Rebels at the Gate: Lee and McClellan on the Front Line of a Nation Divided by W Hunter Lesser Page A
Authors: W Hunter Lesser
Ads: Link
for defense, and its citizens were unsympathetic. Grafton was populated by immigrant Irish railroad laborers with little taste for secession. “I do not like the place,” grumbled a Confederate recruit. “No cheers greet us here; no secession banners wave.” 130
Rumors of a plot to poison the Rebels swirled at Grafton. A bevy of young girls dressed in red, white, and blue were known to promenade there. Perhaps most repugnant of all was a large United States flag rippling over the main street. George Latham, temporary secretary of the Wheeling Convention, was responsible for that flag. Trading his pen for a sword, the twenty-nine-year-old attorney had raised a company of Union recruits known as the “Grafton Guards.” He awaited only the May 23 vote on secession to offer their services to Federal authorities in Wheeling. 131
Taunted by Captain Latham's banner, some two hundred Confederate volunteers under Captain John A. Robinson of the “Letcher Guards” marched into Grafton on May 22 to remove it. Among them was John Cammack: “As we were moving onto the west end of town we heard a tremendous noise of shouting which we thought was joy at our coming. It was not. Nearly the whole population was out on the streets, but they were not cheering. They were shouting and cursing and abusing us dreadfully.”
Captain Robinson ordered two men to tear down the “damn rag.” An outraged Unionist hurled a chair, knocking the captain from his horse. Robinson arose in a huff, about to give the order to fire when he spied Latham's men—on rooftops, at windows, and in doorways with guns leveled—ready to pour out a deadly volley. The perplexed Confederates fell back. Latham's flag was untouched.
As if on cue, that pesky bevy of girls appeared, waving little Union flags as they serenaded the passing Rebels. Defiantly, Captain Robinson halted his men. The angry crowd hissed and jeered. “ We were held for about an hour on the platform of the old railroad hotel,” recalled a terrified John Cammack, “and it seemed to me we had an officer for about every six men and all of them begging the men not to shoot. Practically the whole town was out in the street above us cursing and calling us ugly names. I think that was about the longest hour I ever spent.” 132
Bloodshed was averted—by a matter of hours.
That afternoon, two members of the Grafton Guards, Daniel Wilson and Thornsberry Bailey Brown, notified other Unionists in the area of Latham's imminent departure. Emboldened, Brown and Wilson returned by way of Confederate-occupied Fetterman. Near 9 P.M., they approached the intersection of the Northwestern Turnpike and the B & O Railroad on the edge of town.
“Halt,” cried a sentinel from the darkness. Brown and Wilson could make out three figures—Captain Robinson's Confederates. A second warning rang out. The pair drew close enough to recognize Daniel Knight, a well-known troublemaker. Brown had once disarmed him in an ugly altercation, and Knight had vowed revenge. The thought of Daniel Knight blocking access to a public highway infuriated Brown.
“Damn him, what right has he to stop us,” exclaimed Brown. He drew a revolver and fired—shearing the lobe from Knight's right ear. Knight staggered, leveled a flintlock musket, and discharged the contents into Brown's chest. Brown collapsed; blood poured from three gaping wounds near his heart. Wilson turned and fled.
Bailey Brown was dead—the first enlisted man in United States service to be killed by a Confederate soldier. His death on May 22, 1861, preceded by two days that of Union Colonel Elmer Ellsworth, the well-known Northern martyr shot down in Alexandria while removing a Confederate flag. Brown's bloodstained corpse was handed over to his friends and put on display at the Grafton Hotel. The event sparked a commotion. Hundreds came to view the fallen hero—and to vote in the long-awaited referendum on Virginia's
Rumors of a plot to poison the Rebels swirled at Grafton. A bevy of young girls dressed in red, white, and blue were known to promenade there. Perhaps most repugnant of all was a large United States flag rippling over the main street. George Latham, temporary secretary of the Wheeling Convention, was responsible for that flag. Trading his pen for a sword, the twenty-nine-year-old attorney had raised a company of Union recruits known as the “Grafton Guards.” He awaited only the May 23 vote on secession to offer their services to Federal authorities in Wheeling. 131
Taunted by Captain Latham's banner, some two hundred Confederate volunteers under Captain John A. Robinson of the “Letcher Guards” marched into Grafton on May 22 to remove it. Among them was John Cammack: “As we were moving onto the west end of town we heard a tremendous noise of shouting which we thought was joy at our coming. It was not. Nearly the whole population was out on the streets, but they were not cheering. They were shouting and cursing and abusing us dreadfully.”
Captain Robinson ordered two men to tear down the “damn rag.” An outraged Unionist hurled a chair, knocking the captain from his horse. Robinson arose in a huff, about to give the order to fire when he spied Latham's men—on rooftops, at windows, and in doorways with guns leveled—ready to pour out a deadly volley. The perplexed Confederates fell back. Latham's flag was untouched.
As if on cue, that pesky bevy of girls appeared, waving little Union flags as they serenaded the passing Rebels. Defiantly, Captain Robinson halted his men. The angry crowd hissed and jeered. “ We were held for about an hour on the platform of the old railroad hotel,” recalled a terrified John Cammack, “and it seemed to me we had an officer for about every six men and all of them begging the men not to shoot. Practically the whole town was out in the street above us cursing and calling us ugly names. I think that was about the longest hour I ever spent.” 132
Bloodshed was averted—by a matter of hours.
That afternoon, two members of the Grafton Guards, Daniel Wilson and Thornsberry Bailey Brown, notified other Unionists in the area of Latham's imminent departure. Emboldened, Brown and Wilson returned by way of Confederate-occupied Fetterman. Near 9 P.M., they approached the intersection of the Northwestern Turnpike and the B & O Railroad on the edge of town.
“Halt,” cried a sentinel from the darkness. Brown and Wilson could make out three figures—Captain Robinson's Confederates. A second warning rang out. The pair drew close enough to recognize Daniel Knight, a well-known troublemaker. Brown had once disarmed him in an ugly altercation, and Knight had vowed revenge. The thought of Daniel Knight blocking access to a public highway infuriated Brown.
“Damn him, what right has he to stop us,” exclaimed Brown. He drew a revolver and fired—shearing the lobe from Knight's right ear. Knight staggered, leveled a flintlock musket, and discharged the contents into Brown's chest. Brown collapsed; blood poured from three gaping wounds near his heart. Wilson turned and fled.
Bailey Brown was dead—the first enlisted man in United States service to be killed by a Confederate soldier. His death on May 22, 1861, preceded by two days that of Union Colonel Elmer Ellsworth, the well-known Northern martyr shot down in Alexandria while removing a Confederate flag. Brown's bloodstained corpse was handed over to his friends and put on display at the Grafton Hotel. The event sparked a commotion. Hundreds came to view the fallen hero—and to vote in the long-awaited referendum on Virginia's
Similar Books
