This story is one of twenty-five published as an anthology of stories from the Civil War and World War II called Is That A Fact. I grew up in the next town over from where this soldier grew up and traveled across the William Scott Memorial Highway many times.
When the men of his company laid Private William Scott to rest in a crude battlefield grave near Yorktown in 1862, they turned up remnants of a Revolutionary War soldier who had — apparently — fallen at the same spot. The Minuteman went unidentified while William Scott’s life and death was widely reported by media from across the country. Scott was a celebrity through a series of extraordinary events that plucked him from the obscurity of a rural Vermont farm, saw his name echo in the corridors of the White House, and led him to his grave too soon — one of the hundreds of thousands whom Lincoln sought to ensure hadn’t died in vain.
Scott was a week past his 21st birthday when the first shots were fired on Fort Sumter. He grew up in Groton, Vermont — a remote, hilly, forested farming village known for its natural beauty and rich soil, made more difficult to work by the granite chunks strewn about by some ancient glacier. Today, U.S. Route 302 bisects the quiet town where farming remains one of its peoples’ main pursuits. Its natural beauty has largely been preserved through five state parks within Groton’s boundaries.
As the conflict over slavery heated up during the 1850s, Scott received a rudimentary education and then joined the profession of his father and his father’s father on the family farm. Bleeding Kansas was a world away from the cornfields and dairy barns of Vermont. Scott likely knew little of the heated rhetoric in Washington that would give way to a brutal war, or that it would be boys like him — not the blustery politicians — who would spill their blood on the front lines.
Days after the war began, Lincoln put out a call for 75,000 volunteers to supplement the anemic regular army which had fallen to about 16,000 troops at the start of the Civil War. Vermont’s Governor Erastus Fairbanks was in his second, non-consecutive term. He had won election in the early 1850s as a Whig before joining the nascent Republican party. Fairbanks and his brother Thaddeus patented the platform scale and Erastus got into railroad building. He was industrious, an abolitionist, and he ardently supported the Lincoln administration. Fairbanks wrote to Lincoln that Vermont would do her full duty. Neither Lincoln nor Fairbanks knew then that 75,000 men mustered in for three months’ service would represent but a drop in the bucket of the manpower that the war would eventually require.
By July, reality was slowly setting in and Congress authorized a call for 500,000 men for three years’ service. Governor Fairbanks set about actively recruiting the 3rd Vermont Volunteer Infantry pulling in men and boys from east of the Green Mountains in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom — Newbury, Groton, Wheelock, and elsewhere. The regiment organized about 25 miles northeast of Groton at St. Johnsbury, which happened to be the Governor’s hometown. One of the men mustered in was farmer William Scott. Scott would fall in under Colonel William Farrar Smith — Baldy — who would, with his Vermonters, fight meritoriously during many of the most strenuously-contested actions in the Eastern Theater of the war. The 3rd Vermont fought at Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, the Wilderness, Spotsylvania Courthouse, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, and Cedar Creek in the Shenandoah Valley. 131 men would die in action with another 65 succumbing to wounds and 152 dying of disease. 78 were taken prisoner and 11 of these men died in captivity. Another 428 would be wounded but would survive. The regiment ended the war with a nearly 40 percent casualty rate.
William Scott would survive to see just a sliver of the combat that some of his fellow soldiers experienced, but he would gain a level of notoriety in his day comparable to Colonel Elmer Ellsworth — the first union fatality of the war. Scott was assigned to Company K of the 3rd Vermont Regiment. Quickly after organizing in Vermont, the regiment was transported to Washington, DC to help reinforce the growing number of check points and forts protecting the federal city. Scott and his cohorts were stationed at the chain bridge over the Potomac River just northwest of Georgetown where the district gives way to Maryland and Virginia. It was a significant posting because of its direct access from Virginia and its proximity to the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. The bridge itself was “chain” by legacy only, following an almost cursed 60-year history that had seen it rot, burn, flood, and simply collapse only to be rebuilt again and again. By 1861 the bridge was a wooden span built in the lattice truss style. It could have been set afire, by either side, but was too valuable to both.
Residents of Washington worried ceaselessly about the city’s safety, wedged as it was between Virginia and Maryland (which stayed in the union, but served as a hive of Confederate-friendly activity). False alarms about attacks plagued the city. Sometimes, though, the residents had real cause for concern. At the chain bridge, Confederates had entrenched, protecting the Virginia approach just as union soldiers defended the district’s end. Guard duty was important when the threat of attack was real, and as a psychological tool to pacify nervous residents. The defense of Washington — right down to the chain bridge — was burdensome to the Army throughout the war. Robert E. Lee and his lieutenants would often feint towards the city knowing that valuable resources would be recalled and used for its protection.
In late August, Private William Scott posted up at the bridge for picket duty in place of a sick comrade. The next day Scott learned that he had again been assigned to an overnight stretch of guard duty in his own right. Scott expressed some concern about his ability to remain awake for a second straight night, but such talk wasn’t likely to garner much sympathy in the Army of the Potomac. Scott reported to his post. He fell asleep three times that night. The first two times he awoke and sought to shake off his fatigue. The third time, Scott was awoken when his morning relief approached the bridge and found him fast asleep. He was put under arrest pending court martial. Scott testified that he couldn’t deny the charge, but that he had tried his best. He said that if he were put in the same situation again, it would work out the same way.
The tribunal found Scott guilty and sentenced him to death under an order issued by Baldy Smith at the regiment’s formation. Men who fell asleep at their post would receive the death penalty. Smith’s order wasn’t particularly unique or controversial on paper. Soldiers’ obedience and commitment to their duty was paramount. Killing an offending soldier or two would serve as a deterrent to others. It was meant to help to encourage discipline — especially among a volunteer army — and ultimately save lives.
In practice, however, the order seemed merciless. Scott’s fellow soldiers came immediately to his defense claiming that the punishment grossly outweighed the crime. This was the first time the death penalty was ordered for what was considered a minor infraction (compared to, say, desertion — which was intolerable to both officers and the rank and file). Company K met, a committee was named, and they were urged to use all reasonable means to save Private Scott. Three friends knew of a fellow Green Mountain Boy serving in the administration — Lucius Chittenden. Chittenden’s family was Vermont political royalty. His great-grandfather was the state’s first governor. An uncle also served as governor.
Lucious was a lawyer and published a free-soil anti-slavery newspaper before the war. Chittenden served as Register of the Treasury. Governor Fairbanks had appointed Chittenden to represent Vermont at the Peace Conference held in Washington in early 1861. Lincoln’s treasury secretary Salmon Chase knew Chittenden from Chase’s involvement with the Free-Soil party and offered him the job as register. The register was the record keeper of the national debt. It was a big job during the war. The national debt in 1860 was $65 million. By 1865 it would reach $2.6 billon, a 40-fold increase.
One morning Chittenden arrived at his office to find the three members of the 3rd Vermont there to plead for their condemned mate. The men shared Scott’s story, and a captain in the group lamented that he felt it was all his fault. The captain told that Scott’s mother had only consented to the enlistment if he promised to watch her son as if Scott were the captain’s own. He suggested that he, not Scott, should be facing the firing squad. The men had taken up a collection of money in hopes of hiring an attorney, or — perhaps — to grease the Washington skids. Chittenden refused any funds, saying that he wouldn’t accept money from fellow Vermonters on a mission of mercy. He also didn’t think it was very likely that Scott could be saved. Appealing to Baldy Smith or McClellan weren’t likely avenues of success; nor would alerting the war department as a clerk there was likely to simply pass the message on to the army commanders in the field. Chittenden thought that Scott had one chance — a direct appeal to President Abraham Lincoln. Chittenden led his three fellow Vermonters to the White House.
Chittenden reported a quintessential Lincoln reaction to the group’s arrival — a serious response but given in a folksy manner:
What is this? An expedition to kidnap somebody, or to get another brigadier appointed, or for a furlough to go home to vote? I cannot do it, gentlemen. Brigadiers are thicker than drum-majors, and I couldn’t get a furlough for myself if I asked it from the War Department.”
Chittenden assured the President that it wasn’t like that, but rather a soldier was in trouble and needed the president’s help. Lincoln asked if Scott had, “committed murder, mutiny, or some other felony?” The captain told the story, reminded Lincoln of Vermont’s political and military support, and wondered aloud what Vermonters might think if Scott were, “shot like a traitor and buried like a dog!” Lincoln asked what he could do, pointing out that he wasn’t very influential “with the department.” One can read in between the lines here of the difficult relationship between Lincoln and McClellan.
From here, the story takes on the aura of myth. The men asked for a pardon on Scott’s behalf. Some reports suggested that Lincoln took it upon himself to visit the chain bridge, meet Scott, and personally give him a pardon. That seems unlikely. We do have good evidence that Scott woke up on September 9th expecting to be shot. He was led out to face the firing squad, who were lined up to do their duty. The executioner read the charge, the result of the court martial… and then a pardon saving Scott’s life. The actual order came from McClellan, but it’s clear that it was given on Lincoln’s command. McClellan’s order specified that this was a special case and wouldn’t set a precedent for letting future sleeping soldiers off the hook.
While Scott was held under arrest, his company had crossed the chain bridge, set up “Camp Advance” and entrenched to establish a foothold in Virginia. Scott returned to his company and by all accounts sought to make amends by being a model soldier. Chittenden reported that Scott would turn down opportunities for promotion. In October 1861, several Vermont regiments were re-organized as the Vermont Brigade under command of now-General Baldy Smith. Officially, Scott now served in the 2nd Brigade of the 2nd Division of the VI Corps. Smith would command the brigade, division, and eventually the corps. The brigade was transported in early 1862 to Newport News where McClellan intended to move up the peninsula to take Richmond. McClellan’s first task was to defeat a small Confederate force defending Yorktown. In April, despite a massive advantage in troops and firepower, McClellan stalled. Thinking that he was outnumbered (McClellan had no other gear) and having failed to turn the Confederate flank, he chose to lay siege on Yorktown. This fatal operational and tactical error would cost McClellan the entire campaign.
Baldy Smith’s troops including the 3rd Vermont were part of a column initially aimed for Williamsburg, Virginia. They encountered resistance at Lee’s Mills along the Warwick River. On April 15, a “soft spot” was identified at Dam #1 on the Warwick that might allow a crossing. McClellan made plans to take a ridge below the dam while assembling his main assault force to eventually cross and overwhelm the Confederates. The 3rd Vermont would serve as part of the initial attack force. Little went correctly during the raid. The ridge was taken, but then Smith pushed the assault and sent his Vermonters across the river. They came under intense fire by troops under former Speaker of the U.S. House, Georgia Governor, Treasury Secretary — and now Confederate General — Howell Cobb. The retreating Union forces collapsed the dam, which ended any chance for the main assault wave to cross.
During the battle, Private William Scott was said to have taken six bullets at near-point blank range attacking a rifle pit. The mythological version of events had Scott carried to a hospital where he remained lucid enough to voice his eternal thanks to Abraham Lincoln for coming to his aid and allowing him to die as a man upon the field of battle. The reality was that he died instantly, leaving his fellow soldiers to bury him in a crude grave — the one that newspapers reported already contained buttons and a belt buckle from a fallen Revolutionary soldier. That might be myth too, but it’s a likeable myth to be sure.
Eventually, William Scott’s remains were interred at the Yorktown National Cemetery. In the wake of Scott’s death, Poet James R. Murdoch wrote an epic poem about Scott called “The Sleeping Sentinel.” He performed it at the White House and in the United States Senate chamber with Lincoln in the audience. There was also a silent film produced about Scott making liberal use of the exaggerated mythology. In Scott’s hometown of Groton, a stretch of U.S. Route 302 is named in William Scott’s memory. In a pull-off by the highway, near where Scott’s family farm was located, a granite marker tells his story.
The greatest legacy of William Scott might be found in the leniency shown by Lincoln. The President wasn’t just fighting a war on the battlefield, he was fighting a war of public opinion and he knew well that families of soldiers wouldn’t long stand for the sort of mass shootings necessary to consistently punish offenses like desertion, much less seemingly small offenses like falling asleep on picket duty. Death is part of war, but the magnitude wore Lincoln down and he did what he could to separate the need to be aggressive on the battlefield and showing mercy for offenses in camp.
After a day reading the results of court martial cases in the middle of the war, Lincoln’s private secretary John Hay recorded his amusement at the “eagerness with which the president caught any fact which would justify him in saving a life.” Lincoln didn’t require much prodding in Private Scott’s case. The scene of the pardon might not have been quite as melodramatic as portrayed, but Lincoln did save a young man’s life and that man — William Scott — did live on to perform heroic service. It was privates like William Scott whose sacrifice Lincoln revered and honored by calling the nation’s attention to their “last full measure of devotion.”
