01 November 2009
 
Rebel Displacement

(Kelly’s Ford Marker at the Inn at Kelly’s Ford)
 
Young Major John Pelham had a memorable December in 1862. The host of General Ambrose Burnside’s Army of the Potomac was moving out of Fredericksburg, resplendent in their blue uniforms. Pelham’s Alabama Creoles had their "Napoleon detachment" of light mobile cannon hitched up and ready to go.
 
At the junction of the Old Mine and Bowling Green Roads, across from the present appalling strip mall, he opened fire with two guns, pestering the Federal left flank like deer flies, a half mile in advance of the Confederate line.
 
Section after section of the enemy batteries turned upon him. One of Pelham's guns was disabled, and Pelham himself jumped in to help man it.
 
"Get back from destruction, you infernal, gallant fool," ordered J.E.B. Stuart. The young man from Alabama and his wild mounted bunch had delayed an entire Union army corps for two precious hours.
 
In the course of that day, Pelham occupied four major positions and ultimately directed the fire of some nine Confederate batteries, being mentioned in Lee’s dispatches, which is what fame was called in those day.
 
Then the winter rains brought a halt to campaigning, and Pelham was courting the young Beckie Shacklford of Culpeper.
 
Then it was Saint Patrick’s Day, 1863, and the armies began to move again. Pelham waved to Beckie that morning from the back of his borrowed horse and headed for Kelly’s Ford, where the Union horsemen were crossing into Culpeper.
 
Arriving at the ford, Pelham joined the 9th Virginia in a charge against the Federals. It was entirely voluntary, and quite impetuous, since his own unit was not engaged in the fight, and he would have been entitled to rejoin his men, pending orders.
 
Instead, standing up in his stirrups, he urged the Virginians to "Press forward, press forward to glory and victory!"
 
Impetuosity is not always rewarded in the fight. Shortly thereafter, in a clearing north east of the ford, a Union artillery shell burst above him, and a splinter entered the back of his head. Pelham collapsed from his horse, unconscious.
 
I can show you were it happened. There is a little cinder parking lot off State Route 674, and if you walk about three hundred yards back along the trail, you will come to a stone that marks the spot.
 
(Where Pelham Fell)
 
There are several accounts about what happened next, but the most illuminating one about the nature of fame and the fog of war is that he was assumed to be dead on the field. As a hero, they caught his borrowed mount and lashed him to the saddle, head hanging down on one side and his legs on the other.
 
Two men were detailed to lead the horse and Pelham’s body back to Culpeper Court House. Nearly two hours later, they discovered that the Major was still bleeding, and hence still alive.
 
There was a flurry of activity to revive him, but he never awoke. He died the following morning, with young Beckie at his side.
 
Stuart was filled with remorse at the loss of his young officer. He issued a general order, citing “irreparable loss” of a man whose “eye had glanced on every battlefield of this army from the First Manassas to the moment of his death.”
 
It was like that. The South put forth its best men, and the Union put forth more of them. As U.S. Grant said, he was prepared to fight it out on that line “if it took all summer.”
 
Stonewall Jackson was the next of the notables to go, less his arm- I can show you where that happened. Then dashing Stuart himself at the Yellow Tavern. By the next winter alone there were a hundred thousand Yankees bivouacked in Culpeper, and the South was being strangled by the Anaconda of the blockade.
 
Col. Johann August Heinrich Heros von Borcke was one of those who lived. He was a prankster, a character feature not normally known in Prussian officers, and widely beloved of the Virginians with whom he rode.
 
After Pelham’s death, Stuart entrusted the body to the German, to safeguard it to Richmond to lie in state before transport to the family in Alabama.
 
The German secured a metal casket for his friend, and personally ensured that a glass plate was installed at the head, so that mourners could see the Major’s youthful face.
 
From that Saint Patrick’s Day in 1863, it would be another two years of war. Most of the 600,000 to die in the conflict were still alive at the moment.
 
Von Borcke himself would become one of the million casualties, wounded at Brandy Station and Middleburg. But he lived, and when General Lee surrendered to Lt. Gen. Grant on April 9, 1865, Heros von Borcke took ship to return to his native Prussia.
 
He returned to the Second Brandenburg Dragoons, and had some celebrity for his adventures as a Confederate, and fought for the last time in the victorious Franco-Prussian War.
 
Forced to an early retirement in 1867 due to a Yankee bullet he still carried in his lung, Von Borcke married and had three sons. When he inherited a castle and estate at Giesenbrugge, West Pomerania, it was his custome to fly the Confederate flag from its battlements. The old German Rebel died in Berlin in 1895, and was buried at his estate, the tombstone proudly indicating his service.
 
That would be quite enough to make for a great story about a day drive to a river crossing in Culpeper County, but trust me, it gets even stranger.
 
Gesinbrugge was in a place called East Prussia. It survived the First World War due to the ineptitude of the Royal Russians who commanded the Czars advancing forces at the edge of German soil at Tannenburg.
 
The Germans were heavily engaged in the west, and were desperately concerned about the consequences of a two-front war. Through luck and organization, they made mince-meat of the Czar’s army, even bringing up searchlights to hunt down the routed Russian survivors, and when the Czar was deposed, the Bolsheviks were willing to cut a deal.
 
The Second War was not so kind to the von Borckes. When the Red Army swept over East Prussia, it left nothing standing that could be recognized as German. Every place name was changed, with the goal or eradicating German militarism, and its 800-year presence on the eastern shores of the Baltic forever.
 
As part of that process, Heros von Borcke’s tombstone was smashed to pieces and scattered. The castle where the Star’s and Bars once flew with the Prussian flag was blown up.
 
I’m not a fan of Prussian militarism, but even that odd twist could not have prepared me for the rest of the story.
 
It says something about America, and its reconstruction. It started with Grant telling Lee that of course his officers could retain their horses and side arms, and then Joshua Chamberlain of the 20th Maine ordering the hand salute as the vanquished Rebel private soldiers advanced to stack arms.
 
In the early 1900s, US Code was changed to recognize Confederate veterans as U.S. soldiers, entitled to the modest recognition of a headstone and a flag.
 
Accordingly, in 2008, a delegation from the Sons of Confederate Veterans arrived in Gyzin, Poland, which is what they call Giessenbrugge East Prussia today, to dedicate the new stone over Heros von Borcke’s grave, provided by the US Government.
 
It was a pretty nice ceremony, and everyone was pleasant, considering all the baggage involved.
 
One thing of interest, though. While the government provides tombstones for former Confederate soldiers, they are different in design from traditional veteran gravestones, which have a gently rounded upper edge. Markers for the Rebels have a distinct point to the top.
 
Talk at the time was that the pointed design would ensure no damned Yankees would sit on them.
 
Or Russian, either.
 
Copyright 2009 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Now powered by RSS!