On April 2, 1865, near Petersburg, Virginia, Corporal John W. Mauck of the 138th Pennsylvania Infantry found himself separated from his regiment with NaN

The death of Lieutenant General Ambrose Powell Hill in the final days of the Army of Northern Virginia ended the life of one of the Confederacy’s most distinguished corps commanders. Born in Virginia and a graduate of West Point, Hill was known as Powell to his family and friends. He rose to command a corps under Robert E. Lee and proved his ability in numerous battles.

Thumbnail

The man who fired the fatal shot was a Union corporal from Pennsylvania named John Watson Mauck. He had volunteered in the 138th Pennsylvania Infantry, and according to accounts from the moment of Hill’s death until Mauck’s own death in 1898, he rarely spoke of the incident except to correct an error in a story that had reached him. Mauck left behind two slightly different statements about what happened on April 2, 1865, near Petersburg, Virginia. The first account appeared in the Pittsburgh Post on August 22, 1898, a few days after Mauck died at the age of fifty-eight.

According to the newspaper, he had made the statement in 1880. The text was written in the third person, a common practice at the time, and given Mauck’s reluctance to speak publicly, he may have used that form out of modesty. The account described how Corporal John W. Mauck and Daniel Wolford of Company F, 138th Pennsylvania Volunteers, along with another man they did not know, participated in the assault on the rebel fortifications.

After the main body of troops moved to the left of the enemy forts, the three men separated from the main force and advanced toward the railroad. A wagon road ran almost parallel to the railroad tracks. Near a sawmill close to the point where they crossed the line, they found crowbars under some boards and used them to pry up sections of the track. After damaging the railroad, they turned back toward a swamp where a group of Union soldiers had gathered on a hill near the former rebel fortifications.

These men were stragglers separated from their units, preparing coffee and breakfast. As Mauck and Wolford approached the swamp, they saw two men on horseback riding toward the soldiers on the hill. The riders appeared to be officers, but when they saw the men on the hill, they turned and headed directly toward where Mauck and Wolford were standing behind a large tree. One officer held back while the other advanced with his pistol raised, demanding their surrender.

Mauck and Wolford refused. The officer insisted they would have to surrender anyway because a body of soldiers was following, but the two men continued to advance and demanded surrender in commanding terms. Mauck replied that he would not do it and said to his companion, let us shoot him. Both men fired immediately.

Mauck aimed at the officer in front, who fell dead from his saddle, while the other rode forward, slumped over his horse’s neck, and then rode away. Shortly afterward, Mauck told the men he would go see what the officer had been carrying, but he soon spotted a skirmish line advancing. Mauck halted them, and they asked whether a man had been killed nearby. When they learned of the death, they left.

Some of the men wore rebel clothing. Those dressed in blue claimed they were taking the others as prisoners, but they were in fact rebels searching for Hill’s body. Mauck and Wolford soon rejoined their regiment and heard nothing more until they were summoned to headquarters to answer questions. There they learned that the famous Confederate general A.

P. Hill had been killed. The second account appeared a year after Mauck’s death in the papers of the Southern Historical Society in 1899. This version differed in two ways: Mauck told the story in his own voice, and the account was titled Testimony of Corporal Mauck.

In the morning of April 2, 1865, after the rebel fortifications had been taken, the main part of the troops spread to the left inside the enemy lines. A portion of the Second Brigade, Third Division, Sixth Corps separated from the main force and advanced toward the railroad and a parallel wagon road. Mauck and his comrade Daniel Wolford of Company F, 138th Pennsylvania Infantry, reached this point. They came to a sawmill located directly across the railroad.

Near it, under a pile of boards close to the track, they found iron crowbars and used them to pry up two rails. Before that, while still with the others, they had seen a wagon train passing and fired on it, expecting to capture it. That explained their movement in that direction. After destroying the track, they angled left from the railroad toward a swamp about half or three-quarters of a mile from the sawmill.

They tried to cross again on a corduroy logging road that led through the swamp toward a group of their men on a hill near the former rebel fortifications. Those men were stragglers preparing coffee and eating breakfast. Once they entered the swamp, they saw two men on horses coming from the direction of Petersburg, appearing to be officers. The riders advanced to the men on the hill, then turned and rode their horses toward Mauck and Wolford.

They had just entered the swamp when the riders came forward with loaded pistols pointed at them. They saw a large oak tree near the road and used it for protection. One of the rebel officers stayed behind, apparently on instruction from his commander. The other advanced with his pistol aimed and demanded surrender, saying surrender or I will shoot.

A force of soldiers was advancing on their left from Petersburg, he said, and they would have to surrender anyway. The officer kept advancing and firmly demanded they hand over their weapons. Mauck replied that this was something he could not accept, and he told Wolford, let us shoot them. They raised their rifles immediately and fired.

Mauck brought down his man from the saddle. The other officer threw himself forward on his horse’s neck and rode off in the direction they had come, followed by the horse of the fallen man. Not knowing what was on their flank and unable to see in that direction, Mauck and Wolford retreated deeper into the swamp and crossed over to their men on the hill. Shortly after, Mauck told Wolford he would go see what the officer had been carrying.

He went a short distance and saw what he thought was a skirmish line advancing. He returned and brought some of the men from the hill, perhaps ten or fifteen, and deployed them as skirmishers for defense. The advancing line came within calling distance. Mauck ordered them to halt, and they did.

Then he said, raise your hands, come forward, and identify yourselves. Upon questioning, they said they had captured some rebel prisoners and were taking them to the rear. Six or eight of them carried rifles and wore the Union uniform. At that time, many of the men were without rifles and wore rebel clothing.

Mauck believed their story and let them go. They turned and asked him whether a man had been killed near that place. He told them he had killed an officer in the swamp. They went in that direction.

He had no doubt at the time, but later thought it had been a Confederate trick to recover the body of the man he had just killed. Mauck and Wolford rejoined their regiment shortly afterward and gave the matter no more thought until they were summoned to brigade and corps headquarters to answer questions. After Mauck gave his account of the incident, General Wright asked him whether he knew who he had killed. Mauck said he did not.

Wright told him, you have killed General A. P. Hill of the Confederate army. All of this happened on the morning after the capture of the rebel fortifications on April 2, 1865.

The death of Hill, one of Lee’s most trusted corps commanders, came just days before the surrender at Appomattox and the collapse of the Confederate cause.

Related Posts

In 1900, guests at the Holloway Hotel in Newton County, Arkansas, kept vanishing from the same three rooms on the eastern wing. Seamstress Mary Carver left her sewing kit behind. Bible salesman…

The scratching started again around midnight, constant now, and Mary Ellis knew she would not sleep. She lay in her narrow room at the end of the third-floor corridor and listened to the sound working its way up through the building’s bones, a rhythmic scrape, scrape, scrape that came from somewhere below the floorboards. Mr. … Read more

In the 1980s, a high school rumor could travel through an entire building by lunchtime without a single text, group chat, or post. Someone whispered “after school, by the bleachers,” and the whole…

The whole school was already there by the time the circle closed. No one had sent a single message, no group chat existed, no one had posted anything anywhere, yet by lunchtime everyone knew the fight would happen after last bell, next to the bleachers. That was how news traveled then: whispered from locker to … Read more

In 1950, Roy Cox spent eight months building a tiny engine from scratch, holding tolerances of 25 millionths of an inch—any piston that deviated went straight in the trash. The Cox 049, a working…

The sound carried three backyards on a Saturday morning without even trying. Thin and slightly wrong, like something spinning faster than it had any right to. If you grew up anywhere in America between 1955 and 1985, you knew exactly what it was. It was the Cox 049, a working internal combustion engine machined to … Read more

In November 1909, authorities in Shannon County, Missouri, entered the Warren homestead and found the beds made, the pantry stocked, and a half-written letter on Thomas Warren’s desk. Thomas and…

Idaho Press-Tribune, October 17, 1907—that was the date stamped on the clipping, but the story itself was older, and stranger, and it began long before the newspaper ever touched it. It began, as so many things do, in the dark of a Missouri autumn. In the autumn of 1909, when the leaves turned copper and … Read more

In March 1923, Clarence Saunders cornered Wall Street itself. Working through a broker and southern banks, the Memphis grocer quietly bought nearly ev…

In the summer of 1923, on a hill at the eastern edge of Memphis, a half-finished mansion of pink Georgia marble rose against the sky. The man who ordered every stone placed there walked to the gate, handed the keys to his creditors, and never lived in the house. His name was Clarence Saunders, and … Read more

In 1848, Samuel Knap’s men dug 18 feet into a filled-in pit near Michigan’s Ontonagon River and struck a single mass of nearly pure copper—six tons of it. But the copper wasn’t lying on the floor….

The copper tool came out of a mining pit in Michigan and went to a laboratory. The lab returned a date of 8,500 years old. Hold that number, because it breaks something. That tool was already ancient when the first pyramid in Egypt was still only an idea in someone’s head. It was already old … Read more

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *