It was late summer in 1861.
A fog-swept valley concealed the close-ranked infantry firing guns in volleys that spewed a murderous hail of lead at enemies less than 100 yards away.
It was the scene of one of the bloodiest Civil War skirmishes in Western Virginia.
Union troops engaged the Confederates, forcing them to evacuate an entrenched position at what is now Carnifex Ferry Battlefield State Park near Summersville Lake in Nicholas County.
The skirmish was no accidental encounter for either side, according to historians and Civil War buffs who spent years reading history books, military reports and diaries, and tracking down battle-related papers and roaming the park’s grounds for clues to the early Civil War drama that unfolded here.
At the time of the conflict, the ferry was a strategic holding, one of the few places a large force could cross the Gauley River.
It was to become a strategic high-ground position overlooking the Gauley crossing for the Confederates, who spent months fortifying the hilly terrain and establishing military perimeters along the shallow bend in the river.
After the Southerners had scored a decisive victory at Cross Lanes against the Union forces, the Confederate General John Floyd established his command on the gentle hills overlooking Carnifex Ferry and named it “Camp Gauley.”
To protect his position, Floyd had extensive entrenchments constructed, extending across a rugged, jutting strip of land formed by the river’s bend.
Floyd had about 2,000 troops at the camp, and a total of 6,200 scattered in the area. An additional 1,600 men were on the way from the east to reinforce him.
But the Union had other plans for the strategic bluffs overlooking the Gauley River.
More than 6,000 Union troops, under the command of Gen. William S. Rosencrans, advanced south from Clarksburg and attacked the Confederate forces on Sept 10, 1861.
The battle lasted all day with the Union force failing to dislodge the Confederates.
That night, however, Floyd abandoned the fight and left his camp to the large enemy army.
Floyd’s command made an orderly retreat down the road to the ferry and escaped to Meadow Bluff in Greenbrier County where the illustrious Gen. Robert E. Lee waited for him.
As for the battle itself, many believe it was important because control of the Kanawha Valley and much of Western Virginia was left firmly in Union hands, thus affecting the boundary of the 35th State when it gained statehood in 1863.
But scholars of the Civil War or as Southerners prefer to call it: the War of Southern Independence, find the Battle of Carnifex Ferry interesting for another reason.
It may be the most curious battle fought in Western Virginia, for the victors suffered losses nearly eight times greater than those suffered by the defeated.
The ghosts of those who fought and died in the battle come to life again and again during Civil War re-enactments at the famed battlefield site, where thousands of visitors occasionally are drawn to its perimeters to witness the smoke, dust and din of artillery barrages and lightening cavalry charges across the fields and pastures.
Still, it is difficult to imagine the actual carnage that took place along these gentle bluffs and canopied forests: the nightmare of shelling that ensued during the day-long assault, the fallen comrades, the screaming wounded, the thundering canon, the popping sharpshooters with their cap-and-ball muskets, the splitting crashes as missile after missile swept along the line, the thumping of horse’s hooves, the interminable roar of battle.
Wild rushes of desperate men—clawing, crying, and clamoring in riotous surges—parts of opposing armies flailing away with flesh and bone and iron and lead and steel, a maddening rush of men, a feverish flurry of life and death.
None can image the horror.
Of all the documents and diaries collected from the living and the dead, from both the Union and Confederate armies, it appears that more than 200 skirmishes, some of which approached battle status, were fought in what is now West Virginia.
And yet no other single battlefield in the Mountain State may boast of sacrifice more pronounced.
Clearly, the Battle of Carnifex Ferry ought to be showcased in drama at amphitheaters around the state.
Camp Gauley, as it was called by the Confederates, once was a strategic communications point for both armies—the Union wanting control of the Kanawha Valley, the Confederacy coveting the salt works at nearby Malden.
But there was another reason for the region’s importance to the South, according to historians.
“Men from this area were easier to train as soldiers,’’ writes one local researcher.
“They were skilled in the use of firearms, for they used their rifles for hunting, and they were familiar with the lay of the land.
“In guerrilla warfare, there are no lines drawn. Fighting is scattered and sporadic—not designed to win major battles, but to win the hearts and minds of the people. Once you have done that, you can accomplish other goals.’’
Some think that West Virginia might still be part of the Old Dominion had it not been for the battle at Carnifex Ferry.
And in some ways, it was a major battle of the Civil War.
When the Confederates retreated at Carnifex, it cost them the entire Kanawha Valley and much of what is today West Virginia.
The Union’s assault on the Confederate stronghold led to unspeakable carnage on both sides of the battlefield, but the cost to the Union force was enormous—eight soldiers for every Rebel casualty.
Historians hailed it as a victory for the Union.
If the Confederates had held out for another day, the outcome might have been different.
We might still be Virginians paying our taxes in Richmond.
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