DOB/DOD: February 7, 1843 (New Orleans, LA) – April 26, 1909 (* at sea); 66 years old
MARITAL STATUS: Married Blandina P. Stanton (1850-1917) on May 18, 1875, in Stonington, Connecticut.
CHILDREN: Three sons, Conrad S. [Brigadier General, Army] (1876-1950), John F. (1879-1911), and Franklin [Brigadier General, Army] (1885-1972).
ENLISTMENT: May 29, 1862, in New York City.
DISCHARGE: Retired from the Army in 1903.
* General Babcock died of Bright’s Disease while aboard the SS Prinz Friedrich Wilhelm. He was returning from a vacation in Europe with his wife and son.
FAMILY: Born to Giles Sr. (1808-1862) and Ann E. Denison Babcock (1814-1890). Five brothers, Giles (1834-1834), Samuel F.D. (1835-1836), Giles Jr. (1843-1931), Nathaniel P. (1851-1928), and Stephen T. (1854-1890). Three sisters, Anna D. Babcock Wood (1837-1907), Mary Babcock Williams (1846-1911), and Lucy B. Babcock Stanton (1849-1928).
MEDAL OF HONOR CITATION
AWARDED FOR ACTIONS DURING: Indian Campaigns
BRANCH OF SERVICE: Army
UNIT: 5th U.S. Cavalry
DATE OF ISSUE AND PRESENTATION: September 18, 1897 (28 years later)
AGE ON THE DAY OF THE EVENT: 26
CITATION:
The President of the United States of America, in the name of Congress, takes pleasure in presenting the Medal of Honor to First Lieutenant (Cavalry) John Breckinridge Babcock, United States Army, for extraordinary heroism on 16 May 1869, while serving with 5th U.S. Cavalry, in action at Spring Creek, Nebraska. While serving with a scouting column, First Lieutenant Babcock’s troop was attacked by a vastly superior force of Indians. Advancing to high ground, he dismounted his men, remaining mounted himself to encourage them, and there fought the Indians until relieved, his horse being wounded.
From the Salina [Kansas] Sun April 10, 1909
WASHINGTON – For two consecutive sessions, a bill has been before Congress to give Brigadier General Frank D. Baldwin, United States Army (Retired), the rank of Major General. Someday, perhaps, the bill will become law, for it is worthy of passage, as Baldwin is worthy of honor. The home of this retired officer at present is in Colorado, though he comes to Washington occasionally to live over old days with comrade veterans, many of whom have chosen the nation’s capital for their homes.
It is rare that one can get General Baldwin to speak of his services in the Army, but his friends are not slow in speaking for him, and every word that they say in praise is borne out by the records that are hidden away in the War Department.
Frank D. Baldwin has been in so many fights for his country that the counting of them assumes the proportion of a mathematical problem. For years upon years after the Civil War, in which he distinguished himself time and again, he fought nearly every form of Indian that the plains of the United States have produced. There was one fight in which Baldwin was engaged, which deserves a place in song and story if some song or story writer could be found equal to the occasion. In the days of the campaign of which this fight was a feature, there was only one bar on Baldwin’s shoulder, for he was a junior First Lieutenant of infantry. The campaign was a long one, and the fights followed fast and followed faster.
While on detached service in Newport, Kentucky, in June 1874, Baldwin heard that his regiment was to be ordered, under Colonel Nelson A. Miles, to make an expedition into the Indian territory. The lieutenant went to the front as fast as a train and a horse could carry him. When he reported for duty, Miles, who knew Baldwin’s record in the Civil War, put him in command of the scouts of the expedition, a command that was composed partly of whites and partly of Indians.
With his scouts in back of him, Lieutenant Baldwin had a dozen engagements, one after another, with the confederated bands of Cheyennes, Kiowas, Arapahoes, and the southern Comanches. The one fight, however, which for picturesqueness stands out most prominently in the battle list, did not take place until after Baldwin had been in the field for many months. It was the fight of his life, not in the engagement’s size nor yet, perhaps, in its importance, but in what an officer who saw it declares to have been “its howlingly funny features.”
It was picturesque, and it was funny all right, but it was dangerous as well, and Baldwin lost some of his men and took his own life in his hands 20 times before he won his splendid victory against tremendous odds. The daring of the thing was recognized by Colonel Miles, by the general commanding the department, and by the Congress of the United States, which gave Baldwin his second Medal of Honor for his work on that day.
By one of the military freaks of fortune, Baldwin, although only a lieutenant, found himself in November 1874 in command of D Company of the Fifth Infantry, D troop of the Sixth Cavalry, and of 12 of the scouts of the organization with which he had originally taken the field. He had about 100 men all told when he reached the banks of McClellan’s Creek, Texas. There, he found in front of him fully 500 Indian warriors splendidly armed and apparently lusting for a fight. Every army officer who afterward learned the circumstances of the situation declared that Baldwin would have been justified in waiting for reinforcements, but Baldwin believed that he should strike at once and strike hard.
The Indians. a mixed command of the finest fighting savages on the plains, were led by Chief Gray Beard, a noted warrior. Baldwin learned that the Indians had with them two white girl captives, and his desire to rescue them reinforced his desire for a fight on general principles.
The lieutenant looked his men over and saw that they had a stomach for the coming scrimmage. With the command of four six-mule teams, Baldwin feared that a detachment of the reds might flank him when he was making his charge, kill his mules, and destroy his field necessities. He knew he could not leave a detachment to guard the wagons because it would weaken his force to a point that would make victory over the reds practically impossible.
Baldwin went to the teamsters and said: “I can’t leave a force with you as a guard, and you’ve got to charge with us. I want you to put your teams in the center of the charging line and make those mules fly straight into the middle of things.”
It probably was the first time in history that mule drivers, mules, and wagons had been ordered to participate as an offensive part of a cavalry charge. The infantry, on this occasion, was mounted. The mule drivers lost all sense of the danger in the fun of the thing. They told the lieutenant that with “good cussing” and with good lashing, they could lead the cavalry a mile.
The 500 Indians were on a plateau with sides shelving gradually down to the plains. Baldwin’s plan was nothing less than the seemingly reckless one of crossing the open with his men and wagons, sweeping up the incline and driving the enemy, if he could, or fighting him hand to hand, if he must.
The horsemen rode up in line with the four mule teams abreast at the line’s center. There was a word of command, a trumpet note or two, and the line swept across the plain with the mules on a keen jump, with black snake whips cracking and the drivers saying things that a mule understands.
The reds turned loose at the advancing hundred. Men and horses on the right and left went down here and there, but the mules in the center, with their huge wagons racking and clattering behind them, swept on with never a scratch. The reds on the plateau kept up their fusillade. Up, up, up the incline, the mules leading by yards all the way swept the blue detachment. The regulars were daring and fighting as American regulars always dare and fight.
One of the teamsters afterward swore that he could see Chief Gray Beard’s eyes popping with fear at the sight of the charging mules. The level of the plateau was reached, and horses, men, mules, and wagons went hurtling forward. The teamsters were standing, cracking their whips, and howling. Infantrymen and cavalrymen caught the spirit of the thing and howled in unison.
Those four mule teams went straight through the heart of the big band of Gray Beard’s Kiowas and Arapahoes. Meantime, every carbine and every Long Tom was cracking, and with one last volley, the warriors of the allied tribes fled, leaving their dead and wounded and their white captives on the field.
Lieutenant Baldwin found that the two white girl prisoners were uninjured, and not long after the fight, they were restored to their parents. For this charge and for this victory, Lieutenant Baldwin was breveted a Captain and was given a Medal of Honor, but he always has maintained that the medal should have gone to the mules.
On the retired list of the army with General Baldwin is Brigadier General John B. Babcock, a close friend of the man who led the mule team charge and a frequent visitor to Washington. It is doubtful if General Babcock’s nearest neighbors in his little country home in Saratoga County, New York, suspect anything of the fire-eating possibilities that lie hidden in the person of this gray-haired, peaceful-looking, and reticent man.
Gen. Babcock left the service not long ago and at once departed for the little place in the foothills of the Adirondack mountains where he might gratify his love of country life. If the general refuses to talk of his army achievements to his neighbors, and if they are curiously inclined, they might send for a government record, which, though only five lines long, contains in it the nub of the story of one of the most gallant feats ever performed by an officer of the United States Army.
The glory reaped from the achievement consists of a little bronze medal voted to the soldier by Congress, the consciousness of duty well done, and five lines in the war department record, which few people ever see. John B. Babcock went into the army at the outbreak of the Civil War as an enlisted man. He attracted attention by his gallantry as a volunteer, and in the year 1868 found him a First Lieutenant of the Fifth Regular Cavalry.
In the spring of the fourth year of peace after the Civil War—that is to say, peace between white men – the Kiowas, the Arapahoes, and the Cheyennes made western Nebraska, western Kansas, and eastern Colorado a section of what John Hay might have called “gilt-edged hell.” Lieutenant Babcock, in the absence of his captain, was ordered to the command of a troop of cavalry and to take the field.
With his trooper followers, Babcock was far in advance of the main command on the frontier of Nebraska. They reached the bank of Spring Creek on the morning of May 16, 1869. While there, a band of 250 of the best warriors of the plains appeared in front of the cavalry troops as though the savages had come from the ground. Lieutenant Babcock caught sight of the reds in time to give him a moment or two for preparation. He would not run, and he could not attack, for he was completely surrounded, and the savages outnumbered his force more than six to one.
Babcock gave a quick order and, with his men, dashed for a bit of high ground, a plateau-like formation with its flat surface occupying a little more than an acre. The instant he reached the place selected, he ordered his troopers to dismount and to entrench themselves as well as they could. The men lost no time in throwing up earth enough to give them some slight protection from the bullets that were pouring in.
Babcock would not get off his horse, although his men begged him to do so, and they were kept from dragging their commanding officer to the ground and to a place of partial safety only by instilled discipline and by Babcock’s peremptory commands to leave him alone.
The Indians advanced within range and protected themselves in the hollows of the prairie. They sent volley after volley up the incline to the hilltop, and man after man behind the poor earthwork protection was stricken. Babcock continued his ride up and down the line. His blouse was cut twice by bullets, but his men did not know it.
“Boys, they can’t hit a thing,” said Babcock. They’ve been shooting at me, and no bullet has come nearer than the North Pole. Give it to ‘em. Hold ‘em off, and relief will be here in no time.”
The shots from the Spencers and Henrys of the savages, or from most of them, ceased hitting the extemporized earthworks. The men lying prone knew that nearly all the projectiles were passing over their heads, and they knew also that every painted warrior antagonist was turned loose at the figure of the commanding officer riding back and forth on his horse as indifferently as if there were not an Indian on the frontier.
No one in that troop ever knew why Babcock was not killed. The Indians said afterward that he had some “big medicine” with him that turned away the bullets. Finally, a shot cut Babcock’s boot and wounded his horse. He turned the animal about quickly so that its other flank was toward the men, to whom he serenely said: “Those fellows can’t hit a barn door.”
The commanding officer continued to ride up and down the line, and the bullets continued to cut the air all about him. Suddenly, every savage head showed at once. The troopers slammed in a volley that claimed some victims. The showing heads were followed by showing bodies, and in another instant, the warriors were erect and running to the far rear for their ponies. They made off, leaving their dead and wounded behind them. Far over the plains, Lieutenant Babcock, from his horse, saw the main column advancing. Relief was in sight.
The enlisted men told the story of Babcock’s bravery, and Congress gave him a Medal of Honor. Later, the officer, who is now living in retirement, distinguished himself twice in action against the Apaches at Tonto Creek and at the Four Peaks in Arizona. There, he won the brevet rank of Lieutenant Colonel to add to the honor conferred by his Congressional medal of bronze.
From the New York Times April 28, 1909
GEN. JOHN B. BABCOCK IS DEAD
He Was a Gallant Indian Fighter and a Civil War Veteran
Brigadier General John Breckinridge Babcock, famous as an old Indian fighter and a veteran of the Civil War, died on Monday on the steamship Prinz Friederich Wilhelm, which arrived here from Bremen yesterday. Accompanied by Mrs. Babcock and their son Franklin, the General had been in Europe hoping that the trip might improve his health. He had long suffered from Brights’s disease.
He was born in New Orleans, Louisiana, on February 7, 1847. At the age of 15, he became a Sergeant in the Thirty-seventh New York State Militia, rising in various New York regiments from that time to the end of the war. In 1865, he reached the rank of Major. He served under General Grant and General Sheridan and took part in the battles of Plain’s Store, Port Hudson, Sabine Cross Roads, Pleasant Hill, Monnet’s Bluff, Mansura Plains, and Yellow Bayou, all in Louisiana, and also in the siege of Petersburg and the campaign of General Sheridan in the Shenandoah Valley. For a number of years after the Civil War, he was almost constantly in the field against the Indians, fighting the Kiowas, Southern Cheyennes, Sioux, Apaches, and Utes.
For remarkable personal courage and daring, he received four brevets, those of First Lieutenant, Captain, Major, and Lieutenant Colonel. The last was for defeating a troop of Indians outnumbering his men six to one. In the Fall of 1879, in the famous Ute outbreak, Captain Babcock marched his troops 170 miles in sixty-five hours in time to relieve Major T.T. Thornburg’s command and change the issue of the fight.
In 1885, he marched 600 miles to the protection of the Kansas border against the Indians. Several times, his horse was shot from under him, and once, he was shot in the breast with an arrow.
From the Norwich (Connecticut) Bulletin May 1, 1909
General John B. Babcock, who was buried in Stonington Thursday, had an excellent war record and was a Medal of Honor man. When a Major and assistant adjutant in charge of the military information bureau, he made an official visitation to the encampment of the Connecticut troops at Niantic and was the special guest of General George Haven, Brigade Commander and as Civil War veterans held campfires and recalled incidents of the dark days of the rebellion, together with Major George EL Albee of General Haven’s staff. Major Albee, like General Babcock, was also an Indian fighter and Medal of Honor man and a commissioned officer of the regular army. Their recollections of the trials, hardships, perils, and pleasures of army life related in the camp were vivid and interesting.
Being a Connecticut man, General Babcock was intensely interested in the state troops and, by reason of his careful inspection, came in contact with nearly all the commissioned officers and within the observation of the enlisted men. His soldiers’ bearing and gentlemanly manners commanded the respect of every national guardsman in camp.
For nearly a quarter of a century, General Babcock was with the Fifth Cavalry, engaged with the Indians, and was an expert horseman. He tried almost every mount of the brigade staff and finally selected a New London horse as the best saddler in the outfit, not that the horse was really the best under saddle, but knock the deceit out of some officers who boasted of having “the best” and were eager as a matter of pride to have the regular army officer select their favorite animal as his mount. Although reserved, bordering on the austere, when not strictly on duty, he was decidedly companionable to the citizen soldiery of Connecticut fifteen years ago.
Buried in Evergreen Cemetery, 345 North Main Street, Stonington, Connecticut; Pomeroy Avenue, Grave 924. Photos by Jeff DeWitt.
END