Before daylight of September 6, 1862, the men of Battery H, New York Light Artillery of which I was a corporal, were encamped in the streets of Little Washington, N. C. We were ordered to fall in, and an expedition consisting of Battery H, four guns, a detachment of cavalry and infantry and a supply train, started for some point unknown to us.
The morning was dark and foggy. Several gunboats lay in the stream, the men on board being asleep. After the column had moved six or seven blocks, firing was heard to the left. Then a mounted officer appeared, shouting that the town had
been surprised by a large force. A stampede immediately followed this announcement and the column ahead was in complete confusion. The cavalry following maintained discipline. The order of the commanding officer: 'Steady, men' could be plainly heard. The lieutenant in charge of one gun having disappeared in the confusion, I assumed command and proceeded rapidly in
the direction of the firing.
After advancing some blocks we came upon the remainder of the battery unlimbered and ready for action. We continued until we reached River Street, where the gun was unlimbered and loaded with canister. Our piece was unsupported. As the men
finished loading, the fog lifted, and a body of men filling the entire street, and numbering about 600, was discovered marching rapidly toward our gun. I hesitated, not knowing who they were. Just then Adjutant Guiero, of the Third New York Cavalry, rode up and said:
'Young man, why don't you fire?'
I replied: 'I don't know who they are.'
'Quite right',' he said. 'I'll soon see.'
He advanced in the direction of the men, but, in an
instant, he wheeled and shouted: 'In God's name fire!' Then I gave the order to fire, and in a few minutes fifteen charges of canister were hurled against the advancing men, who first halted, and then retreated rapidly in the direction whence they came. Up to this time not one of my small detachment had been injured except myself, a bullet
cutting my ear slightly.
The gun was then limbered, and we followed the enemy up the street to the next block, where the Tar River Bridge provides an entrance to the town. Upon arriving at the corner we could see that the retreating Confederates were mixed in
confusion with another regiment, which had been following them. The officers were endeavoring to rally and reform their lines.
We again attempted to unlimber the gun, but the horses, in making a short turn at the entrance to the bridge, became stalled, and the gun remained fast.
Just then the Confederates discharged a volley, a portion of which struck the wheel horses, causing them to plunge and wheel. Now our men were enabled to unlimber the gun. Before it could be loaded, however, the Confederates were upon us with their bayonets, and a hand-to-hand fight ensued in front of the gun. During this combat John Malone and John McGrehan loaded
the gun with canister. We immediately discharged it, and after a few shots the street was rapidly cleared of the enemy. But their rifle fire on the street was terrible. Within a few minutes every man at the gun was killed except John Malone and myself. Two soldiers from Battery G, one named Lincoln, the
other Albert Willard, three members from Potter's North Carolina Infantry, and three members of the Third New York Cavalry then joined us and assisted in working the gun.
A large body of Confederates, in the meantime, had entered the grounds of ex-Governor Grice's residence and was pouring volley after volley into our detachment. The last charge left was a solid shot. All our newly joined comrades had been
killed or wounded, and Malone and I loaded the gun for the last time. Just before the shot was inserted into the gun a bullet
shattered my knee, and as I fired, Malone received a shot through the body, which completely paralyzed his leg.
He threw his arms about me and I carried him on my back to the bridge stairs, hobbling along with the aid of my saber. How it was possible to reach the edge of the water alive, is a mystery to me. A cutter then took us both, with the wounded Lincoln, to the gunboat Louisiana. As our gun ceased firing,
the Louisiana came into action, her guns covering the position we had abandoned, and soon after the Confederates were in full retreat.
The next day, September 7, on my twenty-first birthday, my leg was amputated above the knee. While I was lying in the hospital at New Berne, Major-General J. B. Foster, the corps commander, and Colonel J. H. Ladlie, the regimental commander,
met at my bedside. The colonel said that the action of my gun detachment had saved Little Washington to the Union forces.
— Wilson Smith, Deeds of Valor
