Where Is...


A portrait of Fred Pierson hangs in the 7th Regiment Armory, 67th St. NYC. Painting by C. J. Fox, 1912


Tom McCarter has this escutcheon, a copy of the memoirs, as well as a few very old and tattered photographs, plus a few articles, etc.


Tom McCarter donated some materials on Fred Pierson to the Civil War Library and Museum, 1805 Pine Street, Philadelphia, PA. 19103 (215) 735-8196 http://www.netreach.net/~cwlm/ These were a couple of certificates of appreciation presented to Fred Pierson from Civil War Organizations, none of which Tom McCarter had ever heard of.

The collection, which dates back to 1888, includes paintings and Civil War memorabilia.

  Elizabeth Scott has an original copy of the memoirs. It is identical to the one that Tom McCarter has.  

Scotty and Anne Morrill have Fred Pierson's sword hanging on their mantlepiece.

  There is a museum in Rockland County, NY, which has a Pierson Room. Tom McCarter doesn't think there's anything there on Fred Pierson.  

Dear Alfred & Elizabeth Scott,

I stumbled upon the PDF of your ancestor's memoirs while doing research on my own ancestor (Lt. Col. Dan S. Root, of the 3rd Michigan Infantry) who mentions yours in his Civil War journal. It was a great find and I was thrilled to read it as they both relate the same incident. I thought I would share my ancestor's journal entry from the night in question (see below).

Thank you so much for sharing Gen. Pierson's memoirs, they were a joy to read!

Best wishes,

Katie Legato
Los Angeles, California


October 25th, 1862

Went over the river last night with Col. Pierson of the 1st N.Y. and a dozen picked men to get a man we wanted at Leesburg. Claiming to be a Union man, his name is Trummels(?) and he is very wealthy – has a large amount of livestock and being inside the rebel lines was afraid they would appropriate it if they suspected his sentiments and it was arranged he was to be kidnapped from under their very noses by Union soldiers and by thus making a martyr of him, save him. Hence the expedition. Started at 11 p.m., the darkest night I ever saw. Crossed the river in a small metallic lifeboat that was loaded to the water’s edge. Reached the Va. shore in safety, leaving the boat in charge of one man. Pushed on, through briar and brush, over hill and dale, but we had a trusty guide and he took us safely through. Reached the place (a large white house in the outskirts of the village) at 12 p.m. and surrounded it. Placed guards at all the doors and over the negro quarters and then demanded admission. After some delay the door was opened by a trembling old man who proved to be the father of the prisoner man required. He demanded our business but without answering, the Col and myself pushed by him and entered and demanded our man. He was in bed but was told to get on his dry goods and prepare to go with us as speedily as possible, which he did. Several ladies came rushing into the room, wringing their hands and weeping and clothed in rather scanty rainment, begging us to spare his life, they believing it to be a genuine arrest. We pacified them by telling them he was in no immediate danger and they were sensible enough to order the cider and provisions set out to which we did ample justice, they, in the meantime, relieving to complete their toilets. After a tearful leave taking with his family we hustled our prisoner off leaving a few men to prevent the darkies from alarming the rebs till we got a good start. Reached the river without molestation about 3 a.m., crossed and delivered him to Col. Poe, our brigade commander. I don’t know what became of him afterwards but I was afterwards told by some of his neighbors that he was the greatest rascal that ever went unhung and was more of a rebel than a Union man.