Excerpts from the History of the 8th Vermont Infantry

In the morning fight at Cedar Creek, the colors of the Eighth Vermont passed through a terrible ordeal, and received a bloody baptism. But for the heroic and loyal souls in that little band, who stood up nobly against fearful odds on the memorable morning on October 19, 1864, the regimental standard would never have come out of the battle triumphant.

The thrilling story of the fight over the standards is no myth. It was a horrid, desperate, hand-to-hand encounter for possession of the flags--a fierce, excited, and daring foe on one side, loyal and equally brave men on the other. Gen. Crook's corps, located on our left and partially in our front, had been surprised, overborne, and swept away. Gen. Thomas, after a furious ride, hotly pursued and barely escaping with his life, had arrived from the picket line, and, by direct verbal order of Maj. Gen. Emory, had led his brigade forward across the pike, a mere handful of men, to meet and resist whole divisions made up of the flower of the rebel army.

By the fortune of war, the Eighth Vermont, under Maj. Mead, occupied the most exposed position in the brigade, as the enemy, with deafening yells, were moving swiftly in from front and flank. As the great drops of rain and hail precede the hurricane, so now the leaden hail filled the air, seemingly from all directions, while bursting shell from the enemy's cannon on the opposite hill created havoc on our only flank not yet exposed to the rebel infantry. Regiment after regiment of the Eighth Corps had crumbled away and gone past to the rear; out two companion regiments, the Twelfth Connecticut and One Hundred and Sixtieth New York, terribly smitten, clung tenaciously to us, their love as cordially reciprocated; yet the sudden rush of the enemy from every direction, in their yellowish suits, breaking through even the short intervals between the commands, forced each regiment to fight its own battle; and so the Eighth Vermont was practically alone for a time, -- and who can count such moments? -- as the swarming enemy broke upon in with almost resistless fury.

Suddenly a mass of rebels confronted the flags, and with hoarse shouts demanded their surrender. Defiant shouts went back. "Never!" "Never!" And then, amid tremendous excitement, commenced one of the most desperate and ugly hand-to-hand conflicts over the flags that has ever been recorded. Men seemed more like demons than human beings, as they struck fiercely at each other with clubbed muskets and bayonets. A rebel of powerful build, but short in stature, attempted to bayonet Corporal Worden of the color-guard. Worden, a tall, sinewy man, who had no bayonet on his musket, parried his enemy's thrusts until some one, I think Sergt. Brown, shot the rebel dead. A rebel soldier then levelled his musket and shot Corporal Petr[i]e, who held the colors, in the thigh, - a terrible wound, from which he died that night. He cried out: "Boys, leave me; take care of yourselves and the flag!" But in that vortex of hell men did not forget the colors; and as Petr[i]e fell and crawled away to die, they were instantly seized and borne aloft by Corporal Perham, and were as quickly demanded again, by a rebel who eagerly attempted to grasp them; but Sergt. Shore of the guard placed his musket at the man's breast and fired, instantly killing him. But now another flash, and a cruel bullet from the dead rebel's companion killed Corporal Perham, and the colors fall to the earth. Once more, amid terrific yells, the colors went up, this time held by Corporal Blanchard and the carnage went on.

Lieut. Cooper was seen to raise his arm in the air; and shouting "Give it the them, boys!" he too was stricken with a death wound, and his white, sad dead face is one of the living memories of the spot. Lieut. Cooper's death was instantly avenged, however, by Sergt. Hill, of Company A, who shot the rebel. Hill then turned to assist a wounded companion who had fallen at his side, when an excited enemy made a lunge at him, his bayonet gliding between the body and arm. He sprang quickly away, and by an adroit movement knocked the rebel down with clubbed musket, and continued fighting until surrounded and forced into the enemy's ranks, but refused to surrender, when a side shot tore away his belt, cartridge box, and the flesh to his backbone, which crippled him to the ground; but when Gordon's divisions swept the spot, some of the rebels wearing blue coats supposed to be taken from Crook's men, Hill rose and joined them in the charge, shouting with the rebels, and actually firing harmless shots at his own regiment. He was once challenged by a rebel officer, to whom he answered that he belonged to the Fourth Georgia.

At the next stand made by the brigade on the pike, Hill rushed into the Union line, although exposed to the fire of his friends as well as his foes, and continued fighting till he sank to the ground from loss of blood, fell into the enemy's hands, and was again rescued at night.

The fight for the colors continued. A rebel discharged his rifle within a foot of Corporal Bemis of the color guard, and wounded him, but was in turn shot dead by one of our men. A little later, Sergt. Shore and Lemuel Simpson were standing together by the flags, when three rebels attacked and ordered them to surrender; but as they (the enemy) had just discharged their pieces, Simpson immediately fired and shot one, while Shores bayoneted the other. Sergt. Moran, whose devotion to the flag was intensified b the regiment's forty-four days' heroic action before Port Hudson, marvellously escaped, for he was in the hottest of the fight, and held the Untied States flag all the while, several times assisting in protecting the colors.

But as the enemy crowded on, a hundred rebels took the lace of the dozen grasping for the flags. Sergt. Lamb, a noble, generous fellow, was shot through the lungs and taken prisoner, but later he fell into our hands again, and then died in great agony. Capt. Howard was twice wounded while within a few feet of th flags and almost in the centre of the savage melee, but he managed to hobble away when the regiment was swept back. Capt. Hall, honest and fearless, whose memory is sacred, gave his last order as he yielded to a deadly wound.

Capt. Ford was shot through both legs by bullets coming from opposite directions, and fell flat on his face, but refused to surrender, struggled to his feet, and escaped in the excitement. Capt. Smith, who so coolly led the skirmish line at Winchester, swells the bloody list. Maj. Mead, afterwards colonel, while fearlessly facing the enemy, was badly wounded in the side, and shortly turned the command over to Capt. McFarland.

Later on, the brigade flag was in imminent danger of being captured by the enemy, when Capt. Franklin, with a half a dozen of his company, furiously attacked the rebels who were struggling for it, and rescued it from their clutch. Moving back he was wounded, but gallantly remained with the regiment during the afternoon. Lieut. Cheney was mortally wounded and fell heavily to the ground. Lieut. Bruce, while beating back a foe with his sword, was severely wounded. Lieut. Welch, who so gallantly led the skirmish line at daybreak, and was then fighting like a tiger, was shot in the thigh, but stood his ground till the regiment went back. Private Austin received a terrible blow on his head from the butt of a rebel musket, instantly killing him. Capt. Shattuck, after receiving a bad wound, bravely continued with his men, and Lieuts. Sargent and Carpenter joined the list of heroes who shed their blood around the flags; while scores of brace fellows in the ranks were torn and shattered in a manner shocking to behold. But why continue the list? Why open afresh the ugly wounds? Those not mentioned, who stood up so nobly, were every whit as brave as all who fell, whose names appear elsewhere on the "immortal roll of honor."

The fearful carnage had swept through the entire command, and over one half the regiment was wounded or killed, when the third color-bearer, Corporal Blanchard, was also killed, and the silken colors, their soft folds pierced with bullets, and their third bearer weltering in his blood, bowed low to the earth amidst triumphant yells of the enemy; but to their chagrin in a few seconds it was again flaunting in their faces. Bleeding, stunned, and being literately cut to pieces, but refusing to surrender colors or men, falling back only to prevent being completely encircled, the noble regiment had accomplished its mission.

Col. Thomas with his brave brigade blocked the advance of the rebel divisions, and actually held the Confederate army at bay until the Union commander could form the lines on grounds of his own choice. In this terrible charge the Eighth Vermont, the Twelfth Connecticut, and the One Hundred and Sixtieth New York, were almost annihilated. Our own regiment lost over one hundred gallant fellows, out of one hundred and fifty-nine engaged, and thirteen out of sixteen commissioned officers, who were killed or wounded in the fearful struggle, and many of those who fell had been shot several times.

It was useless to stand against such fearful odds; neither could such frightful butchery be endured longer; and the regiment, which had maintained its organization and gloriously performed its mission in holding the enemy in check, now almost completely surrounded by dense masses of rebel infantry, was for a few moments tossed about as a leaf in the small, fitful circle of a whirlwind, and then by a mighty gust lifted from the ground and swept from the field, but not without the flags. Moran, Shores, and Holt, three trusty sergeants, and Corp. Worden, with other who had become wedded to the standards, would as soon have thought of leaving their limbs on the field as the flags, now more than sacred. but the flags still floated over our heads, and a star of great brilliancy had been added to the crown of the state which gave us an Ethan Allen and a Stephen Thomas.

When nearly encircled and driven from the pike, the command of Col. Thomas made another stand northeast of Sheridan's headquarters, to support the only piece of Union artillery that had not been withdrawn from the field. For this purpose the colonel collected fugitives from the Eighth Corps, and with his own brigade formed a line, and held the position until a portion of a wagon train entangled in Meadow run could pass on and escape. While thus engaged Gen. Crook rode up, and, after saluting him, Col. Thomas said: "I've taken the liberty to put some of your men into this line in order to save that train." "All right!" replied Crook, as he rode away as he came, unattended by even an orderly. Then instead of moving directly to the rear, as the rest of the Union troops had done, Thomas took his command round the forest on the Belle Grove House, and made a second stand just west of it. Then he crossed Meadow run and made a third stand in the rear o the camp deserted by the Sixth Corps. It was here that the brigade flagstaff was cut down by a Confederate cannon shot.

Still, notwithstanding the advantages gained and the gallant contest for every foot of ground, the enemy was haughty, arrogant, and aggressive, and our army had been driven back several miles, when Sheridan arrived and here "took the affair in hand," and quickly united the corps.

All the long morning the cry was heard on every side, "Where's Sheridan?" "Where's Sheridan?" but no reply came through the clenched lips, until finally, at a quarter of ten o'clock, Sheridan, mounted on his black horse Winchester, which was covered with foam, swept up from the pike amid great cheering into the midst of his broken regiments, -- a great light in a dark valley. The despair of the morning's awful struggle was now soon to give way to the ecstasy of victory.

Source:  George N. Carpenter, History of the Eight Regiment Vermont Volunteers 1861--1865. Boston: Press of Deland & Barta (1886):  214-219.