Placid Bay Estates

Lore: The Skirmish of Mattox Creek

Some of what follows is true. There is no documentation listed for that which is true because to do so would taint unfairly that which is not true. Most but not all of this story was told to the undersigned by Walter Massey in 1969, 105 years after it occurred. This is but one story indicative of many like it which have been omitted from other works about Westmoreland County. It shall stand in the singular for the numerous tales of unwritten happenings which are never properly detailed and are based for the most part on informal recollection. Most of our personal histories are like this and here is one such account.

It was not raining, but the clouds were heavy and low. William Dozier did not like the weather and he did not like the situation. He shifted his weight as he returned the binoculars to his eyes for another glance eastward across Mattox Creek towards Payne's Point, beyond which lay the Potomac River. He had thought he could get a good view from the flat roof of the ice house nestled in the upper portion of the steep bank overlooking the creek. He was wrong about that. The thickening green leaves of late April obscured the river across the way.

Dozier looked behind him at his two-story brick house and saw his wife in the middle upstairs window. She held up three fingers and motioned for him to return. Bowcock had said two, maybe three and he was apparently right. Dozier was surprised that three Union gunboats would be dispatched, but his neighbor Nathaniel Bowcock seemed to get tips that proved accurate more often than not.

The Resolute and the Stepping Stone were closest to the mouth of the creek, the Don somewhat off to the left from the others, all visible from the window. Dozier had seen them before as they cruised the river, but this was different. Bowcock had warned him and he was glad he had listened. The Yankees were going to put an end to Dozier's cooperative effort in Confederate blockade running and in so doing would help educate his fellow Westmoreland County citizens regarding the consequences of such behavior.

Mattox Creek was too shallow for the three gunboats and Captain Van Fleet knew it. This day his mission was clear and he enjoyed having something specific to do. So far, 1864 had offered little challenge to him or his command. There was insignificant activity in the Northern Neck of Virginia, due in no small part to his control of the Potomac. Nevertheless, contraband was still getting through. Wirt's Wharf was one landing and Dozier's dock another, both on this muddy estuary and both today's targets for the thirty-one-year-old officer whose reputation as "Regulator of the Potomac" was well deserved.

Three longboats should do, reasoned Van Fleet; eight marines to a boat. It was early and overcast. It was doubtful Dozier would be looking for him and Elizabeth Wirt certainly would offer no resistance. In any event, the Mattox Creek bridge to Oak Grove should be taken out for convenience to the locals and to ensure non-intervention by a Confederate cavalry patrol observed near Montross two days earlier by scouts of the 18th Indiana Infantry.

It was eight a.m. and Dozier did not like what he saw. The gunboats had anchored and the longboats were being lowered. His wife and daughter would remain in the house while he hid in the pinewoods, 200 yards from the shore from the house to the north. It would not be unusual for his wife not to know the whereabouts of her deputy sheriff husband and as they would not injure his family. Time was crucial now and the plan put into effect immediately.

Dozier covered the distance to the woods in a crouching run through waist-high barley. He positioned himself behind a vine-covered locust tree close to the marsh with a view of his dock off to the right and the three longboats straight ahead. His heart was pounding from the run and the rain began to drizzle. The lead boat was proceeding more rapidly than the rest and disappeared around the sandbar beyond the dock toward the Creek bridge. The second boat veered off from the procession towards Wirt's Mill, below the wharf across the creek, while the third continued toward his own property. He pulled his hat low over his eyes and his collar high, then moved back further on the edge of the woods so he could see his house.

Even from the bridge of the Stepping Stone, Captain Van Fleet could not see his longboats. He decided to go ashore midway down the sandy beach on Payne's Point where he could observe both the Wirt and Dozier sites. The wooden bridge across the creek was about a mile and a half upstream around several curves and he would just have to await a report on that activity. He had just reached the beach at Payne's Point when he heard shots from the bank near Wirt's Mill. Three puffs of smoke remained amid the honeysuckle and weeping willow branches that blanketed the shore. More shots followed, all directed toward the approaching longboat. The soldiers changed the direction of the boat and proceeded to the Dozier dock to rejoin the marines who had landed there. Van Fleet returned to his ship and made additional troops combat-ready, if needed.

Dozier had heard the shots too but was unable to see what happened. The drizzle had now stopped and it was beginning to clear. He could see Union soldiers coming into his yard with rifles raised. They were joined by his wife and daughter, apparently ordered from the house. Dozier peered through glistening leaves directly into the sunlight now ripping through dissipating clouds. He challenged his judgment in leaving his family to front for his departure; the pinecone he squeezed in anger and frustration cut into his palm. Then he saw the torches, three, four of them. His house, the beautiful "Red House" of Springfield Plantation, was soon ablaze and he could do nothing but dart his eyes back and forth from the fire to his wife and daughter guarded off to the side by two laughing soldiers. It was April 29th, his birthday.

At 10:30 that morning, Van Fleet received a dispatch to terminate the mission summarily and to proceed upriver forthwith to meet Captain Forrester off Mathias Point. He could see the smoke billowing from Dozier's house. Neither Wirt's Wharf nor the mill was destroyed as ordered, but he could justify that result in light of the slight resistance coupled with the arrival of new orders. What concerned him most, however, were new gunshots he had heard from up the creek in the vicinity of the bridge. That longboat had not yet returned nor was there any indication of what had happened. "The Regulator of the Potomac" was not a patient man and he did not enjoy this uncertain delay in the face of other instructions. His bugler sounded a return to the ship.

Within half an hour, all twenty-four marines had reported to the Captain. Dozier had not been arrested, but his house had been burned in the presence of his family who were left to sift and rummage. The Wirt's property was unmolested due to gunfire from the shore. Neither the soldiers nor Van Fleet would ever learn that the Morgan boys, ages eleven, thirteen, and fourteen, had gotten joyful, if somewhat dangerous sport from the use of their squirrel rifles on the Union interlopers. The marines had seen no wisdom in opposing the fire from an open rowboat and had chosen to join their cohorts on the Dozier venture. Those who had proceeded on to Mattox Creek bridge had a somewhat similar occurrence. While rowing close to the bridge, the soldiers received fire from "a Confederate cavalry patrol" who had dismounted and waded out into the water behind floating logs. Faced with an indefensible position, the Yankees elected to retreat to the gunboats for assistance. Van Fleet appeared satisfied with the reports and left the area as ordered without casualties and with a confidence that the day's mission had been convincing if not necessarily decisive.

William Dozier stood by his wife and daughter, gazing at the ruination of their home. He suffered in proportion as the soldiers must have rejoiced in the success of their destruction. He reflected on his predicament and how it came to be that he was standing this day overcome by exasperation. Deputy sheriffs were not initially subject to conscription, and Secretary of State Judah Benjamin himself had seen to it that Dozier was exempt from service in the Confederate military. To withstand the subsequent challenges of disloyalty and cowardice from his neighbors, he had eagerly participated in assisting the southern cause by allowing munitions and other extra-legal goods to be unloaded at his dock. He now wept over the loss of his home. This was his contribution to the war effort, and he wondered whether the same neighbors who embarrassed him into the activities resulting in this decimation would come forward now on his behalf. He slowly guided his boot through broken pottery that tenant farmers would unearth 50 years later, and he watched his little girl pick up a china doll from the gutted structure. It would be a cherished possession she would keep until her death. He looked toward the creek and saw the Morgan boys rowing over from the mill; then behind him, the sound of a galloping horseman drew his attention as Bowcock galloped in for a firsthand look. He glanced at the sun, it was not even noon.

Three years later, William Dozier would sell "Springfield", now "Burnt House Point", and disappear from the records of his county. The events of that day would go with him and with the others who participated, including one of the Morgans who died just 30 years ago. Van Fleet would register his account, eventually to be a part of the Naval records. I like to think that Bowcock's version of what happened would make the best listening, and maybe this is Bowcock's version. After all, that's what lore is all about. Thank you, Walter Massey. --Ian R. D. Williams