A collection of bedtime stories - or sharpshooter & sniper tales

Tom Plunket.

Tom Plunket ended his days in London selling matches and the best efforts of his old commanding officer to obtain a good pension for him did not save him from alcoholism.
Duncan
 
"About 2 p.m. the enemy opened fire on us before we saw them, and a perfect hurricane of bullets rushed over our heads and around us... Our reinforcements arrived slowly and theirs came by the thousands... At this time, three shots fell between Capt. B. and myself, evidently aimed at him from the tree-tops, and I discovered the fellow by the smoke from his gun. Capt. B. gave me leave to go and pick him off, which I did. In loading his piece he exposed a portion of his body; I fired and down he came, a dead man..."

Now, time wasn't exactly a precise thing back in the 19th Century. It's not like everyone synchronized their watches before battle (yet alone carried watches). Most folks went by the clocks on their town hall or the train station(s) which had to be coordinated since accidents could happen if they weren't. So, in reading about "time" during a battle, remember that it wasn't necessarily precise and this gives some rise to conflicting accounts.

More importantly, there is a significance to this one sharpshooting incident. But I won't tell it here.
 
In his book, "Our Rifles", written in 1920, Charles Winthrop Sawyer describes
nearly every long and short arm used by and against our armies from the
time of the American Revolution through "The Great War". He insists on
calling rifles used for killing at long range as snipper rifles, saying:

"The modern pronounciation "snipe-er" and "snipe-ing" is incorrect. There is
no verb "snipe" from which to derive these words. The verb snip, meaning to
cut quickly, to clip, originally furnished the words snipper and snipping, and
snipping expresses exactly the performance of taking deliberate aim from
ambush and clipping the life of an unsuspecting victim. It is all right in the
interest of brevity to omit the second p in spelling, but it is all wrong to
pronounce these words inanely."

Any thoughts on his etymology?
 
Sawyers makes a good point, but recall when the term was coined by the English, spelling in those days left a lot to be desired. Phonetics is not a new thing and I've read letters written by English noblemen/officers who spelt the same name two different ways in the same paragraph. That said, the term "sniper" as currently used is now the accepted form and "snipe" today is a verb. BTW, Sawyers is cited in my work.

And now for the bedtime story of the week: A soldier, whose term of enlistment had expried, went about in the trench bidding the boys good-bye. [Gary's note: Obviously he's a Union soldier since the Corn-fed army didn't let anyone muster out unless he was transferred to another unit, discharged for disability or dead] [He] was going to get out of the trench and march to the rear. We advised him to wait until after sunset when the sharpshooters couldn't see him, but he was anxious to get away. He said just before mounting the bank, "I hope to meet you all when the war is over." He jumped out of the trench and faced us as he bid us his last good-bye. We all heard a thud and the soldier dropped dead before us without a groan or a movement of a muscle. It saddened us to think that if he had been more patient, and could have waited until night, how different might have been the result. The Rebel bullet struck the comrade in the forehead.

I'm leaving for Virginia next week, will be off-line and won't be back until mid-may. I'll spend a couple of days in the National Archives to research just one soldier for a photospread in my book (yes, the manuscript has been finished and this is one of those extras that will add to the book's appeal) and to meet with the editor (and find out what is going on). Then I'll run about the countryside, lollygag and visit battlefields. Will be meeting with one notable park ranger (and perhaps a few more). Behave yourselves and if you have a bedtime story, please share it here.
 
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Spent some more time in the National Archives in Washington. You can never spend too much time and everytime I've been there, the scope of the search expands and then they kick you out because they're closing the doors at night.:rolleyes: I guess the staff wants to go home and have supper and get some sleep. So, I'd catch the Metro back to my quarters and read books at night.

Also ran around the Ole Dominion and the sights around the Yorktown Peninsula. Unfortunately, no one knew where the tree was that the black-Confederate sharpshooter used as a hide until California Joe put a bullet into him. The good news is that the Crater at Petersburg hasn't been filled in by vandals (OK, erosion has filled it from the days when it was a deep hole). After swinging by Appomattox Court House and crossing the Blue Ridge Mountains, I reached Lexington where Jackson and Lee are both buried. The Lewis & Clark airgun at the Virginia Military Institute was not displayed because the Museum is getting a face-lift. Dropped into Harper's Ferry for a day as well as Gettysburg. At Chancellorsville, I met one fellow, C., whose great-grandpappy served under Jeb Stuart. His grandpappy fought in the 5th Virginia Cavalry, a unit mentioned in my book. That same day at nearby Spotsylvania I caught two out of three ranger led talks (one talk covered a battle that is discussed in the book).

Since Petersburg was mentioned, here's a bedtime story from that battlefield:

"On June 29 I made a remarkably good shot. I was in the trenches, a little to the left of the path, & I saw a man walking from the enemy’s middle line back to the rear line in a direction straight from me. I was in DuBose’s Georgia brigade, & I said, ‘Look at that fellow! Lend me a gun & let me try him.’ I fixed the sight at 800 yards, took a very careful aim & fired. The man fell & the men around me, looking over [the] parapet gave a little hurrah at the shot. I think he was shot through a leg, for he did not lie there, but managed to scramble over a parapet which he had nearly reached when I shot.”
 
I spent some time at Colonial Williamsburg and met some nice folks who work as interpreters there. Turns out that we all read the same books including those by Tarleton, Simcoe, Lamb, etc. I gave them the address to this website and if you guys find it, Hello from the West Coast of the Colony of Virginia (according to the 1750 map this side of the Pacific was claimed by Virginia).

Here's something I dug up. It concerns the denied application for a widow's pension by Mary Murphy, wife of Tim Murphy. As we know, Tim Murphy was the famous rifleman who served with Morgan at Saratoga and is credited with shooting General Fraser from his horse. Read it and weep.

Pension Office
April 10, 1862

Sir,

The Declaration + proofs, of Mrs. Mary Murphy, widow of Timothy Murphy of N. Y. for a pension under the act of 3d February 1853 have been examined by this office.

The certificate of service of a man named Timothy Murphy, from the Comptroller's Office of New York, is dated February 9th 1857. and the Declaration + Affidavits for five years, and the retention of the declaration of Mrs. Murphy for one year + a half after execution, before presentation, without any explanation of the delay being offered, are facts not calculated to produce a favorable impression on the merits of her claim.

Nor is the claim itself supported by testimony in amy respect sufficient to secure a favorable action upon it. She is not identified as the widow of the soldier in Col. Harper's Regiment Capt. Bogart's company, to whom the pay certificates were issued for service in the year 1780. The fact that her husband bore the same name with that soldier is no proof that he was the same individual, and unless evidence of this is addressed, directly connecting him with that soldier she cannot receive the benefit of that service. It should be made to appear that that soldier + claimant's husband were both from the same town, and that there was no other person of the same name in it capable of bearing arms, or it should be shown by documentary evidence that her husband was the soldier.

The proof of the marriage is not satisfactory. Record evidence, public or private, should be prosecuted, on it must be shown by affidavit that none such is attainable + that there are no witnesses living who were present at the ceremony, before proof of the marriage relation of by general representation can be admitted as satisfactory.

A. G. Shaw, Esq.
Oncouta
Otsego County
New York
 
I've shared a lot of sharpshooting anecdotes here. Perhaps it's time to look at another aspect of the blackpowder sharpshooter. Modernly, to become a sniper today one must first be a good soldier. Marksmanship must be excellent, service record equally excellent and the candidate must be in top physical form and pass a psychological to ensure that they're fit. It's a long arduous process and even if accepted into sniper school, some don't make the grade (kudos for trying though).

Well, during the American Revolution the standards were quite different and here's one German's description of the American riflemen: "As for the mountaineer, or the wild Scotch-Irish, this is a species of poor folk gathered from all the nations of the world. They dwell in miserable log cabins, in the mountains three to four hundred miles from the seacoast, and live from the chase. Since these people usually maintain relations from the Indians, who are their neighbors, they take pains to assume a wild appearance, which results naturally from their rough manner of living. They are excellent and dangerous shots, and can easily bring a folded bayonet off their leg. They choose their own leaders and pay no attention to discipline. He who falls into their hands as prisoners seldom keeps anything more than what nature gave him at birth."
 
I found this nugget in a book called "One Night Stands With American History"
by Richard Shenkman and Kurt Reiger.

Several days before the Battle of Brandywine Creek, in September 1777, George
Washington and a French officer reconnoitered the area of land and water that
stretched between the American camp at Chad's Ford and the British camp at
Kennett Square, four miles away. George Washington always preferred doing
his own reconnaissance, especially in a case such as this, where only a few
paltry maps of the region were available. Of course, it was dangerous for the
commander of the American army to take to unprotected fields, but
Washington was the kind of man who willingly took risks when he had to. At
times he was downright reckless. A few days before, on another reconnoit-
ering mission, he slept in a house that a friend suspected was filled with
British sympathizers.

As he travelled about, Washington seemed completely oblivious to the threat
of attack. He took few precautions and galloped everywhere. At one point,
following the Frenchman, he rode into a clearing in the woods - where he
would be an easy target for even the worst rifleman.

Unfortunately, hiding nearby was a band of four British shapshooters who
had thrown themselves to the ground at the sound of approaching horses.
The leader of the soldiers was one Patrick Ferguson, a master marksman,
who had invented a deadly accurate rifle that weighed only seven and a
half pounds. Ferguson was on his very first campaign, having convinced
the government, after an amazing performance before King George III, of
the usefulness of sharpshooters.

When the Frenchman and Washington rode up, Ferguson saw a golden
opportunity to prove the worth of his outfit. Obviously the pair were
important. One was wearing Hussar, the other a buff and blue uniform and
"a remarkable large cocked hat," as Ferguson later noted. Instantly Ferguson
notified his men "to steal near to them and fire at them." But as his men
readied, Ferguson peremptorily withdrew his order. He had suddenly decided
it would be better to capture the stately pair than to kill them. Without
hesitating, he shouted out to the Frenchman, who was nearer, ordering him
to dismount. The Frenchman ignored the command, however, and called out
a warning to his friend in buff and blue. Washington promptly wheeled his
horse around and made off, with the Frenchman close behind. The two men
then sped back to the American lines, safe and unharmed.

During the Battle of Brandywine, Ferguson was wounded in the elbow of his
shooting arm and sent to a hospital. There he told of his encounter with
the two enemy officers and aroused curiosity as to the identity of the
escaped men, whom he descibed in detail. One morning, as Ferguson sub-
sequently recalled, a surgeon, "who had been dressing the wounded rebel
officers, came in and told us they had been informing him that General
Washington was all that day with the light troops, and only attended by a
French officer in Hussar dress, he himself dressed and mounted in every
point as described."

Ferguson afterwards remarked, "As I was within that distance at which in
the quickest firing, I could have lodged half a dozen of balls in or about him
before he was out of my reach, I had only to determine; but it was not
pleasant to fire at the back of an unoffending individual who was acquitting
himself coolly of his duty, and so I left him alone."

In 1779, Ferguson lost his life in a battle he might well have prevented from
ever taking place had he, on September 7, 1777, killed the commander of
the American army.

Source: Reginald Hargreaves, "The Man Who Almost Shot Washington,"
American Heritage, December 1955, pp. 62-65
 
Can one shot make a difference?

Can a single shot determine the outcome? Read and judge for yourself:

“Well, we started, and the long line of sabre bayonets came down together... as we crossed the crest and with a roar of cheers... dashed on. It was an ecstasy of excitement for a moment... The foe, breathless from their long tug over the heavy ground, seemed to dissolve all at once into a quivering and disintegrating mass and to scatter in all directions. Upon this we halted and opened fire, and the view of it through the smoke was pitiful. They were falling everywhere; white handkerchiefs were held up in token of surrender. No bullets were coming our way except from a clump of trees in front of our left. Here a group of men, led by an officer whose horse had just fallen, were trying to keep up the unequal fight, when... The crack shot of Company D ran forward a little and sent a bullet crashing through his brain. This was Lieutenant Colonel B and at his fall all opposition ceased. We gathered in some three hundred prisoners.”

I've a lot more to say about it, but that'll have to wait for later. For those of you who get The Skirmish Line (magazine of the N-SSA), the April-May-June edition has my article about the first day's battle of Fredericksburg beginning on page 38. MuzzleBlasts (May) has my article on sharpshooting in the percussion era right before our Civil War.
 
Chapter 14 actually goes into WW I and discusses sniping. Chapter 14 ties in the past with sniping in WW I. You'll meet people who have been long forgotten here and learn of their contributions to sniping.

Now, onto our bedtime story that involves a blackpowder cartridge rifle right here in the USA. It's not quite a long range hit, but under the stress of an oncoming target is noteworthy.

“As the Indians were coming in an oblique direction toward us, and as not a man in the company had yet fired a shot at an Indian from the new breech-loading fifty-caliber Springfield rifles with which we had just been armed, I sat down and adjusted my sights to seven hundred yards, and laying my rifle on top of a stone breastwork, took steady aim at the Indian in advance and fired. My bullet struck a stone in front of the Indian, ricocheted off and wounded his pony. The Indian was thrown off, but immediately sprang to his feet as his pony fell, and was taken up behind a mounted warrior who was following closely to his rear.”
 
Trench warfare in WW I made the periscope a popular item among officers who wanted to observe or study the enemy lines. Both the Allies and the Central Powers resorted to them. Not surprisingly, they became targets of bored snipers. This was not unprecedented and it happened before during the American Family Feud (ACW):

“[A]s it was impossible to look through a loop hole, he decided to try a mirror. Keeping his head below the level of the parapet, he cautiously stuck up one end of a small glass, held at such an angle as to reflect the enemy’s parapet down to his eye. In a minute a bullet smashed the glass in his hands & the marksman in the Federal trenches shouted out to him, ‘Set it up again, Johnny!’”
 
An incident from Fredericksburg (Dec. 13)

It doesn't pay to distinguish yourself. I mentioned earlier that anyone riding a white horse and waving a sword tends to attract the attention of the men - including those of the enemy whose bullets will be drawn to the rider. Well, it's the same with sharpshooters. Don't draw attention as this one fellow did.

“[O]n December 13th, our corps was attacked by Franklin’s corps, sixty thousand strong. At this time we were entrenched behind a railroad a short distance in front of a skirt of shrub oak. The enemy’s charge was made through an open field and was so furious our first line was driven back into the woods, where we stopped to reform. The enemy stopped at the railroad which they used for breastworks. The distance between us was about one hundred yards, and for some time we engaged in a hot infantry duel. We were ordered to lie down to shoot, but had to stand on our knees to load. I recall now, vividly, a Yankee in the ditch just in front of me, who wore a red coat and who seemed to be a particularly good shot. Every time he raised up from behind the embankment someone was killed near me. Sergeant Dobbs, Corporal Callahan and his brother were among the number. I pointed out the man to Captain Monger, who told me to load my gun and kill the d___ Yankee. I followed instructions as closely as possible, held my fire until he raised up, took deliberate aim, and fired. Much to my relief we did not see him again during the engagement.”

The above will be included in my next article to be released in The Skirmish Line.
 
I've been the Gettysburg twice and the first time I spent 5 days there. Here's an excerpt of what I wrote about the battle around Devil's Den & Little Round Top:

"The terrain from Plum Ridge to Devil’s Den and all the way up to the Round Tops provided numerous places of cover for sharpshooters. “These afforded lurking-places for a multitude of Confederate sharp-shooters whom, from the difficulties of the ground, it was impossible to dislodge, and who were opposed by similar methods on our part; so that at the close of the battle these hiding places, and especially the ‘Den’ itself, were filled with dead and wounded men. This kind of warfare was specially destructive to Hazlett’s battery on Round Top, as the cannoneers had to expose themselves in firing, and in one case, three were shot in quick succession, before the fourth succeeded in discharging the piece.”

Dr. Brady of the 16th Michigan recalls the fight: “On this bare ledge they perched with no protection against the murderous fire of the Texas sharpshooters who were well concealed behind rocks and tree and in treetops, filling the broken ground in front and reaching to the well named Devil’s Den.” Their Brigade Commander, Col. Strong Vincent, rushed over to rally them. While watching his troops from atop a boulder, his conspicousness made him a prime target. He was quickly shot down, his final command was, “Don’t give an inch!” The Confederate line surged up to Little Round Top and hand to hand fighting ensued.

The guns mentioned earlier belonged to Lt. Charles E. Hazlett’s Battery D, 5th U. S. Artillery. Charles Edward Hazlett entered West Point at age 16 in 1855 and was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant in the 2nd U.S. Cavalry. A cavalryman for less than two weeks, he transferred to the artillery as a 1st Lieutenant. Before going into battle, Lt. Hazlett spoke with his commander, Captain Augustus P. Martin, V Corps Artillery. Capt. Martin recalls their conversation: “For the first time during the year or more that Lieut. Hazlett had been under my command as division and corps Chief of Artillery, he hesitated., and turning to me said, ‘I have just received bad news from home and I would rather someone else lead off today, ‘ besides, he said, ‘I have a premonition that this will be my last battle.’” It didn’t help that prior to the battle, Lt. “Cog” Hazlett had been warned by Col. Martin Harding, 12th Pennsylvania Reserves: “Cog, a fight is shaping up; don’t wear that white hat into battle.” As there was no road on Little Round Top, the guns were manhandled up the hill. They arrived as part of General Stephen Weed’s 3rd Brigade to reinforce Vincent’s beleaguered brigade. While Little Round Top was not the ideal artillery position, Hazlett fired upon the Confederates to encourage the wavering Federal infantry.

The intensity of the fire, along with the close-quarter fighting and ensuing confusion, on Little Round Top led to a partial collapse of the 16th Michigan. The Confederate break through was short lived as General Stephen Weed’s brigade arrived almost immediately and restored the Union line. After being briefed by “Cog” Hazlett, Weed turned to direct his men. He was standing atop a rock at the crest to observe the effect of Hazlett’s battery. “I had rather die on this spot than to see those rascals gain one inch of ground,” he told Capt. Augustus Martin. Shortly after he spoke, he was struck in one shoulder. The bullet passed through his spine and exited out of the opposite shoulder. Falling to the ground, General Weed cried out: “I am cut in two. I want to see Hazlett.” Hazlett served under Weed when the latter was still an artilleryman and the two were friends. Hazlett immediately rushed to Weed’s side and bent over him but never heard a word. He didn’t have a chance as he was shot in the head. When Col. Harding next saw “Cog,” he was being carried away on a stretcher. Command of Hazlett’s battery fell on Lt. B. F. Rittenhouse who noted, “most of the killed were shot in the head by sharpshooters.”
 
Thank you for your patience

I'm going to Washington this weekend. There's some books I'd like to see at the National Archives and also some things to see at the Library of Congress. I'm even going to catch Spamalot at the National Theatre. Also, the Editor will be returning Chapters 1-3. I'll be scouring it with a jaundiced eye to see what's left. :uhoh:

"On the rebel skirmish line at the east side of a small field, across which the Second Brigade skirmish line extended, was a log cabin in which there was daily posted a rebel sharpshooter who made good use of his opportunities. A picket detail was his special delight, and many a picket marching out to duty was disabled by his unerring rifle. And a soldier going outside of the entrenchments for any purpose was a fair mark. Next to a picket detail he seemed to delight in having a crack at soldiers going out for wood. But wood was necessary, even if it took blood. At length the timber was cleared away, much of it having been cut and carried to camp on the boys’ backs after night. The sharpshooter wounded a number of the Eighty-sixth when going out to the skirmish line. To fire at the cabin was useless and he was left undisturbed. Once or twice a gun from Fort W. was turned upon the cabin and a few shots would quiet him for a time, but he soon resumed his vocation.”
 
When I arrived in Washington (actually, Ronald Reagan Airport), I hopped on the Metro and went to the National Archives. It had just reclosed :( and a couple of things I wanted to research would have to wait. Plan 2 called for going off to the Library of Congress which done with all speed (considering I was carrying at least 30 pounds on my back since I wouldn't reached my abode on the East Coast until the evening). Thankfully the Library of Congress (like the National Archives) has a place to drop off all your personal belongings (you may bring in a notebook computer but no paper - they provide the latter). I found quite a few items but for one I had to check the copyright to ensure that it wasn't renewed (it wasn't).

On Saturday I ran around with some friends there and even saw Spamalot. Finally figured out that dread French taunt, "You silly English Ka-neg-gits" meant "You silly English Knights." ;) Went briefly to the American History Museum to see if they corrected a gun exhibit which I informed them was incorrectly labelled. Well, the entire exhibit was gone with the wind (thanks to remodelling) so that's taken care of. Afterwards I went to the Natural History Museum and was delighted to find a Lewis & Clark exhibit there. They had an airgun which wasn't the Lewis & Clark airgun. It was more along the lines of a Girandoni (think Austro-Hungarian military repeater airgun). A docent heard me describe the airgun and then engaged me conversation about airguns of the period. Thanks to my research, I could speak authoritively on it (see Chapter 3 when it comes out).

On Sunday, I visited the Smithsonian's American Indian Museum. They have quite a nice collection of guns there including Geronimo's, Chief Joseph, one hobbled together by an Indian gunsmith and some modern guns like the M-16A1 and the German G-3 (how did that get there?). More importantly, they had a lot of pipe tomahawks on display (yay!) but some of the exhibit drawers couldn't be opened all the way. :mad: I wish they had more exhibit space so that more tribes could participate (some are permanent displays and others are rotated with guest curators from a particular tribe). After that museum, I went to the Renwick Gallery and had to walk by the Whitehouse (of all the times I've been to D. C., this was the first time I walked by that place). Two whole protestors out there. Yawn. :) Wanted to see the Grant Wood painting, American Gothic, but it had returned to Chicago. His dentist posed for the father and his sister Nan for the spinster daughter (and her face isn't as pinced as in the painting).

Monday was back to the Library of Congress where I found a pamphlet that I didn't have time to fish out on Friday. It was by a key player and I'm grateful to say that of that topic, NOTHING was learned. That confirmed that my research in that area was exhaustive. :D I barely got back to Ronald Reagan to catch my flight home.

Anyway, today I went to Duncan Mills in CA to see Civil War Days. It was fun to speak with a lot of reenactors and see their toys. Enough rambling. Now, here's our bedtime story:

“[A] detachment under First Sergt. Barrett was sent across the ‘Nine-mile Road’ to look after a part of the regular picket line, where several of our infantry men had been shot. Locating the enemy’s position, four of our Sharpshooters deployed, two on each side of the road, and advanced carefully through the brush some 200 yards where they lay quietly watching for further developments; but seeing or hearing nothing they rigged up a stick with a hat and coat, and shoved it out across the roadway, when instantly a report was heard and a bullet passed through the coat. The puff of smoke seeming to issue from the center of a tree 100 yards distant, the Sharpshooters then crawled forward to either side of the road, keeping under cover as much as possible, firing at the right and left side of the tree, the result being of a very damaging character to the concealed Johnny, he receiving his quietus. The company was frequently called on to perform service of this kind, to locate lurking foes and silence their guns.”
 
Hunter or hunted?

One Union lad decided to take upon himself to sharpshoot a Johnny. As we shall see, the would-be hunter became the hunted. “This has been the longest day I ever knew. Early this morning I crept out beyond our lines, which were in the woods, to get a ‘shot’ (at a Rebel) before breakfast. But the Rebels spied me and everyone within shooting distance opened on me. The consequence was that I had to stay behind a tree all day until dark. The sun was awful hot and I didn’t have a mouthful to eat or drink. The soldiers on both sides were yelling at me: ‘Do you want some water?’ old Butternut would ask. ‘Well, we have a kettle on the fire heating for you,’ my friends would say.”
 
The question was raised, when will the book be out? I want it out this year, but am waiting for the editor. :scrutiny: I can tell you this much, there are at least 50 pages you won't have to read. :p Why? The 50 represent the bibliography and index. :eek: The index hasn't been reviewed yet either and I'm hoping I haven't left anything out from it.

“No decided effort was made during the day to break our lines, but a heavy cannonading was kept up all day by the Federals, and their sharp-shooters did us much harm by occasionally killing and wounding our men along the line. Their whereabouts were hard to discover, as they were shooting from the tops of trees in a belt of wood that bordered the clearing just in our front. To the right, in front of our position, was the residence of Bishop G., and beside his dwelling house there were a number of small houses, all enclosed in a hedge of thorn bushes and vines. These served as forts for the Federal sharp-shooters, from which they were annoying us very much. It was dangerous for a man to show his head above our breastworks. Throughout the day, or a part of it, they continued their work effectively. Quite a number of our men had been killed by them.”
Click to expand...

I'll be leaving for N' Clina this week and won't be back until Sunday night. Take care and if anybody has a story, please share it.
 
Recall what you've learned during rifle instruction about the significance of a steady shooting position? The more wobbly you are as a shooting platform, the greater the likelihood of a miss. Offhand of course is the most difficult to shoot accurately from and kneeling is preferred since it offers greater steadiness. Thus, even sitting is preferred to kneeling and prone the most favored position for shooting. The lower you are to the ground or the more you stabilize the rifle, the more accurate your shot will be, right?

Well, today's story concerns a lucky man who was missed because his foeman had an unsteady rest. Read about it here at THR's own Bedtime Stories (like the Rod Sterling touch?):

We fell in with the enemy on our route, and a partial engagement took place, and we had one man killed; -- and I had a narrow escape myself. I was standing in the angle of a fence [think crooked Virginia rail fence], a rifleman was in the opposite field on horseback, at the time we were forming along the fence. He dismounted, placed his rifle across his horse, fired. The ball struck direct in the angle of the fence opposite my face, and the splinters flew about my head and eyes.
Click to expand...

This concludes our Bedtime Story for the week. Be good, behave and don't forget to put in some range time.
 
A good sharpshooter can make life miserable to the opposition. Here's a unit that wrestled unsuccessfully against a skilled sharpshooter.
“On the skirmish line at the east side of a small field, across which the Second Brigade skirmish line extended, was a log cabin in which there was daily posted a sharpshooter who made good use of his opportunities. A picket detail was his special delight, and many a picket marching out to duty was disabled by his unerring rifle. And a soldier going outside of the entrenchments for any purpose was a fair mark. Next to a picket detail he seemed to delight in having a crack at soldiers going out for wood. But wood was necessary, even if it took blood. At length the timber was cleared away, much of it having been cut and carried to camp on the boys’ backs after night. The sharpshooter wounded a number of the boys going out to the skirmish line. To fire at the cabin was useless and he was left undisturbed. Once or twice a gun from the fort was turned upon the cabin and a few shots would quiet him for a time, but he soon resumed his vocation.”
Click to expand...

If I was the commanding officer, I would have found my best hunters and told them to go out at night to wait for the enemy to show up.
 
“[Sharpshooters] are not likely often to be taken prisoners, as death is considered their just penalty; for as they very seldom are in a position to show mercy, so, in like manner, is mercy rarely shown to them.”
Click to expand...

Fred Ray, author of Shock Troops of the South, asked me whether sharpshooters were ever taken prisoners. Well, there's an article of mine that will appear in the Fall 2006 issue of The Military Collector and Historian. The epigraph above is the opening statement and the topic is examined thoroughly. Fred participates in a blog which is worth reading. It covers a lot of ground that has been examined by myself. A very brief answer to the above statement may be found in Fred's Blog found at this link: Fred Ray's Blog If you would like to read the entire article, join The Company of Military Historians. Their website is at Military-Historians There is much more to the article than what I'm giving here. Fans of this thread should subscribe (mention my name please) as there will be two more articles on sharpshooters that will appear in that magazine.

BTW, the issue of death by concussion arose. I recall an event during the Siege of Yorktown during the American Revolution. Here's one from the ACW:

... A battle exhausted infantryman stood behind a large oak tree. His back rested against it. He was very tired, and held his rifle loosely in his hand. The Confederates were directly in our front. This soldier was apparently in perfect safety. A solid shot from a Confederate gun struck the oak tree squarely about four feet from the ground; but it did not have sufficient force to tear through the tough wood. The soldier fell dead. There was not a scratch on him. He was killed by concussion.
Click to expand...
 
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