to battle stations—and fired his pistol. Officers came awake and looked for their arms. The ship’s assistant paymaster, Luther Billings, came out of his cabin armed with two pistols. He’d taken but a few steps, his eyes adjusting to the dark and rain, when Lt. Pelot dropped out of the boarding netting literally at his feet. Pelot stumbled, regained his balance, and attacked, swinging his cutlass. Billings saw it just in time to catch the blade one of his revolvers. Instinctively, he grabbed Pelot in a bear hug. The lieutenant pounded him on the back with the hilt of his cutlass as Billings cocked his other pistol, pressed it against Pelot’s side, and fired.
The bullet pierced Lt. Pelot’s heart. I was still hugging him with all my strength, Billings said, and I remember a feeling of amazement when, at the smothered report he slipped from my encircling arm… and stretched full length on the deck face upward.
By now there was pandemonium on deck. Confederates seemed to be everywhere. Several other Union officers were on deck, shooting down into the boats that continued to bump alongside and throw grappling hooks into the rigging.
Capt. Pendergrast came on deck in his night clothes, calling out All hands repel boarders! Slip the cables—go ahead, full speed! He ducked back into his cabin for pants and weapons, and emerged just in time to have a Confederate seaman strike a blow to his head with a cutlass. Pendergrast went down, unconscious.
Pilot Murphy fought through the melee toward the anchor chain, trying to slip the anchor and let the ship get away from the small boats closing on her. He made it to the shackle and pin, where someone hacked him down.
The gunboat’s engineers began running the ship’s paddle wheels forward, then back. They nearly ran over two of the Confederate boats, keeping their crews from boarding. But five of the seven attacking boats were already clustered around the gunboat, and more boarders were pouring on deck. Paymaster Billings and Acting Master Charles Buck ran to one of the broadside howitzers—shooting their pistols up into the boarding netting and down into the boats as they went—and tried to depress the 12-pounder to sink one of the Rebels’ boats. Caught up in the excitement and fury of the battle, Moses Dallas tried to climb through the gun port where Buck and Billings were working at the howitzer. Billings recalled: a grinning negro face appeared at the port opening. I remember how ghastly his face grew when his gaze met the leveled pistol I held only a few inches away from it. Again the deadly flash and Moses… also passed away.
Other Confederates rushed them. Buck was struck in the head, knocked down, and forced to surrender with a cutlass at his throat. Paymaster Billings was driven across the deck to the arms chests. He found many of the crewmen cowering there, weapons close at hand, but refusing to fight.
One U.S. sailor who fought furiously was Jeremiah Sills, a free man of color from New York who had enlisted, and feared that enslavement was the best he could expect if captured. The Water Witch‘s surgeon said Sills fought most desperately, and this while men who despised him were cowering near with idle cutlasses in the racks jogging their elbows. The Confederates praised Sills’ courage, and his story made the Savannah Republican. With some embellishment, the newspaper reported that Sills stood his ground firing revolver after revolver, until he finally fell under a concentrated fire, six or eight balls having penetrated his body. The reporter had previously noted that the Confederates used only sabres (cutlasses), and that the Union wounds were almost all sabre cuts, but the Rebels’ tales of Sills’ courage led him to gild the account. He said nothing of the fighting by the Water Witch‘s white officers or crew.
The firing dwindled, calls of surrender rose above the din, and finally an order to cease firing brought quiet on deck. The Confederates had won and the boat was theirs. But Lt. Pelot and Pilot Dallas were both dead. The second in command, Lt. Joseph Price, had been wounded in the head and was unconscious, and the victorious Rebels were under the command of Midshipman Hubbard Taylor Minor, a teenager with less than five months’ active duty. Clearly, the Trojan Horse campaign down the coast was out. Now the Confederates’ mission was to save the ship. She had to be gotten up the sound and into the Vernon River, where land batteries could protect her from recapture.
R.B.K. Murphy was too badly wounded to pilot the vessel. The Confederates found the ship’s quartermaster, and as soon as the sun rose they put him at the wheel with a pistol in his ribs, and ordered him to take the ship up the Vernon River. He grounded her around 9 a.m. off Racoon Key at the head of the sound. But the Confederates lightened and refloated the ship, borrowed a black pilot named Ben from ashore, and by 4 p.m. had the Water Witch safely anchored under the guns of Battery Beaulieu. Wagons came from Savannah for the dead and wounded, and a marine guard took the unwounded prisoners to the city.
Aftermath
Lt. Pelot and Moses Dallas were buried the same day, June 4, in a driving rain storm. Pelot’s funeral was conducted at Savannah’s Christ Church. At the naval hospital, Moses Dallas body had been prepared for burial and placed in a $30 plain pine box, like the rest of the Confederate and Union dead. But Commodore Hunter ordered a $100 imitation mahogany coffin instead. Citing Dallas’ distinguished and useful service, he brought the slave’s body to Confederate Naval Headquarters for a funeral service. From there, a hired hearse took him off to the cemetery in the rain.
A week after Dallas’s funeral his widow, Harriet Dallas, rowed out to the ironclad Savannah and reclaimed their servant, Edward Walden. Although he was regularly enlisted as a sailor in the Confederate Navy, no one questioned her right to take the boy, as stipulated in the squadron’s agreement with her husband. 34 Harriet Elbert, who had never profited a penny from Moses Dallas’ employment, did succeed in garnering his last paycheck. A refugee from Union-occupied St. Marys, she would have to go through courts in both Live Oak, Fla. and Valdosta, Ga. to validate her ownership of the deceased before the navy would turn the pay over to her. R.B.K. Murphy and the rest of the Union wounded were in the Savannah naval hospital under the care of their own surgeon, W.H. Pierson. Commodore Hunter soon learned the story of Pilot Murphy. Referring to him as the traitor pilot, Hunter sent evidence against Pilot Murphy to the Bureau of Orders and Detail in Richmond. 36 A week later a Confederate deserter, Jacob Lovett, guided a Union navy expedition across Skidaway Island to try to find and burn the Water Witch . The expedition was captured, and Lovett was tried for desertion and executed. 37 Thus, U.S. naval surgeon Pierson felt he had reason to worry about Murphy’s safety, and wrote (with Commodore Hunter’s permission) to the U.S. Navy Department voicing his concerns. Though the U.S. Navy made no response, no action was taken against Murphy by the Confederate government. He recovered from his wounds, and despite Hunter’s repeated requests for instructions as to his disposition, continued to be held in Savannah until, in early December, 1864, he was exchanged and returned to duty as a pilot in the U.S. Navy’s South Atlantic Blockading Squadron. On June 15, 1865, he was promoted to Acting Master and Pilot. On September 30 he was honorably discharged.
http://savannahsquadron.com/ships/water-witch
D Friday, June 3, 1864 --- Battle of Cold Harbor, Virginia [May 31-June 12, 1864]
Day 3: General Ulysses S. Grant orders the grand attack to be made at 4:30 in the morning. After an artillery barrage, the corps of Hancock and Wright went forward. Smith’s XVIII Corps was not yet engaged. Gen. Barlow’s division had the most success: even with heavy losses, they captured the first line of Confederate works. Gen. Gibbon’s division, on his flank, was broken up by a patch of swampy ground that had to be skirted. Two of Gibbon’s brigade commanders were killed, and his advance stalled. Wright’s VI Corps made an attack that was tepid at best. The incredible rate of rifle and cannon fire from the Confederate works was deadly. By some reports, most of the 7,000 Federal casualties this day fell during the first 30 minutes of the attack.
As Smith’s corps goes forward, their advance is broken up by several ravines which forced the lines into two or more vulnerable columns, which Rebel artillery fire cuts up rather badly. One New Hampshire sergeant writes: "The men bent down as they pushed forward, as if trying, as they were, to breast a tempest, and the files of men went down like rows of blocks or bricks pushed over by striking against one another." True to form, Gen. Warren’s V Corps does not go forward, and so Rebel artillery from his front also shreds Baldy Smith’s advancing columns. Finally, Grant calls off the attacks.
http://civilwarsesquicentdaily-wolfshield.blogspot.com/search?q=June+3%2C+1864
D+ Friday, June 3, 1864: Battle of Cold Harbor, Virginia. At 4:30am on the morning of June 3, the Second, Sixth, and Eighteenth Corps launched the main attack through the darkness and fog. As the attack began, the corps became caught in the swamps, ravines, and heavy vegetation, losing contact with each other. Angles in the Confederate works allowed Lee’s men to easily enfilade the Federal ranks as they advanced. An estimated 7,000 men were killed or wounded within the first thirty minutes of the assault and the massacre continued through the morning. In Hancock’s sector, elements of the Second Corps managed to seize a portion of the Rebel works only to be bombarded by Confederate artillery that turned the trenches a deathtrap. Smith’s Corps was unfavorably funneled into two ravines and subsequently mowed down when they reached the Confederate’s position. Pinned down by the tremendous volume of Confederate fire, the remaining Federals dug trenches of their own, sometimes including bodies of dead comrades as part of their improvised earthworks. At 12:30 pm, after riding the beleaguered Union lines himself, Grant suspended his attack.
http://www.civilwar.org/battlefields/cold-harbor.html?tab=facts
D++ Friday, June 3, 1864: Battle of Cold Harbor, Virginia. In the darkness preceding dawn on June 3, all five corps of the Army of the Potomac began to form up in a long, almost unbroken line. The concept for the attack was simple but without any solid military logic. The II, VI and XVIII corps would conduct the main attack on Lee’s right. Meanwhile the V and IX corps under Maj. Gens. Gouverneur Warren and Ambrose Burnside, respectively, would attack the left of the Army of Northern Virginia to hold the units there in place and prevent Lee from transferring them to help hold the right side of his line. The only coordination in this plan was that everyone would attack at 4:30 a.m.
At the appointed time, a signal gun sounded and the Army of the Potomac stepped off in a heavy mist and fog. Within minutes, as the first wave moved forward, the heavy vegetation and previously unseen swamps and wetlands began to break up the neat formations, and any appearance of coordination vanished within the corps. Thus the assault quickly became a collection of isolated, individual actions. Further, as the V Corps advanced and the Confederate fortifications came into view, each Union formation began to square up with the works at its front. Given the configuration of Lee’s lines and because the Federals had not previously reconnoitered the ground, this approach caused their formations to depart off at odd angles from one another, and each corps began to lose contact with the units next to it. As a result, when the Confederates opened fire, they were able to enfilade the Union attackers with devastating effectiveness.
In a war that had seen more than its share of slaughter, Cold Harbor set a new and terrible standard. The Union forces advanced under a storm of rifle and artillery fire, and men went down in large groups under sweeping volleys. In the course of the first hour two waves went forward, and only Brig. Gen. Francis C. Barlow’s division of Hancock’s corps met with success, managing to seize and hold a portion of Lee’s far right. Here again, however, command cohesion failed. Despite Barlow’s repeated requests, Brig. Gen. David B. Birney’s division, which was in reserve, stayed where it was and was never ordered to move forward to exploit what Barlow’s men had gained. The remaining four Union corps went forward, some getting farther than others, until the overwhelming fire from Lee’s entrenchments slowed, stopped and eventually pinned down the Federals. The embattled troops simply dug in where they were and tried to survive.
Command communications were so extremely confused that there was no control over the attack. Meade and his staff were oddly disconnected from the battle because the woods filtered the noise of battle, making it more difficult for them to get a feel for what was happening. The reports that came into Meade’s headquarters conveyed a confusing picture, and the lack of planning and coordination soon became apparent. Each of the three corps commanders on the Union left complained to Meade that the corps on his right or left had failed to protect him from enfilading fire. Meade’s curious response was to send copies of each corps commander’s complaint to the others. He kept trying to urge his commanders forward, but they became increasingly insistent that, from their particular viewpoint, nothing could be done.
At 7 a.m., with attacks failing up and down the line, Meade sent Grant a message advising him, ‘I should be glad to have your views as to the continuance of these attacks, if unsuccessful.’ This dispatch in some ways seemed to indicate that Meade was surrendering his control back to Grant. Grant quickly replied, ‘The moment it becomes certain that an assault cannot succeed, suspend the offensive, but when one does succeed push it vigorously, and if necessary pile in troops at the successful point from wherever they can be taken.’ With that dispatch sent, Grant moved to Meade’s headquarters and, for all intents and purposes, once again took tactical control of the Army of the Potomac.
Grant had been nearby at his headquarters and was apparently receiving the same reports as Meade. In addition, his staff went out to ride the lines and gather information, which they funneled back to the general-in-chief. However, things were happening faster than they could report them. After moving to Meade’s headquarters, Grant decided to ride out to the lines himself and consult directly with the corps commanders. That action could leave no doubt as to who was now in command. Grant returned to Meade’s headquarters, and at 12:30 p.m. he issued an order suspending the assault.
Later that afternoon an order was sent out to try another assault, but the reaction it received varied. There were some isolated moves forward, but they apparently amounted to nothing more than brief exchanges of rifle fire. For his part, Baldy Smith flatly refused to obey the order. Interestingly, he was never sanctioned for that move. Finally, while some senior officers would deny it ever happened, there were units that simply refused to advance. One soldier who witnessed that phenomenon later wrote: ‘The army to a man refused to obey the order, presumably from General Grant, to renew the assault. I heard the order given, and I saw it disobeyed.’ The common soldier had put in his vote, and the battle for the crossing at Cold Harbor was over.
Grant’s initial report to General Halleck, sent at 2 p.m., was shocking in its understatement. He reported, ‘Our loss was not severe, nor do I suppose the enemy to have lost heavily.’ The magnitude of what had happened and the ghastly cost of this command blunder would soon become apparent, however. While the exact number of casualties has become an item of debate, no matter their total, Cold Harbor had been an unmitigated Federal disaster.
That night Grant finally made his feelings known to his staff: ‘I regret this assault more than any one I have ever ordered. I regarded it as a stern necessity, and believed it would bring compensating results; but, as it has proved, no advantages have been gained sufficient to justify the heavy losses suffered.’ With that said, as was his manner, Grant focused his energies on planning his next moves. He seldom spoke of Cold Harbor again.
Nevertheless, there was a profound change at Grant’s headquarters. Colonel James H. Wilson described it as a sense of despondency. Wilson said that Grant was deeply disappointed that he had not been able to overwhelm Lee, and upset that his subordinates had not properly attended to the detailed planning required to carry out his orders. According to Wilson, Grant was now aware that this was perhaps being done so as to shift responsibility to him. In addition, his staff was now seeing the disastrous effects of the continuous use of frontal assaults and feared the army would come apart if that approach continued. One thing was certain: The cockiness that had been the hallmark of Grant’s staff when the campaign began was now gone, and a sense of harsh reality had set in.
For his part, Meade would take a petulant attitude. In a meeting with Baldy Smith two days after the battle, he told his corps commander that he had worked out every plan for every move since the campaign began. He then complained about the newspapers being full of the activities of ‘Grant’s army’ and that he was tired of it. He finished by saying that he was now ‘determined to let General Grant plan his own battles.’ Smith later wrote that while he had no knowledge of the facts, he believed that Meade simply did not try to execute Grant’s orders at Cold Harbor properly because he was angry about his treatment by Grant and by the press. Whatever Meade’s thinking had been; the result was that at Cold Harbor no one was in effective command of the Army of the Potomac.
The tragedy of Cold Harbor was that it was avoidable. Its leadership failed, and failed miserably. Cold Harbor was a horrible example of what happens when command cohesion breaks down under the weight of an unworkable system, when the stress of battle overcomes professionalism and when otherwise good officers forget the basics of command and their responsibilities as commanders. In the end, their men, average soldiers, paid the ultimate and terrible price.
http://www.civilwar.org/battlefields/coldharbor/cold-harbor-history-articles/
FYI SPC Michael Duricko, Ph.D MAJ Roland McDonald SSG Franklin BriantCPO William Glen (W.G.) Powell1stSgt Eugene Harless PO3 (Join to see)MSG Greg Kelly CPT (Join to see) LTC John Griscom LTC Thomas Tennant SPC Robert Treat GySgt Wayne A. Ekblad GySgt Jack Wallace PO1 Sam Deel LTC David Brown LTC (Join to see) SFC Eric Harmon SSG Bill McCoySPC (Join to see) Kim Bolen RN CCM ACM

Great post - thanks for the share LTC Stephen F..

That war was more fluid than people realize! So much was happening on the field of battle and off!