1st Minnesota at Bull Run
by Sgt. John G. Merritt, Co.K, 1st Minnesota Volunteers

Sgt. John G. Merritt

I was a sergeant in Co.K, First Regiment Minnesota Volunteers. The regiment broke camp at Centerville about three o’clock on the morning of Sunday, July 21, 1861. With a soldier’s equipments and three days rations we realized before sunrise that it was going to be a hot day. After we had been on the march for about a couple of miles we turned off the main road to the right; we were delayed a good deal by fallen trees with sharpened points sticking toward us. Whenever we could we would double-quick, and, as the morning was very hot, the pace told on some of the men. 

John Ball, the orderly sergeant of K Co., was sick and I was acting orderly sergeant. As sick as Ball was, he came on the field, and I saw him standing near the regiment while they were engaged, with his arms folded, apparently the most unconcerned person of the lot; he was a brave and fearless man. Captain Lester, Lieutenants Holtzborn and Periam were the officers of the company. 

We could hear the sound of cannon very distinctly about eight o’clock, and by ten o’clock we could plainly hear the sound of musketry; by that time we knew we were going to have a fight. After I was satisfied that such was going to be the case, and being desirous of obtaining military distinction, I applied to Lieutenant Holtzborn for the privilege of selecting four men for the purpose of capturing the first Confederate flag we could get. The lieutenant told me it was a hazardous undertaking but said, after consultation with Captain Lester, I had permission. Sergeant Dudley, Privates Durfee, Grim and one other whose name I have forgotten, readily consented to my proposal, and all agreed to follow me and to stick to one another under any circumstances. 

Before going into action the whole regiment divested themselves of knapsacks, haversacks and blankets, and piled them in one large heap beside the road, thinking of course that we would be back in a couple of hours - as soon as we had “crushed the Rebellion”. I and my four men in particular carried nothing with us but our ammunition and guns. After we had supplied ourselves with water, and everything being now ready, orders were given to “Forward!” and we immediately filed through a cluster of trees where the dying and wounded were being brought on stretchers and blankets. Everything was at the height of excitement as the roar of cannon and the incessant volleys of musketry were very heavy, and with an occasional stray shot coming among us, you can rest assured the regiment was on alert. 

I never shall forget the first sight of dead, wounded and dying. Pity and sympathy, mingled with a feeling of fear, made me realize in an instant we were approaching death. But the feeling passed away as soon as it came. 

So far as my recollection goes, when we got out into the open space we were ordered to the other side of the field, and in marching over, double-quick, we passed directly in the rear of our artillery which was heavily engaged. It was very laughable and amusing to see some of the men jump and squat down trying to dodge in all manner of ways the cannon shots from the Rebel guns; and I was not slow at the dodging business myself. One of my company would constantly run out of the ranks and up to the captain and say “Has the fight commenced yet? Has the fight commenced yet?” He was not long in finding out when the fight did commence. 

Uniform of the 1st Minnesota by Don Troiani

Arriving at what seemed to me the extreme right, we were formed in line in a ravine near some cavalry and awaited orders. It was now about half past one o’clock. We were soon ordered forward, and as we advanced rapidly to the brow of a plateau we knew we were soon to meet the enemy, face to face at short range. Just before we got to the top of the plateau the bugle sounded “lie down”. With fixed bayonets and loaded rifles we were ready and anxious for business. In a couple of minutes the bugle sounded “stand up”; no sooner had we done so and were well in line when the command “Forward!” was given. That brought us in plain sight and directly in front of a line of Rebs. We were not more than thirty or thirty-five yards apart; in fact we were so close that for a minute we did not who they were. We saw their colors and all fired immediately; in less than half a minute they gave us a round. We were ordered to lie down and reload; then we were ordered to stand up and fire. We had given them three or four rounds and they were slowly falling back, a little confused. When the smoke and dust would break away we could see them and their colors as plain as you can see a man across the street. Just at this time a single gun from Rickett’s Battery came directly t the rear of K Company, unlimbered, and in less than half a minute gave them a round of grape and canister. The artillerymen immediately reloaded and gave them a dose of the same medicine. The second round threw them into utter confusion, and it was at that time myself and the men named above advanced double-quick on the Rebel color-bearer. We had no trouble in reaching him as the smoke and dust had not risen and from his actions I thought he was under the impression he had been captured. 

The man who carried the colors was about five feet ten or eleven inches, dark complexioned, with black hair, slight mustache and black eyes, he with others about him wore gray clothes and black slouch hats. Someone was trying to form them. The color-bearer had his coat unbuttoned, with his hat on the back of his head. As I got within a couple of feet of him I commanded him in peremptory manner to surrender, and at the same time Dudley, Durfee and myself cocked our guns. I grabbed the colors out of his hand; he and one or two more said “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” 

The flag was a red one with a white stripe running through the middle of it, with blue in one corner and some stars on it. As soon as I grabbed the colors out of the Johnnie’s hands I told him to follow me quick and at the same time told my men to get back to the regiment as soon as possible. Dudley, Grim and myself were laughing at the easy thing we had, and all of us running for the regiment as fast as we could go, when - Bang! Bang! Bang! Came a volley after us, killing Grim and the comrade whose name I have forgotten, and at the same time a dozen more Rebs ran after us, some of them hollering “Kill the damned black, abolition, red-shirt Yankee...” and at the same time gave us another round. From the sound it seemed as if a regiment was firing at us. That was the shot that killed young Durfee and wounded me in the leg; another bullet went through the breast pocket of my shirt and shivered my pipe in pieces. I dropped my gun but held on to the flag, and was going about as fast on one leg as most men generally go on two; but before I had gone ten feet I was hit over the head with what I thought was the stock of a musket. It knocked me down but did not knock me senseless. They immediately pulled the flag from my hands and fell back on a run. 

As they did so, Dudley came back to me (he had run ahead some distance), helped me up and assisted me along as fast as I could go. How Dudley and I escaped with our lives seems almost incredible, and looks now as if we had been hedged about with some halo of good luck. 

From the firing of the gun of Rickett’s Battery to the time I was shot, not more than five or eight minutes had expired. What we did, we did quick and without ceremony, and if we could have kept them off us half a minute longer we would have been safe. As soon as we got back to the regiment and I realized the fact that I could not walk and was bleeding very fast, I took my suspenders off and tied them as tight as I could above the wound to keep from bleeding to death; and at the same time asked Lieutenant Holtzborn, who happened to see me, to have someone assist me to the rear. He ordered Sergeant Dudley and Private Durfee, a twin brother of the one who had just been killed, to carry me off. I put an arm round each of their necks and held on to them as they hurriedly walked along. 

The regiment was still fighting, and at this time a mounted officer, with his reins in one hand and a big navy revolver in the other, rode by us on a dead run; turning round in his saddle he hollered out, “Men of Minnesota, for God’s sake don’t disgrace your State!” - and he was off for Washington or some other safe place as fast as his big bay horse could carry him. It was an ocular and complete demonstration of the advice a father gave his son, “Do as I say, but not as I do.” 

As soon as we got to the foot of a little hill I fainted away on a spot where some horses had been standing. I was brought to by Dudley throwing some dirty water in my face. This immediately straightened me up, and taking hold of them as before we hurriedly moved off. By the time they got me to a house, which was being used as a temporary hospital, I began to feel sick at my stomach and very faint. Surgeons were dressing wounds of some of Ellsworth’s Zouaves, Michigan and Massachusetts men, and giving them stimulants. They gave me two or three swallows, which settled my stomach and made me feel better. The next thing I knew I was being pulled up and yanked along as fast as we could go. All commenced to move along at a break-neck gait. The retreat had commenced. And of all the helter-skelter, pell-mell, devil-take-the-hindmost gang I ever saw, or heard tell of , or ever read about, that crazy crowd beat them all. They all went as if a cyclone had struck them. All was confusion, all disorder and every one acted as if the Johnnies were determined to have a Yankee apiece for supper; and some of them would pass by and look at the wounded that were being carried and helped off, as much as to say, “They can have you, but by golly they shan’t catch me!” I don’t believe there was ever a greater stampede of troops than there was between that house and the bridge. Dudley and Durfee saved me life without a doubt. Durfee would have abandoned me to Dudley’s charge some time before if I had told him the truth about his brother, about whom he was constantly inquiring. And here was an instance where “evasion” seemed better than the truth. His brother, a brave and daring a fellow as ever shouldered a musket, and very quiet and modest at all times, made a remark just before I grabbed the colors out of the color-bearer’s hands that I shall never forget. “Sergeant,” said he, “when you take it, hold on to it,” and in less than half a minute he was shot dead. Had I told his brother he had been killed or wounded he would have returned to his assistance immediately, and that would have been the last of me. 

I was the only one of the three that had any money, and we finally succeeded, after several attempts, in persuading a teamster with a four horse wagon to let them put me on the off-wheel horse, by giving him four one-dollar gold pieces and some sutler’s tickets. Dudley remarked “Give him all you have got, as we might as well get broke here as anywhere.” Riding the off-wheel horse brought my wounded leg between the two horses and on top of the wagon tongue. This caused me so much pain I had to turn round on the horse so as not to have my left leg between the two horses. With one hand holding on to the root of his tail, and the other hand behind me grasping the end of the hanes, bare-headed, with a heavy red woolen shirt on (the whole regiment wore blue and red flannel shirts), all open at the collar and the sleeves rolled up, my face covered with blood and dirt, hair sticking straight up and matted full of old leaves and grass and “sacred soil”, and with the worst looking wounded leg you ever saw, you can imagine what a pitiful but ludicrous sight I must have presented. There must be lots of men living who saw me just as I have described. I am sure I have not half described my appearance on that horse. 

Everybody was hollering to get out of the way, and everyone was running or trying to run. The road was full of troops, wagons, ambulances, artillery and some private conveyances; all going as fast as they could go and acting just as if the whole Confederate Army was at their heels with fixed bayonets. The Rebs were shelling us and everything was at the height of confounded confusion. No one knew or cared anything about anyone except themselves. The cursing and yelling of teamsters, the pushing of those whose passage was obstructed, and the groans and appeals for assistance from the wounded, all tended to make one believe that, as the teamster said: “Hell had broke loose.” 

We arrived at the bridge a little before sundown. As its passage was obstructed by a big gun or caisson, and as we were being heavily shelled at that point, madness and confusion reigned supreme. The teamster could go no further. He jumped off his horse (he rode and drove with a jerk-rein), unhitched the near leader, cut the jerk-rein and away he went across the stream. The wagon was full of wounded, with pick-axes and shovels for a bed. All of the wounded were begging to be helped across the Bull Run, a stream about eight or ten feet deep, and about twenty feet wide at that place. Just as the teamster mounted his horse one of the men in the wagon, with his arm in a sling, jumped out, and with one hand commenced unhitching the saddle horse. I at the same time reached over my horse’s haunches and unhooked both his traces, and at the same time appealed to the fellow to unfasten my horse’s pole-chain; it was impossible for me to do it, as I was backwards on my horse. He did so, and as luck would have it the chain unhooked at the first pull; he instantly mounted his horse and turning to the left rode into the stream. My horse, being the mate, jumped over the tongue of the wagon and followed him. The horses seemed as anxious to get away as the panic-stricken soldiers. Men and horses were in the stream plunging for the other side. 

As I was crossing, one of the Zouaves caught me by the wounded leg, with a view, I presume, of getting across. It hurt me so I let go the horse’s tail and gave him a punch in the head with my fist which loosened his hold on me very quick; before I resumed my tail-hold the horse was across and had struck into a gallop, following close to his mate. At that time a shell passed so close to his head he threw it up as if he had been suddenly jerked by the bit. That started the horses into a run, and I certainly thought I would be knocked off my beast as he galloped so fast under the low branches of the trees, raking and scratching me on the back; at times it felt as if I had been struck with a club, but the tail-hold and harness saved me. Pain and Fear were riding for life, with chances now in favor of the latter; you may be sure I was not going to lose the race by being pulled off. I believe the distance from Bull Run to Centerville is about six miles. I think the bridge where we crossed was about two miles from the battlefield, so I must have ridden that horse backwards about four miles - most of the time as fast as he could go. We did not stop for anything - neither ditches nor fences. If the one-armed wounded soldier that rode my horse’s mate fought as vigorously as he rode, he certainly knocked out more than one “Gray-back”. I did not once have my horse’s bridle-rein in my hand. I never saw my friend before nor since, and the only words we exchanged with one another were when he told me his horse was running away, and I said, “For God’s sake, let him go!” 

We arrived at Centerville about nine o’clock at night. I was helped off the horse by a regimental surgeon under some trees. The poor old horse was nearly exhausted, but was immediately remounted by a solider who rode off. Surgeons were taking care of the wounded. They looked at my wound and told me I had better have my leg amputated at once, but I would not consent to it. I was suffering very much from pain, was nearly exhausted from loss of blood; nothing in the world kept me up but excitement. A four-horse wagon drove up and the soldiers that were being cared for were helped in. The confusion and hurry was still great. I begged them to let me get in the wagon, but an officer refused, saying there was no room for me. I crawled to the wagon and got in over the front wheel while the others were being helped I the back end. I stayed in the wagon, although I was ordered out two or three times; they were in too big a hurry to put me out. Off they drove as fast as they could get along. There were seven of us in the wagon, all badly wounded; the driver and a soldier on the seat with him were not wounded; one drove and hollered, while the other whipped and cursed. It was very dark and I think it was raining. The road was still full of wagons, ambulances and straggling troops. We would go very fast at times, and then would stop for a few minutes until the teams ahead of us moved on. I think the driver was the worst scared of all of us, for he tried to drive by and over everything; up hill and down, over stumps, logs, rocks; we were continually being thrown or tossed from one side of the wagon to the other. 

We arrived in Fairfax Court House about midnight. I laid my head on a big fat fellow who had sprawled out at the full length on the bottom of the wagon. We had been quarreling all night about interfering with one another’s wounds. I supposed the fat fellow had gone to sleep, and taking advantage of his position I laid my head on his stomach and immediately went to sleep myself.  I thought it was the softest pillow I ever used. I don’t know how long I laid there - perhaps half an hour; we all went to sleep. We were awakened by being jolted about in the wagon, which was going down hill at a lively gait; all were complaining of our wounds; two or three were groaning and whining. When the team would walk we would all go to sleep again - two or three of us using the fat fellow as a pillow as before. I had a dispute with one of the men about my place on the fat fellow’s stomach and made him move his head along and resumed my former place. We laid as best we could in that position until daylight, when we discovered we had been using a dead man for a pillow; the poor fellow had died about the time we left Fairfax, as he was very quiet at that place. I thought, the last time I laid my head on him, what a clever fellow he was to let us have such a comfortable position, and was sorry I had quarreled with him the early part of the night. We kept him in the wagon until we arrived at the Long Bridge. Our pain and exhaustion silenced any scrupples we otherwise would have had on such an occasion.

Sgt. John G. Merritt remained in the hospital about thirty days before returning to his regiment. He served with his regiment  throughout the many battles and campaigns in which it partook and was mustered out with the regiment in May of 1864. Sgt. Merritt was awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions at the Battle of Bull Run.