On the Quaker Road
Hot work for Bartlett brigade that March afternoon

Editor National Tribune:

In your issue of June 24, comrade Thomas Scott says that he has never seen a correct account of the Quaker Road fight of March 29, 1865. I have never seen any account except with many important points left out, but I am under the impression that no better account will ever be given to us that contained in the “story of the cannoneer” by Augustus Buhl.

I am not prepared to give any more light on the account of this flight save what I saw from the ranks of the 16th Michigan, Bartlet’ts Brigade. The Cannonier covers the ground correctly from seven or 8 o’clock in the morning till about three in the afternoon, the time Bartlett entered the little clearing in the vicinity of the steam sawmill.
Bartlett halted his brigade. General Warren was on the right of the road, with Griffin and Bartlett, in conversation. Warren sat his horse in his usual, splendid style, with the air of a man satisfied with the general trend of things. Our brigade moved on, Bartlett and Griffin, riding toward the health of column. Picket firing, opened ahead of us, then bang! Bang!. went the artillery; then was heard the ripping and tearing of musketry, and a fight was on. Bartlett’s Brigade hustled down through an old slashing, and begin to reply, Bartlett, in the midst of us, hurrying things up.

The 16th Michigan took to the right of the dirt road. We came on and tried to form line in our forward movement, running around stumps, jumping over logs, and dodging bullets until we struck some little huts near an old sawmill. Around these hats and through the brush, Chamberlains men were retiring in confusion. Someone gave orders to stop them, an order we did not obey, and one that should never be given. There can be no good result accompanying accomplished, by stopping men in such confusion, under such a galling fire. Better let them pass, get over their flurry, reform their lines, and ten to one they will return and fight to the death.

This is precisely what our gallant boys under Chamberlain, did. The 16th passed over a little creek, around the huts, and formed a solid line on the edge of a little field, under a galling fire of musketry from a rebel division approaching from the opposite side of the field, advancing in splendid order, loading and firing as they came.

Our regiment got as close to the ground as possible, to escape the incessant shower of lead. Orders were given to load, fix bayonets, and reserve our fire. We let them approach to within 15 or 16 yards of us. I guess they would have walked right over us, but we sprang to our feet, poured into them a withering valley, and then charged with the bayonet.

But they turned like a flash and ran. Many of the boys got near enough to give it to them in the back. I saw one of our boys run his bayonet into a reb’s knapsack and knoack over on his face. The rep surrendered.

The Confederate officers hitherto leading their men in advance, now, in retreat, became file closers. One tall, slim fellow apparently about 25 years of age, was using very vigorous language. I could not tell whether the last sentence he uttered was whether it was for his men to halt or run. I shouted for him to halt and surrender. He seemed to reply by pulling from his belt an old, rusty revolver. I fired and he fell.
In this style we drove the rebs into the timber and over their little works on the Boydton plank Road. The rebel loss was very heavy, despite the fact that most of our work was done with the bayonet, not having much time to load and fire in the pace we kept up. Every man was intent on getting into their lines before they reach the woods and taking them prisoners. Had we not been stopped on account of evening coming on there is no telling what history Bartlett would have added to the fight on the Quaker Road. Our boys called this the battle of the sawdust pile, from a pile of sawdust at left of the field near the steam sawmill.
I went back on the field to see the officer I had the encounter with and assist him, but the poor fella was dead. Had I known his reload was empty, I might have taken prisoner. I gave his sword and belt to one of our boys, who has it yet. If comrades were to say, I was too hasty, my reply would be that at the battle of Peebles Farm in the fall of 1864, we had a rebel artillery officer surrounded with no possibility of escape. He pulled a revolver and shot dead the colonel of my regiment, the gallant Norman E. Welch. I made up my mind then to never trust a rebel with gun in hand.

T. R. Lackey, 767 Linwood Ave., Detroit, MI
national tribune
August 12, 1897
page 3 column. 4