A severe skirmish was waged on the grounds of the old Holcombe farmstead near the outskirts of Lambertville, last Sunday, 8 June 1864. It was actually the second day of skirmishing, the antagonists picking up the bitter struggle where they had left off the previous afternoon. The strategic importance of the village due to its close proximity to the railroad, which both armies coveted, was the impetus for the fight. A small Union force that included the 15th New Jersey Volunteer Infantry Regiment, backed up by a battalion of US Marines, launched an attack against a much larger force of Confederates, their numbers indeterminate. The Rebels were surprised in their camps but soon rallied to push the Federals back. The fighting was so severe, that all the officers and non-commissioned officers of the Marine detachment became casualties, leaving Corporal Andrew Tomlin of Goshen, New Jersey, in sole command of the survivors.
The inferior Federal force made a brave stand until the Rebels succeeded in flanking our boys, opening a withering fire, enfilading our line, which forced the Unionists to exit the field posthaste. All might have been lost but for a sudden eruption of heavy naval artillery fire from a Union gunboat steaming upriver to the rescue. When the USS Signal opened up with her two nine-inch Dahlgrens [sic], quickly gaining the range despite firing blindly over the trees, the Rebels could not stand it. They gave up their pursuit and beat a hasty retreat of their own. It seems the Rebels have no stomach for the Navy's large caliber shells, which the enemy respectfully describe as "lamp-posts."
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| USS Signal. Photo courtesy of William Myers, Coal Heaver/Photographer |
At the height of this desperate battle, as death-dealing leaden missiles filled the air, a most signal and unusual circumstance occurred that almost borders on the miraculous. Through the smoke and din of battle, your correspondent viewed with the aid of his telescope, a Nun of some religious order, on the field, a place hotter than the fires of hell (a place where surely she should not have been), rendering tender assistance to one of our fallen soldiers, heedless to the danger surrounding her. Remarkably, this "Angel of the Battlefield" was seen to walk over to where the wounded man had dropped his musket, and proceeded to drag the gun over to its prostrate owner. Enveloping gun smoke and the precipitate retreat of the Federal line prevented this reporter from observing any further the brave Sister, arrayed in her black and white habit, and the desperately wounded soldier, whose main concern appeared to be the retrieval of his weapon. (The irony of a Nun on the battlefield, dragging a rifle to a wounded soldier so that he could continue the fight, perhaps to fire one last round to kill or maim the enemy, was not lost on this reporter.) Despite my inquiries afterwards, what became of her, or the wounded soldier, I was unable to discern. It was as if she were a heavenly vision that lingered for a time then soon evaporated before my eyes like the billowing smoke of battle. Stranger sights, I suppose, have oft been witnessed on a such a killing field as this.
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| Map of the "Battle of Jimison Creek" as sketched on the field by H. J. Winser for the New-York Times. |
Just a few hours prior to the battle described above, a dress parade, assembly, and court-martial of a soldier were held back in the Federal camp. A field musician of the 125th New York Regiment was convicted of gambling, fisticuffs, and injuring a fellow soldier and was promptly drummed out of the service to the tune of the Rogue's March. Apparently, this young man was a recalcitrant, repeat offender, for the punishment of drumming a soldier out of camp is usually reserved only for those charged and convicted of cowardice in the face of the enemy. But this soldier, Private Alexander, apparently had committed one offense too many, his latest indiscretion finally becoming the straw that broke the camel's back. Alexander was caught cheating after betting heavily on the lice races. It was discovered by a fellow soldier that Alexander was secretly heating his tin plate, giving his louse unfair advantage - a clear violation of the rules of good sportsmanship. (For the uninitiated, the race is won when the vermin is first to exit a soldier's plate, and a champion is declared.) When confronted by the soldier with this damning information, Alexander struck the poor fellow flush in the face, causing him to fall backwards into a kettle of boiling water, scalding his posterior end. Alexander was arrested and implacable military justice was swiftly enforced.
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(A few notes on the USS Signal: She began life as a wooden-hulled, stern-wheel steamer formerly known as the ferryboat, Splash. The Federal Navy purchased the vessel in 1862, and thus she began her career endeavoring to keep the Union waterways under Federal control. Known as a tinclad, she served as a troop transport and gunboat. The Signal was armed with two 30-pounder Parrott rifles [Winser is in error when he writes that the ship fired two 9-in. Dahlgrens] and four 24-pounder howitzers. - Ed.)
For further reading, see: Ships of the Civil War by KJ Dougherty; and Hard Tack and Coffee by John D. Billings
