If I may be allowed just a moment of blowing my own horn…..

Tom Ryan of Bethany Beach, Delaware, the president of the Central Delaware Civil War Roundtable,, and an expert on intelligence gathering operations during the Civil War, and who regularly reviews new Civil War books, has published a review of my history of Rush’s Lancers in yesterday’s edition of The Washington Times newspaper.

Here’s Tom’s review. I am quite pleased with it, and think it a very fair review of the book:

The 6th Pennsylvania Cavalry became the subject of interest as well as humorous comments during the Civil War because of its peculiar weaponry: The troopers carried 9-foot lances with a colorful pennant displayed on the leading edge. While lances were curiosity pieces, they also proved to be antiquated and ineffective.

In “Rush’s Lancers,” Eric Wittenberg has effectively related the story of the 6th Pennsylvania Cavalry — men from all social classes who found common ground to fight for the Union cause.

As I said, I’m very pleased with this review. I think Tom’s critique is fair, and I also think that it’s comprehensive. This sort of feedback from knowledgeable peers is part of what makes me keep coming back for more.

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I wanted to offer a ringing endorsement of one of Chris Wehner’s projects. Chris runs a web site called Soldier Studies. Here’s the mission statement:

This site is dedicated to the preservation of American Civil War information, particularly the correspondence and diary entries of soldiers who served in the field and elsewhere. We hope that by providing a comprehensive and searchable archive of this information a more complete picture of one of the bloodiest chapters in American history can be better understood by researchers, historians, and students alike. Unlike other Civil War databases, this one will remain free and open to the public.

In the course of searching for primary source material for our study of the retreat from Gettysburg, I found three really outstanding accounts in the database on Chris’ site. But for the site, I never would have located those materials or had the opportunity to use them in our manuscript.

Once we get the manuscript done and turn it in to Ted Savas, I will go through my massive collection of material (I have multiple banker’s boxes full of primary source materials from 15+ years of serious researching) and see about contributing some of it to the web site.

In the meantime, do yourself a favor and check it out. There’s something useful and interesting there for almost anyone interested in the Late Unpleasantness. Thanks for what you do, Chris.

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My father had his stroke eight weeks ago yesterday. As I’ve said here before, when it first happened, he was almost 90% paralyzed on the right side of his body, his speech was a mess, he had a large cut in the vision in his right eye, and I fully expected that, at age 86, he would be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, and that he would have to spend the rest of his days in a nursing home. I had fully prepared myself for that probability, and was trying to find ways to make things easier for my mother. At his age, I never figured he would have sufficient recuperative power to (a) bounce back and (b) tolerate the very demanding rehab regime that accompanies the recovery from a stroke.

Since that time, he has made incredible strides. He also celebrated his 87th birthday on August 10.

He’s gotten back about 80% of the movement lost on the right side. He can walk very well with a walker, and a little bit without it. He’s gotten the use of his hand back, and even has enough fine motor skills back to eat with his right hand and to write a little bit. He can get in and out of bed without help. He can get in and out of chairs without help. As the blood from the hemorrhage continues to re-absorb, the doctors think he may see some more improvement, which would really be remarkable. The cut in his vision is still there, but it’s smaller, and they’re teaching him how to compensate for it. His speech, which was really a mess, is significantly impoved, and we all remain hopeful that it will continue to improve. I talked to him on the phone on Friday, and was pleasantly surprised at the progress. There are still a lot of things that can’t be understood, but the percentage of unintelligible versus intelligible has shifted to the point where I can now understand more than not (unless he’s really tired, at which time it’s pretty much impossible to understand anything he says).

I’m very pleased to say that he’s proven me quite wrong about the wheelchair, and now he’s also proven me quite wrong about the nursing home, too.

After a home assessment was done yesterday, he’s coming home next Tuesday. He’s being discharged from the nursing home to return home. I never thought that there would be any chance of that happening, but he’s made a remarkable recovery. He’s been very determined to work as hard as he could in order to come home, and it’s now paying dividends. At 87, he’s a tough old bird, and he apparently decided that it wasn’t time for him to quit just yet. I’m proud of him.

Thank you to everyone who expressed concern for his well-being and who kept us in your prayers. It is much appreciated, and it apparently paid off.

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Sorry for being quiet the past few days. I’ve been slowly but surely plugging away at getting the retreat from Gettysburg manuscript finished. I’ve made some excellent progress, but I’ve still got a way to go. I’ve still got a bunch of new sources to plug in. This evening, I’ve been incorporating material from one of my very favorite sources, The National Tribune, a veterans’ newspaper that was the forebear of Stars and Stripes. I still have a number of those articles to go, as well as the material from a number of books. If all goes well, I should finish some time this week.

In 1998, Gregory Acken published the letters of Capt. Francis Donaldson of the 118th Pennsylvania. This book, titled Inside the Army of the Potomac: The Civil War Experience of Captain Francis Adams Donaldson, is one of the best first-person accounts of the Civil War published in the last ten years. I recommend it highly.

Donaldson participated in the entire Gettysburg Campaign. After the conclusion of the Campaign, he wrote a very lengthy letter home describing his experiences. A portion of it is so funny, and so enlightening, that I decided to share it with you.

On July 12, 1863, the opposing armies occupied positions at Williamsport, Maryland. Lee’s army had the interior lines, his 7 mile long position extending along a prominent ridge line. With the swollen Potomac too high to cross, Lee had carefully selected a defensive position, and was waiitng to see whether Meade would attack.

July 12 was a Sunday. During the afternoon, General Meade and his staff rode over to reconnoiter the position occupied by the 5th Corps. After the general sent some skirmishers forward, the chaplain of the 118th Pennsylvania Infantry approached him. With his head uncovered, the chaplain asked Meade whether a battle couldn’t be fought as well the next day, instead of on the Sabbath. Meade, known for his terrible temper, good-naturedly replied that “he was like a man who had a contract to make a box—he had the four sides and bottom made & was about to put on the lid, hence the fight would take place,” recorded Capt. Francis Donaldson of the 118th Pennsylvania. “Then,” said the chaplain, “as God’s agent I solemnly protest and will show you that the Almighty will not permit this to be done. Look at the heavens, see the threatening storm approaching.” Sure enough, it started raining a few minutes later, and the rain continued all night. “The skirmishers, both sides, covered themselves with their blankets & stood looking at each other & trying to keep dry,” drolly concluded Donaldson.

For sure, the power of nature can overwhelm the power of man. This episode stands in stark contrast to an incident of World War II.

On December 8, 1944, when the Third Army Headquarters were located in the Caserne Molifor in Nancy, France, the Third Army’s chaplain, Msgr. James H. O’Neill, received a telephone call: “This is General Patton; do you have a good prayer for weather? We must do something about those rains if we are to win the war.”

Unaware of any such prayer, Chaplain O’Neill wrote the following on a 3×5 card:

Almighty and most merciful Father, we humbly beseech Thee, of Thy great goodness, to restrain these immoderate rains with which we have had to contend. Grant us fair weather for Battle. Graciously hearken to us as soldiers who call upon Thee that, armed with Thy power, we may advance from victory to victory, and crush the oppression and wickedness of our enemies and establish Thy justice among men and nations.

The prayer worked. The clouds broke as Patton’s army raced to the relief of the 101st Airborne Division at Bastogne, thereby freeing up Allied air power to bring its full force to bear and to help break up the German offensive in the Ardennes.

The contrast is stark and amusing.

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I am just back from a trip to Gettysburg. I went there to meet J. D. and our other co-author for the retreat project, Mike Nugent. We were there to shoot photos for the two driving tours and to check all of the GPS coordinates and see if there was any additional material to add to the driving tours. It was a whirlwind trip.

I left on Thursday afternoon and got there about 9:00. We met at the Reliance Mine Saloon, had a couple of cold ones, and called it a night, as it was going to be an early morning. I stayed at my friend Stan O’Donnell’s weekend mansion, which is located adjacent to East Cavalry Field. Stan and I met J. D., Mike, and old pal Duane Siskey for breakfast at The Avenue. We then saddled up and headed off to do the tour of the Wagon Train of Wounded. First we stopped at a spot where Col. B. F. Carter of the 4th Texas died, and when we got out to shoot photos, the homeowners were very gracious. They shared some family lore with us, and confirmed what we believed about Colonel Carter’s being buried on the property when he died.

From there, we moved on. War arrived at the gorgeous Michael Hege farm, in Marion, PA, near Chambersburg. Again, we got out to shoot photos, and the son of the current owner–a descendant of Michael Hege’s–approached us. He was very friendly and started telling us stories about the property. A few minutes later, his father arrived. The father, Mr. Horst, showed us the outdoor baking oven that is still used from time to time, and few other things. They also gave us the translation of a poem written by Michael Hege about the Confederate invasion of Pennsylvania before the Battle of Gettysburg (it was originally written in German). It was very, very cool.

We owe Duane a huge debt. He’s already described this incident on his blog, and I commend his version to you. Duane caught the seatbelt in the door to JD’s van, and the door got seriously jammed. We stopped in front of the next house to try to free the seatbelt. JD blocked the driveway, and was working on freeing the door when Mr. Horst’s son pulled up on his four-wheeled ATV. It turns out that the home is owned by his aunt, who is active with the Franklin County Historical Society and is the family historian. Next thing I know, the door is unjammed and JD is talking to her. She told JD that she had a letter written by one of Michael Hege’s nephews describing the visit of the Confederates to the property both on the way to and from Gettysburg, and it’s never been published. It is a tremendous letter and a tremendous addition to our book. She also gave us a document that indicated what was taken from Michael Hege during the war, and a copy of a pass written by a Confederate staff officer indicating that the Heges should be left alone, as they had been robbed of everything on the way north. More tremendous stuff. What a bonanza, and all because Duane screwed up. Funny how these things work….

We ended up in Williamsport, had lunch, and then went exploring. We were done for the day, so we went to see some other spots that were pertinent, such as Middletown, Maryland, which was George Meade’s headquarters for a time during the retreat. We also went to see the new North Carolina monument on South Mountain, which I hadn’t seen. It’s beautiful, but it’s another Gary Casteel monument that has weird proportions, like the Longstreet monument at Gettysburg. I then turned the boys on to the joys of Wonder Book and Video in Frederick. After we all bought a few books, we crossed over Catoctin Mountain and headed to Dave and Jane’s Crab House for dinner. After a couple of beers, I headed back to Stan’s mansion, where more fellow travelers awaited us in the form of my friend Karl Fauser and his girlfriend Ilona.

Saturday, we did breakfast, and Dean Shultz and my friend Dr. Dave Moore joined us. NOBODY knows more about Adams County than Dean, and he’s a national treasure. We started pursuing the fighting during the retreat, and Dean showed us a recent discovery, which is where the actual clash between the Union cavalry and the Confederate wagon train occurred. After that, it was on to Smithsburg, MD, where Dean helped us pin down Confederate artillery positions based on information he garnered from locals. We went on to Hagerstown, saw the sites there, and then stopped for lunch, which took nearly two hours due to lousy service. When we went on to Funkstown to shoot Buford’s headquarters, the owners of the house invited us in to see the place. We spent a delightful 45 minutes with them–they had no idea of the significance of their property–and then moved on.

The weather was ghastly yesterday. It was 93 and 90+% humidity. It was horrific. We walked down to the crossing site at Falling Waters, which is almost a mile walk. It’s downhill on the way there, but ALL steep uphill on the way back. A thunderstorm brewed up, and there was lightning and thunder, and we had to hustle back up. By the time I got back up, I was so drenched with sweat that I could have wrung out my clothing. Yuck. Stan had never been there, so he was all atwitter about it.

When we finished, we went to Bunker Hill, 22 miles away, to see the spot where James J. Pettigrew died, and then back to Falling Waters on the West Virginia side. Then, it was on to Greencastle for dinner at the Antrim House Restaurant. After dinner, it was back to Stan’s mansion, where we all zonked out.

The two tours are nothing short of spectacular. We have great photos for them. They have multiple GPS points, and the GPS points are dead on. If someone programs them in, it’s impossible to get lost. The tours contain some terrific information, and we believe that folks will really enjoy them. We should be finishing the book up in the next three weeks, and it’s going to be really good. I can’t wait to see it in print.

This morning, JD, Mike, Dr. Dave, Karl, Ilona, and I had breakfast. We all split up then. Mike had a nine-plus hour drive back home to Maine, Karl and Ilona had to get back to Delaware, and Dave had something else to do today.

As I have said here previously, the Monocacy battlefield is a particular favorite of mine, and I just love the place. Thus, I was excited about getting to see it today. JD and I then drove to Frederick to spend some time at the Monocacy National Battlefield. We saw the new visitor center (which is really quite nice), and then spent some time stomping on the battlefield. JD hadn’t seen a lot of it, so we had a fair amount of ground to cover and very little time to cover it. By 12:30, I was on the road home. I got home about 6:15, and I’m just wiped out.

Tomorrow, it’s back to the grind of lawyering, and then working to get the retreat manuscript wrapped up by our September 15 submission deadline.

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Yesterday, Susan and I traveled up to Lake Erie. There’s a place called Lakeside, which is near the Marblehead lighthouse. It’s near the Cedar Point amusement park, and also near the Johnson’s Island Confederate prison camp/cemetery site.

Lakeside is part of the Chautauqua movement. It was founded in the 1870’s, and it’s like a little oasis. It is very much like taking a step back into the past. It’s a very quaint little religious community. The place is definitely oriented toward Christianity and toward spiritual and religious growth. This was one of those times when having a good Lutheran-sounding name has its advantages. At one point last night, I jokingly told a friend in an e-mail that I hoped that we wouldn’t be struck by a lighting bolt and that we were undoubtedly the only Jews within several miles of the place. 🙂

To get there, we had to pass through the town of Bucyrus, Ohio. On Monday, Bucyrus had eight inches of rain in one day. The Sandusky River, normally not much of a stream, was horribly flooded. Nearly half of the downtown area was under water. There was floodwater everywhere. We had to find a way around it, which took the better part of half an hour. It was, without doubt, some of the worst flooding I have ever seen.

Anyway, this is Civil War week at Lakeside. They have three seminars per day for five days. The folks there had contacted me months ago, and I figured that it might be an interesting experience. They also indicated that they were willing to pay me, which is always music to my ears. 🙂

I ended up giving two different 90 minutes talks today. The first one was on the Battle of Trevilian Station and the second one was on Stuart’s ride during the Gettysburg Campaign. I had almost 130 people for the first talk and about 85 for the second. It was quite a day. Normally, I don’t like working with microphones, but they had a lavalier mic for me, and it worked perfectly. It’s a good thing, too. If I hadn’t had that, I would not have a voice left at all now. As it is, I have very little left at the moment.

It was an attentive but not especially knowledgeable crowd. I had a few good questions and few uninformed looks. However, it got me out of the office for a day, I got paid to talk about the Civil War, and Susan and I got a tiny get-away. Since we haven’t gotten to take a vacation this year, and our only out-of-town trips have been to deal with my father, any little get-away is a good thing. It looks like we will be going back again next year; my usual trick of speaking without notes had the usual effect. 🙂

Tomorrow, it’s back to work for the day, and then it’s off to Gettysburg. JD and I are meeting our third co-author, Mike Nugent, there to shoot the photos for the driving tours for our retreat book.

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It’s been a long time since my last good rant. However, after scooping something close to ten pounds of dog poop in the back yard, I’ve got a good one coming.

The Battle of Monocacy, fought July 9, 1864, has long fascinated me. I first visited the battlefield in April 1992, not long after the National Park Service acquired the land. At that time, other than the monuments that were placed on the battlefield by the veterans, there was no interpretation whatsoever, and no visitor’s center. We were left to try to figure it out on our own. It was very difficult to do, and knowing almost nothing about the battle, I failed pretty miserably. All I could do was to try to get a feel for the terrain and then try to figure out the details later.

In those years, the park has come a long way. It has a brand new visitor center ably documented by Mannie Gentile. Nearly the entire main battlefield is preserved, save those portions destroyed by the construction of I-270, which cuts through a corner of the field. There is now good interpretation, and there are several terrific walking trails on the Worthington and Thomas farm properties. The park is an oasis in the middle of Frederick, Maryland’s terrible suburban sprawl. Within a few hundred yards of the new visitor center is a huge shopping mall. That’s how close we came to losing this gem of a battlefield.

The northern portion of the field, where Ohio militia stood and fought like veterans against Jubal Early’s veterans, is long gone to development. It’s tragic, but it happened.

As a consequence of the lack of interpretation on the field, I set about educating myself about the battle. I ended up writing an article on it that was published in America’s Civil War, my second ever published historical work. I’ve retained an interest in the battle and visit the field whenever I get an opportunity. A couple of years ago, J. D. and I decided to try to tackle our own interpretation of it.

Consequently, earlier this year, I became very concerned when I learned that a fellow named Marc Leepson was about to come out wiht a new book on the Battle of Monocacy. Leepson describes himself as “a journalist, historian and the author of six books”. While he teaches history at a local community college in Northern Virginia, the vast majority of his career has been spent as a journalist. The book on Monocacy is his first publication on the Civil War.

I bought the book today. The book states that the idea to write it came from Leepson’s agent. In other words, it’s a commercial venture. It wasn’t written because of a long-standing interest in the battle. It wasn’t written because of a fascination with Early’s invasion of Maryland. It was’t the product of a Civil War historian of long-standing credentials. Now, please don’t get me wrong. I’m all for making money. Few truer statements have ever been made than what Dr. Ben Johnson said when he declared, “no man but a blockhead ever wrote but for money.” I wholeheartedly agree with that statement. I don’t begrudge Mr. Leepson success with his book; I hope he makes a nice buck on it.

However, the fact that he is not a Civil War historian is abundantly clear from a glance at the bibliography to his book. He did no newspaper research at all. That means some wonderful sources such as The National Tribune, one of my very favorite sources, were completely overlooked. Published soldier letters, written at the time of the events and then published in the soldier’s hometown newspapers, are also some of my very favorite sources. Finally, conventional newspaper coverage can provide excellent material. Leepson did not touch the newspapers.

He also did almost no archival research. He looked at a few collections at the Virginia State Library and a few at the University of North Carolina, but that’s it. He did apparently ignored crucial repositories such as the United States Army Military History Institute, Duke University, the Library of Congress, the National Archives, and others. As just one example, there were two Medals of Honor awarded for valor at Monocacy, and the author failed to examine the Medal of Honor files at the National Archives, which are a treasure trove of good primary source information. Instead, he relied upon a secondary source, which is just plain lazy.

The scope of the author’s survey of the published primary sources also did not impress me. As just one small example, an officer of the 10th Vermont Infantry named Lemuel A. Abbott published his diary and memoirs. The 10th Vermont suffered the highest casualties of any Union unit at Monocacy, but yet the author missed this book. Abbott’s book, by the way, is available in a relatively inexpensive reprint edition, which makes missing it even tougher to swallow. Again, you’re never going to get EVERY source–it’s impossible. However, there are some that shouldn’t be missed, and this is one of them.

The one I REALLY don’t get it how the author–who lives perhaps an hour away–did not even visit the Historical Society of Frederick County, which is located in downtown Frederick. Given that the battle was fought just outside the town limits of the city of Frederick, I can’t begin to imagine how the author missed the collections there, if for no other reason to see whether there were useful civilian accounts in the collection. But he did.

I also didn’t see a reference to Ed Bearss’s study of the battlefield that was published a couple of years ago. It’s available, and it’s less than $20. How could someone claim to be an authority on this battle and not have taken advantage of such an important source?

In short, the book seems relatively well-written, as I would expect of a journalist, with only three maps and a few illustrations. How a battle book can only include three maps is a mystery to me. I find the scope and depth of the research profoundly disappointing. Consequently, the door remains wide open for J. D. and me to pursue our project on Monocacy, which will include the sort of tactical detail and detailed tour guide that we’re known for.

Again, I’m all for writing as a commercial venture. However, it REALLY galls me when someone writes a book like this as a money making venture, lands it with a big commercial publisher (and probably with a nice advance), and turns out something eminently forgettable, as this book is. It bothers me a great deal to see books that don’t deserve it getting promoted and play with the big book chains when they simply don’t deserve it. What’s wrong with this picture?

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The other day, I posted about how the New York draft riots drew thousands of troops away from the Army of the Potomac, thereby depleting the strength of the army. Over the course of a few weeks, the Fifth Corps division of U. S. Army Regulars, an entire brigade of Vermonters, and nine other regiments were sent to New York to keep the peace. The Vermonters and the Regulars were some of the best and most battle-tried troops in the army, and they would be difficult to replace.

The army of the Potomac suffered about 25% casualties during the battle of Gettysburg, or about 23,000 men killed, wounded, and captured. There were another 1,000 or so casualties in the fighting during the retreat from Gettysburg. Obviously, these immense losses limited Meade’s options and his choices.

As I continued to work on the epilogue to the retreat manuscript, I had another realization. In addition to the battle casualties and the detachments to deal with the New York draft riots, nine veteran regiments–two year and nine months regiments–reached the expirations of their terms of service and left the army to muster out and go home. Between the detachments to New York and the men leaving to go home, Meade lost about 15,000 veteran troops at a time when he needed every available musket in order to bring Lee’s wounded army to bay.

Thus, by the end of July, there were 40,000 less veteran soldiers in the Army of the Potomac than there were when the Gettysburg Campaign began. It is, therefore, no great surprise that Meade was particularly cautious in making his decisions about when and how to attack Lee’s army.

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I had one of those Eureka moments that occasionally hit me this evening. As I may have mentioned previously, we decided to add a brief epilogue to the retreat book that covers the period between Lee’s crossing of the Potomac (July 13-14) and the return of the armies to the banks of the Rappahannock River at the end of July. I wrote about four pages on this time frame. It has very little in the way of detail, but it fills the gap in the story and brings the story of the Gettysburg Campaign full circle.

While writing this piece, I remembered that, among the many hurdles that George Gordon Meade had to face during the retreat from Gettysburg, he also had to deal with the fallout of the New York City Draft Riots. The first draft lottery in the history of the United States occurred on July 11, and two days later, five days of bloody mayhem broke out in the streets of New York. As the rioting broke out on July 13, Meade was preparing to launch an all-out attack on Lee’s lines that was scheduled to occur at dawn the next morning. Lee’s crossing of the Potomac on the night of July 13-14 was the only thing the prevented that all-out attack.

Meade’s army was depleted by several thousand of its best combat troops when those troops were sent to New York to help quell the riots. By July 16, martial law had been declared in New York City, and thousands of Federal troops filled the city streets, hoping to restore order.

So, among the many hurdles faced by George Gordon Meade as he tried to bring Lee’s army to bay, he also had to deal with the loss of several thousand veteran combat troops who were sent to New York to deal with the crisis there. I don’t know that any other treatment of the retreat from Gettysburg has addressed this issue, and I don’t know what the precise consequences of these events were for the pursuit of Lee. However, given the many obstacles facing Meade, it’s no real surprise that he chose not to attack Lee’s army at Williamsport until he believed he was truly ready to do so.

I think it bears some additional thought, and I expect to tinker with the epilogue further in order to flesh those thoughts out some more.

This is why I love the Civil War.

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Don Caughey did an interesting post on his blog about his favorite Gettysburg cavalry regimental monuments. His favorite seems to be that of the 8th Pennsylvania Cavalry. I can’t help but wonder whether he missed my favorite.

A Tipton photo of the monument to the 6th Pennsylvania Cavalry appears with this post, courtesy of the Virtual Gettysburg web site. The monument features 6 full-scale, exact replicas of the lances carried by the men of the regiment for the first year and a half of the Civil War. The monument itself is made of granite, and has six sides, representing the numeric designation of the regiment. It also features the regiment’s logo, and is quite simple but elegant.

It also has architectural significance.

Born on November 11, 1839, Frank Furness was the son of a prominent Philadelphia clergyman and abolitionist, William Henry Furness. Frank elected to take up the study of architecture, apprenticing in New York under the famed architect Richard Morris Hunt. Instead of doing what most of his peers did, twenty-two year old Frank Furness did not flee to Europe to avoid military service. Instead, he enlisted in Company I of the Sixth Pennsylvania Cavalry and was quickly commissioned lieutenant. After a successful stint as a staff officer, on January 11, 1864, he was promoted to captain and assigned to command Company F.

Furness still commanded Company F in June 1864, when two divisions of the Cavalry Corps, now commanded by Maj. Gen. Philip H. Sheridan, went on an extended raid in the direction of Gordonsville, marching along the route of the Virginia Central Railroad. Departing from the main body of the Army of the Potomac on June 7, Sheridan’s force marched slowly west, arriving at Trevilian Station, in Louisa County, on the night of June 10. A heavy engagement on June 11 was indecisive, and the foes resumed the fighting on the afternoon of June 12.

The Confederate cavalry, positioned behind strong breastworks marked by a “Bloody Angle”, had a strong defensive position. The Federal cavalry launched seven desperate assaults on the Bloody Angle before a severe counterattack crashed into the Union flank, driving it from the field in confusion. The Sixth Pennsylvania Cavalry held the end of the Union line. Positioned among the various outbuildings of the Gentry farm, perched atop a ridge, Furness’s Company F was the endmost company on the Union line. What follows is Furness’s narrative of his deeds that day:

On the afternoon of June 12th, 1864, the Reserve Brigade was engaged dismounted shortly after midday near Trevilian Station, Virginia. The Brigade had been actively been engaged in the battle of Trevilian Station, on the day previous, June 11th, 1864.

With no other damages than this Captain Furness and Captain Mitchell regained the Main Line of Battle.

As before stated the regiment remained holding its position, in spite of shot and shell, for they were vigorously subjected to these annoyances, until long after dark, and it was not until long after dark (through some oversight on the part of the Brigade commander no orders for withdrawal were received by the Officer Commanding the 6th Penna. Cavalry) the men crouching down and carefully holding their sabres and carbines to avoid all rattle, so close was the proximity of the enemy, did the 6th Penna. Cavalry rejoin General Sheridan’s command, finding their remounts and taking up the line of march, continuing the same throughout the remainder of the night and until the afternoon of the next day.”

Furness served out his term of enlistment and was discharged from the 6th Pennsylvania Cavalry in the fall of 1864. Returning home to Philadelphia, he resumed his architecture career, designing nearly 650 buildings and becoming one of the highest paid architects of the time. Employing an approach based on the theory that architecture was more than just building, Furness employed a heavy Gothic style that was quite unique. Click here to see some of Furness’s works. In a Victorian Age noted for its aggressive architecture, Furness’s buildings were certainly among the most boisterous and challenging.

Working mostly between 1870 and 1895, his designs include some of Philadelphia’s most prominent structures such as the Philadelphia Zoo Gatehouses, the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, and the Merion Cricket Club. [links to the two books on Furness’s works] He co-founded the Philadelphia chapter of the AIA, and is known as the founder of the so-called “Philadelphia School” or architecture. One of his most interesting designs is the handsome monument to the Lancers that graces the battlefield at Gettysburg, and which features full-scale replicas of the lances carried by the men of the regiment for the first year and a half of the war.

In 1899, Furness applied for a Medal of Honor. With the ringing endorsement of Maj. Gen. Wesley Merritt and Col. Albert P. Morrow, two veteran cavalry officers, and St. Clair Mulholland, the former commander of the Irish Brigade, Furness was awarded the Medal in September 1899 in recognition of his gallant service at Trevilian Station on June 12, 1864. The citation reads:

On this occasion, a detachment occupying an exposed and isolated outpost having expended its ammunition, Captain Furness, carrying a box of ammunition on his head, ran to the outpost across an open space that was swept by a fierce fire from the enemy. This ammunition together with that carried by another officer who had responded to Captain Furness’s call for volunteers, enabled the detachment to hold its position until nightfall, thus saving the main line from severe loss.

Furness is the only American architect of note to win the Medal of Honor. He was also the only member of the Lancers to win the Medal.

Although he is considered the first “All-American” architect, Furness eventually fell from favor. When he died in 1912, his work was largely forgotten. He was buried in Philadelphia’s Laurel Hill Cemetery.

Furness designed the monument to the Lancers that appears with this post. The monument appears in every published catalogue of Furness’ work. It is the only monument on the Gettysburg battlefield that has architectural significance. It is, therefore, my favorite monument. Too bad it didn’t make your list, Don.

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