Predominating Impressions

Thursday, March 3, 2011

In commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War, I would like to honor my great-great grandfather Michael McDonald in a series of blogs including his written accounts of his Civil War experiences. 

In another of the amazing stories, Michael McDonald shared a second "Predominating Impression."  In his own words...

...It was at the crossing of the Saluda River; the day before Sherman’s army captured the city of Columbia.

All the way from Atlanta down to the sea and on the march northward, I had been the boatman of the pontoon train of the 15th and 17th Army Corps. Our Company had been temporarily attached to the 1st Missouri Engineers, and captain Henry, knowing of my experience as a boatman on Lake Michigan, had recommended me for this somewhat hazardous position.


It was my particular business to run the first line across the unfordable rivers we came to with a light skiff. With this line the heavy pontoons were placed in position. Thus it happened that during the entire march, I was the first man to cross the rivers we came to. With rear guard of the retreating enemy lurking in the bushes of the opposite bank to oppose a crossing, you can well imagine that my duties were no sinecure, and were not considered conductive to long life.


Sherman’s army had arrived in front of Columbia, and, as usual, the bridges had been burned to prevent us from crossing the river, or rather, rivers, for the Saluda empties into the Broad opposite the city, and it was necessary for our army to cross both streams.


The enemy were stationed in a thicket a short distance back from the high bluffs of the opposite shore, prepared to resist the crossing. The scene was somewhat spectacular. Our army lined the river bank and Logan, the “Black Eagle,” was there in person to superintend operations. The prospect of being the central figure for the next few minutes in what appeared certain to be a tragedy had no particular charm for me at the time.


To a surety, the rebels under cover on the other shore would make every effort to kill the boatman and prevent the line from being run. I had been in several unhealthy localities before during the great rebellion, but I think now, after mature reflection, that I shook hands with Death at the Saluda River.


But under the eye of Logan and in the face of the army, it required more courage to flunk than it did to cross the river.


My skiff was carried down the steep banks on the shoulders of the men and before it touched the water it had been perforated by two rebel bullets. I made my preparations carefully, jumped into my frail craft, took the oars and pushed into the stream. My friends and fellow countryman, have you ever been upon the water in a summer hail-storm? If you have, you can comprehend what happened around me for the next two or three minutes, or until I could get under the shelter of the opposite bank. That I survived the fusilade is one of the incomprehensible mysteries of life. Logan ordered up a battery and drove off the enemy.


The line was fastened upon the hostile shore, the pontoons were laid and the army crossed over. That night I ran another line across Broad River, and early the following morning Sherman’s army marched into Columbia.


My boat was perforated by several bullets. The boatman came off without a scratch, but he has a powerful impression that the late Southern Confederacy meant to do him some harm on that particular occasion.

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