LAST STRUGGLE AND DEFEAT OF THE LOST CAUSE.
Grant’s and Lee’s forces occupied intrenchments more than 30 miles in length reaching from Richmond around to the left of Petersburg. The effective soldiers of Grant’s army were about 125,000, including the Army of the James, while Lee’s forces numbered about one-half, but they were veterans, every man of them, for on the southern side there was no expiration of service.
The confederacy was in sore straights. The strenuous campaign of 1864 had put every man into Lee’s army that it was possible to get without robbing the cradle and the grave. The losses the confederates suffered that year could not be made good while the North sent Grant a fresh man to take the place of every one put out of action.
Sherman had marched his army through Georgia, devastating the country, thence up the Atlantic coast, and was, in March, 1864, in North Carolina, only about 150 miles south of Petersburg. Gen. Thomas had cleaned out Hood’s army, and fighting Phil Sheridan had laid waste to the Shenandoah valley and driven the rebels from outits borders. And then the policy adopted by the north of the non-interchange of prisoners—a policy which, though effective against the enemy caused thousands of brave men to die slowly by starvation in the prisons of the South—kept out of the Confederate ranks men enough to make two armies like Lee’s. The Union forces were well fed and warmly clothed during the winter of ’64-5, while the men in the southern ranks were in rags and on scant rations. There was no hope for the South unless Lee could extricate his army from the intrenchments at Richmond and Petersburg and join his forces with Gen. Johnston’s army and transfer operations farther south.
Gen. Grant learned of Lee’s intentions and forced the fighting before his plans could be put into execution.
The movement commenced March 29. “Phil” Sheridan and his force of cavalry was sent around Lee’s right with the 5th and 2d corps following.
The 6th and 9th corps of the Army of the Potomac, with some troops from Butler’s army, were to hold the lines at Petersburg.
The writer’s regiment was then, as in the previous year’s campaign, with Grant, attached to Hancock’s 2d corps, but that superb commander was no longer its leader, having been called to Washington to organize a veteran corps and Gen. Andrew A. Humphreys, who had longbeen chief of staff of the Army of the Potomac, had taken his place. He was an able commander but could never inspire his troops with the enthusiasm of Hancock, yet it is understood he was rated by military critics as the most skillful officer of the civil war.
The weather had been good for several days, but the day the troops began to move a rain set in and it just poured, and as the country was flat and swampy, with the soil a mixture of clay and sand, the roads soon became nearly knee deep with a stiff batter, making it extremely difficult for the men to march, and in places the roads had to be corduroyed to make it possible for the artillery to proceed. The boys good-naturedly made the best of it, and if a staff officer rode by would inquire if the pontoons and gunboats were coming.
NOTES FROM AN OLD DIARY.
On March 29 our regiment struck tents at camp near Patrick’s Station and marched three or four miles, forming a junction with Sheridan’s cavalry, halted near Hatcher’s Run and threw up breastworks; left them late in the day and marched through a dense woods; halted on the other side and threw up more works; advanced at daybreak the morning of the 30th; heard musketry firing about 9; halted and built breastworks again.
About 1 p. m. the enemy opened on us withartillery, throwing both solid shot and shell; several wounded.
Was routed out before 5 the next morning and made a forced march to reach the 5th corps; halted at dusk and threw up intrenchments. It was truly marvelous to see how quickly troops would throw up formidable earthworks with nothing to work with except bayonets, tin cups and plates and an occasional frying pan, and men did it willingly, too, for although they were so tired they could hardly march farther they knew there was no safety for an army unless they were behind intrenchments.
Heavy firing that night on both flanks; next morning had a lively skirmish about 4; several wounded.
April 2, continued the advance; crossed the South Side railroad; heavy skirmishing on the advance lines; built intrenchments near the railroad.
Although there was constant skirmishing by the troops on the flanks, there was no serious conflict until the 31st, when Sheridan encountered Fitzhugh Lee’s cavalry and “Fighting Phil” is reported to have said he had “one of the liveliest times of his life.”
The same day the confederates delivered one of their furious sallies against Gen. Warren’s 5th corps out on the White Oak road, hurling back in disorder the divisions of Gens. Ayers and Crawford, but Griffin’s division stood firm and Gen.Miles’ division of the 2d corps, with which our regiment was serving, went to their support and delivered a counter charge on the right flank, causing the enemy to retire to his intrenchments, which were so strong and stubbornly defended that repeated attempts to dislodge them failed.
In the meantime Lee sent Gen. Pickett, who so gallantly led the charge at Gettysburg, along the White Oak road to Five Forks, where he routed a division of infantry and some of Sheridan’s cavalry.
FIVE FORKS.
The next day, April 1, the 5th corps and Sheridan’s cavalry moved on the enemy at Five Forks. Gen. Sheridan was everywhere on his powerful, coal black charger. It is said he even swore a little as he told the brigade commanders that “This battle has got to be fought on the double quick.” When the battle line was forming he is said to have ridden among the men and encouraged them with such remarks as, “We’ve got the twist on ’em, boys; there won’t be a grease spot left when we get through.”
At a critical moment when some of the troops wavered because of the hail-storm of bullets, Sheridan grasped his battle flag from the man who carried it and rode forward, urging his men to close up and stand firm. Such conduct inspired the soldiers to a renewed effort, and they charged the enemy and won a splendid victory.
Gen. Grant celebrated Sheridan’s victory by opening fire on the city of Petersburg with over 100 cannon, and the troops who held the lines in front of the city assaulted the works and pressed back the Confederates, whose only hope was to get safely away from the city and join Lee’s army in its race for life. This was accomplished during the night of the 2d, and the departure of the Confederate troops was effected so quietly that the Union pickets knew not that the enemy were moving till daylight revealed the fact that they had folded their tents and slid away in the night and were miles distant when the Union forces proudly entered the city that had been the bone of contention between the two great armies from June, 1864, to April, 1865.
It was well understood that Lee’s objective point was Lynchburg or Danville, and it was only by ceaselessly marching and hammering away at their weakening lines that Lee’s plans to unite his forces with Gen. Johnston’s were foiled. Phil Sheridan, aided by Gens. Custer, Crook and Merritt, was just the right man for the job, and his unceasing ardor and energy kept things humming and was what contributed largely to the success of the campaign. The only blot on his escutcheon was his ungenerous treatment of Gen. Warren, after Five Forks, which caused Warren’s removal from his command, and the life of one of the bravest and most accomplished officers of the Army of thePotomac was embittered and he died a few years after the war of a broken heart.
His old comrades, although admiring Sheridan’s splendid qualities, could never quite forgive his treatment of so gallant an officer and gentleman.
The pursuit of Lee was resumed on the 3d. Gen. Sheridan with his cavalry and the 5th corps moved westerly, keeping near the Appomattox river, where they could keep in touch with Lee’s army. Gen. Meade with the 2d and 6th corps followed Sheridan with the same object in view. Gen. Ord, with the 24th corps, Gen. Birney’s colored troops and the 9th corps were to move parallel with the South Side railroad.
No fighting of importance occurred for two or three days after Five Forks, but we did some right smart marching.
The evening of April 5, we were preparing to go into camp for the night when the sound of artillery put us in motion again, and we raced it until midnight. The morning of the 6th, Gen. Meade concluded that Lee’s troops had been slipping around to his left during the night; so he sent the 6th corps out on the Painesville road and we of the 2d by the Deatonville pike.
Couriers had brought word that the enemy was moving in two columns, one under the command of Gen. James Longstreet, and the other under Gen. John B. Gordon.
Recently, when the death of the two above-named generals occurred so closely together, it seemed almost a suggestion of fatality that these two great leaders who fought all through the war and were Lee’s two arms in the last desperate effort for the “Lost Cause” should have outlived all of the other great generals of the confederacy and then crossed over the river shoulder to shoulder, as it were, to rejoin Lee, Jackson and other beloved comrades.
THE SAILOR’S CREEK FIGHT.
After going four or five miles, the morning of the 6th, we came out on a ridge, in a clearing, and in the distance could be seen a long column of rebs, moving in almost an opposite direction.
Our division had the right of line, so we could see them very clearly. The boys began to throw their caps in the air and let off a few yells, when word was passed along the line to keep quiet and we obliqued to one side and got out of sight behind the crest of the ridge.
Gen. Miles ordered up some batteries, and they taking position in our front, unlimbered and opened fire on the “Johnnies,” who were crossing a large open field, and there was a column of about a mile long to be seen.
My blood runs quicker as the memory of that day comes back to me with its thrilling incidents.
I see the artillery galloping into position and Irecall the excitement when the first shots were fired and we watched the shells as they dropped among the confederates.
The artillerymen got the range the first time, and there was some right smart “gittin’ away” to the woods, which were in every direction, and the way those greybacks broke for a shelter was a caution, and our men couldn’t help but give them a cheer.
It was understood that Lee had issued orders to all of the division and corps commanders to do as little fighting as possible. The program seemed to be to get away, but when they were cornered they fought with the desperation of men who are being hunted down.
A RUNNING FIGHT.
Our troops got orders to “go for ’em,” and it was a running fight until night, the race extending over fifteen miles of country.
They were anxious to save some wagon trains that had supplies for Lee’s army. All day they fought on the defensive, holding the Union forces off long enough for the trains to get out of the way, and then they would limber up their artillery and go flying to the rear and take up a new position a mile or two away, the infantry holding us off until the batteries were in position, when the troops would take shelter under their guns. When we pressed them too close the artillerymen wouldgive our men grape and cannister, and then yield to the infantry.
Our artillery failed to do much execution that day because the Johnnies would not stand and take it.
The country was swampy and occasionally a wagon would get stuck in the mud and they would have to abandon it.
At one time, when our division was close upon the enemy, we descended a hill that led to a little stream, and on the other side was an elevation where the Rebs had gotten a battery into position.
Our regiment was in the first line of battle, and when the battery commenced firing we had got so far down the hill that the artillerymen could not depress their guns enough to reach us; but the reserve line that was on higher ground suffered severely.
The creek where we struck it was fringed with a vine that formed a perfect network. The vines were tough and would not break, and there was no way to crawl under or go over; so the men cut through with jack knives.
It happened that the rest of the brigade did not encounter the obstruction and were ready to advance when our regiment was tangled up in the vines. Being in the center the delay was noticed. Finally a staff officer, one of those slick fellows with red sash, riding gauntlets and plenty of gold braid, rode down on the opposite bank and calledout, “What in h—ll is the matter with the 2d New York, and where is the commanding officer?”
Col. Hulser (he was then a major) looked up from under an old slouch hat, the rest of his uniform being no better than the privates, and paid his respects to that dude of an officer in language that was highly tinctured with brimstone. The regiment formed in line on the south bank exposed to a fierce artillery fire, and the boys noticed that the dandy officer from the general’s staff ducked his head low on his horse’s neck quite frequently, while the old major, who was always ill at ease on dress parades and reviews, sat his horse, amid the screeching shells like a bronze figure.
When Hulser had gotten his regiment lined up to suit him he said to the officer, “In ten minutes the 2d New York will capture that rebel battery unless they limber up and get out of our way.” Drawing his sword he gave the command, “Forward, guide center, double-quick,” and away went the men with a rush, for everyone probably felt that they would like to show the officious staff officer that they were no cowards. But when the Johnnies saw that glistening line of bayonets moving down on them they pulled up and ran away.
The enemy had another battery in position about a half a mile away, and they did some rapid firing for the “Lost Cause;” but some of our troops got after them on the flank and they pulled up and ran again. A comrade has told me that hesaw a man killed by a shell that day and the shell did not touch him. It passed close to his head and the concussion killed him instantly.
The troops in our front were Gen. Gordon’s and about 4 o’clock they made a determined stand, as our troops were pressing them so closely they were in danger of losing their train of supplies.
Our regiment was in some second growth pine woods and the rebels behind a rail fence on the other edge of the woods, and through the trees the moving wagons could be seen.
The order came to “charge,” and Gen. Miles’ old first division went for the enemy with a rush and some cavalry on the flank went after that train.
The fighting was general and things became badly mixed up. The teamsters lashed their horses and tried to get away, but many cut the traces and abandoned their loads.
The Confederates tried to hold the opposite side of the train and used the wagons as a shelter, and the combatants banged at each other through the wagons.
PAT CAPTURES A GUN.
A comrade of my regiment who was in the immediate ranks that day, says:
“Where we struck the train a rebel brass cannon was stuck in the mud. Two rebs were on one side of it tugging away at a wheel trying to turn it on our lines. Two of our regiment grabbed the otherwheel and tried to turn it the other way, but it was so firmly imbedded in the mud that neither side could budge it. The blue and the gray glared at each other and finally Pat Devereaux of the 2d heavy, spoke out, “Say Johnnie, lave your hands off that gun, I tell ye!” and the reb retorted as follows: ‘Go soak your head, Pat. I wouldn’t dirty my hands with you, I’ll get my nigger to attend to your case.’ Just then Pat grabbed the rammer to the gun and went for the Johnnie in true Irish style, saying as he brought the rammer down upon his enemy: ‘I can whip the bist man in your measly gang. You’re nothing but a dirty lazy lot of slave drivers. Out of this, I say!’ and the Johnnie went, leaving Pat the victor. And that is how Private Devereaux of the 2d helped take one of the four cannon captured by the 2d corps that day.”
In these days if such an act of heroism were performed, it would be heralded all over the continent, but such occurrences were too common in those exciting times, besides each regimental commander did not have two or three war correspondents at his elbows for the purpose of writing up his achievements.
The operations of our corps that day are summarized by Gen. Humphreys as follows: Captures of the corps, 13 battleflags, 4 cannon, 1,700 prisoners. Killed and wounded of the 1st and 2d divisions (the 3d division not reported), 311.
Gen. Mott was among the wounded. The enemy’s killed and wounded largely exceeded our own and the loss of the wagon train must have caused much suffering among the Confederates.
In addition to the battleflags, cannon and prisoners, our brigade captured over 200 supply wagons.
DIXIE TO THE LAST.
Among the prisoners captured that day was a rebel brass band, and they were allowed to retain their instruments. As the column of confederates were marched along the roadside, which was lined on either side by the Union forces, they were headed by the band, playing their national air of Dixie.
The scene was an impressive one. They were prisoners of war, bleeding from wounds, faint and famished, ragged and nearly barefoot and their last hope gone, but as the familiar strains of the music floated back over the line their faces brightened, their steps quickened and they marched as they had marched many a time behind their beloved leader, Gen. Lee.
Our men had too much respect for these brave men to jeer at them. The brave invariably respect the brave, and as the soldiers of the “Lost Cause” passed the veterans of the second corps all were silent and respectful, except for an occasional burst of applause which manifested itself by the clapping of hands.
It was very evident to the most pessimistic that the confederacy was on its last legs and that night when our boys were carrying rails to build breastworks, Billy Cook, the first sergeant of our company, who had gone all through the war without a scratch, made the remark that the “jig was about up with the Johnnies,” and the next day Bill fell pierced by a rebel bullet in the last fighting of the war.
HEAPS OF PLUNDER.
That night the boys had a great time going through the captured wagons. There was a “heap” of plunder in them. A paymaster’s trunk with upwards of $400,000 Confederate money was found and it was divided up among the men. One man secured Gen. Mahone’s grip with his commission as major general and other papers and dressed himself up in the coat, sash, etc., that had been worn by the distinguished Confederate. One of our boys secured a five-gallon jug of rebel commissary, and he and a comrade stuck a musket barrel through the handle and slinging it over their shoulders marched around among the exhausted soldiers and told them to “fall in for rations.” If anybody ever needed a little whiskey it was that very time and it was amusing to see them take their turns at the jug. No one was allowed to take any away, and in order to draw a ration the jug must be pushed up from thebottom and the nozzle tipped downward while a “swig” was taken.
The men reveled in broiled ham, beef, bacon, onions, pickles, toasted hardtack, and other luxuries that were found in the wagons.
LITTLE GRAY.
There was pity mingled with our rejoicing that night for in many of the captured wagons were wounded Confederates. Poor fellows! Many of them lay with wounds several days old, the bandages dried up and dirty, some too weak to raise their heads, hungry and thirsty and needing so much nourishment and attention that we could not give them. It is at such a time that one is brought face to face with war without any of its gold plating.
My sympathies were stirred as they had never been before as a little boy, scarcely 16 years old, was lifted out of a wagon. A handsome boy, notwithstanding his face was bronzed and dirty, and his cheeks sunken. He had beautiful dark, expressive eyes and looked up so appealingly into our faces as my comrade and I bent over him and asked what we could do for him. He, too, was a drummer boy and had been wounded two or three days before. We got our surgeon and had his wound dressed and gave him stimulants and a little food, but he was very weak, “all marched out,” he said, and was afraid that he would not see hisold Carolina home again. We bathed his face and hands with cool water and his lips quivered and tears coursed down his cheeks as he faintly whispered of his widowed mother.
We, too, were “marched out” and had to lie down and have rest but before leaving “Little Gray,” as we called him, two boys knelt by his side and repeated the Lord’s prayer that had been learned at a mother’s knees. In the morning the little confederate from the Palmetto state was dead, and we buried him on the field with his comrades.
’Twas war—real genuine war.
THE LAST BATTLE.
It is understood that Lee’s chief officers held a meeting the night of the 6th and counseled him to surrender, but he had not abandoned all hope and the next morning the rebel army began again the desperate race for life. They crossed the Appomattox river at High Bridge and set fire to the same to prevent pursuit. But the 2d corps were so close after them that our men reached one end of the bridge as the rebels were leaving the other.
Gen. Mahone’s troops contested the passage for a time, but Gen. Miles ordered a battery into position and after a vigorous shelling the rebels let go of their end and our troops crossed over and pushed on after the enemy.
Lee’s army was now on what may be termed aneck of land formed by the James and Appomattox rivers.
The Army of the James had come up and were pressing them on one side, the Army of the Potomac on the other, while Sheridan and his cavalry had gone around south to try and close the outlet.
As soon as our corps got across the river the pursuit of Lee continued out along the old Appomattox stage road.
About one o’clock in the afternoon, the First and Third Division came up with the enemy near the Appomattox stage road, where they had gone into position to oppose our advance. Poague’s Battery opened upon us, and made things lively for just as we passed an open field the shells began to fly through the woods in our front, and as we approached the edge of the woods the skirmishers opened upon the head of the old First Brigade.
Just at this moment orders came directing us into line on the left of the road, and before we had completed the movement a battery galloped into position in the rear of the Second New York, and Bang—bang—bang—whiz—hum—buzz—boom—boom—boom—crack—whir—crash, whang—while the old Second responded with a cheer and its facetious cry “lay down!”
The 61st New York and 26th Michigan were immediately deployed as skirmishers and advanced into the woods driving the Johnnies before themover a little ridge of ground. Our line of battle, the 2d New York in the center, the 5th New Hampshire and 81st Pennsylvania on our left and the 183d and 140th Pennsylvania on our right advanced close up to the ridge while the skirmishers were pushed well up against the enemy to develop the position.
It was soon learned that all that was left of Lee’s army was in our front well intrenched and provided with plenty of artillery.
Gen. Meade had sent word for the 6th and 24th corps who were near Farmville, to cross the river and attack Lee from that side with a view of crushing his army. Lee had, however, destroyed the bridges, the Appomattox was too deep to ford, the pontoon trains had not got up, consequently the two corps mentioned were unable to render the Second any assistance, else it is more than likely that Appomattox would not have become famous in history.
While waiting for assistance the Second corps did considerable maneuvering. About 5 o’clock firing was heard in the direction of Farmville which Gen. Humphreys assumed was the 6th corps. He immediately contracted his left line and pushed out on the right intending to flank the enemy if possible.
The execution of the movement left our division face to face with Gen. Mahone’s and Gen. Anderson’s troops who were formed in close columnsupported by Poague’s ten gun battery, who were in a position that enabled them to give us (as the boys used to express it), h—ll with grape and cannister trimmings thrown in.
Our regiment came to a halt in a dense growth of small pines and waited for orders. Some of the officers went out in the edge of the woods to look around and as they came back Capt. Mike Foy danced a little jig as he said: “Boys there’s another wagon train for us over behind the rebel lines.” Poor, brave Foy, who had fought his way up from the ranks, little realized that he and scores of others would go down in less than fifteen minutes.
Our brigade had the right of line and were the first to advance across an open rolling field in full view of the enemy. The troops came to a halt in a little ravine and the bugles sounded “Fix bayonets!” Then an advance was made and when about 50 rods from the enemy the bugles sang out “Forward—double quick, charge!”
The cheers of our men were answered by the rebel yell, the real old genuine “Ki, yi, yi, yi!” that all veterans remember so well. Then a tongue of flame leaped from all along their intrenchments, and all other sounds were drowned with the roar of cannon, the crash of musketry and the whizzing and screeching of grape and cannister.
Some of the troops reached the enemy’s works in the face of tremendous odds and fought to thedeath. But they were unsupported by other troops as well as artillery, consequently they had to retreat. The 5th New Hampshire had all of their color guards killed after reaching the rebel intrenchments and lost their colors, but they were recovered by the 81st Pennsylvania.
History makes but little mention of the battle of Farmville, as events of greater importance followed so closely, but the participants know that troops never fought more valiantly than did Lee’s soldiers in their last effort when they repulsed the assault of the veterans of the 2d corps.
AN ACT OF HEROISM.
Sergt. Robert Cline of our company, who carried the New York State colors after saving the flag, found that a comrade had been left wounded near the enemy’s intrenchments and he heroically faced about and amidst the whistling bullets went up near the rebel works, found his friend and brought him into the lines across his shoulder. This little incident is only one of thousands illustrating what one comrade would do for another.
The casualties of our regiment in this affair were: Six killed, 67 wounded and 74 missing, and some of the other troops’ losses were greater.
It has always seemed very sad to me to think of the many brave men who gave up their lives with the surrender of Lee in sight. Among the officers killed on our side was the brave Irishman, Gen. Thomas A. Smyth, who had long been one of Gen. Hancock’s gallant officers.
Those who were taken prisoners were recaptured two days later at Appomattox, and a sorry looking lot they were. Every thing of value andmuch of their clothing had been taken from them and they had been hustled about pretty severely. Their rations had been appropriated by their hungry captors, and they fasted till they got back into their lines.
Comrade Albert V. Rogers, a member of my company, who was a prisoner the last two days of the struggle, says, that all the Rebs. gave him to eat was some corn he stole from a mule. Rogers was at this time suffering from a gunshot wound in his leg.
GRANT’S FIRST LETTER TO LEE.
This letter was sent through the lines of the 2d corps that evening while we were in contact with the enemy, the troops being but a few hundred yards apart. There was a truce of one hour and inside of that time Lee’s reply came back.
During the night the enemy abandoned the works in front of our corps and at 5 the next morning the bugles of the 2d corps again sounded “Forward,” and Gen. Humphreys, our commander, was instructed that any negotiations pending were not to interfere with the operations of his corps.
Early in the forenoon, Gen. Grant’s second letter was brought to Gen. Humphreys by Gen. Seth Williams, Grant’s adjutant general, and it was sent through the lines of Gen. Fitzhugh Lee’s cavalry, who were on the rear of the confederate columns.
We continued the pursuit all day, covering a distance of over 20 miles, and about dusk, as we had halted for a rest, a rebel officer brought Lee’s reply to Gen. Humphreys, who sent it by a courier to Gen. Meade, then several miles in the rear.
The next morning Grant’s third letter to Lee was sent through the skirmish line of the 2d corps, and all this time Gen. Humphreys, mindful of his instructions, kept advancing and pushing back the thin line of wearied confederates, which called out a protest from Gen. Lee, who sent an officer twice during the forenoon requesting a halt. Gen. Humphreys sent back word that his orders were such that he could not comply.
Gen. Longstreet’s corps was scarcely 100 yards from our skirmish line and Gen. Humphreys issued orders for an advance upon them. Artillery was being placed in position. The commanders of the contending forces were watching the movements on either side, couriers and staff officers were riding to and fro, and just about the time the ball was about to open Gen. Meade appeared at the front and after issuing orders to suspend operations sent a messenger to Lee granting a truce of an hour, pending the negotiations for the surrender.
LEE UNDER AN APPLE TREE.
The officers who delivered Grant’s last note found the confederate chieftain stretched out on a blanket under an apple tree near Appomattoxcourt house. The famous tree was removed, bit by bit, and for a long time the writer carried a piece of it as well as a splinter from the floor where young Ellsworth fell in the Marshall house at Alexandria, Va. It is understood that a tablet marks the spot where the tree once stood that shaded the vanquished leader.
The officers mounted their horses and rode to the court house, where, meeting a Mr. McLean, Gen. Lee told him that they desired the use of a room in some house, and Mr. McLean invited the party to his home. Later the party was joined by Gen. Grant and other distinguished generals from both sides.
The two great leaders exchanged reminiscences of their service under Gen. Scott in Mexico, after which the formalities of the surrender were gone through with. When Gen. Lee had signed his name to the terms of surrender it is said that with tears in his eyes he whispered in Gen. Grant’s ear “General, my poor men are starving,” and Grant, like the great modest man and soldier that he was, motioned to his side the general of subsistence of the army of the Potomac and quietly told him to “issue, immediately rations to the army of Northern Virginia.”
Gen. Lee rode back to his troops to tell them what he had done and the next day issued his farewell orders.
The parting of Lee with his soldiers atAppomattox was most pathetic. Tears were streaming from his eyes as they crowded around him begging for a last word and to touch his hand. When he could control himself enough to speak, he said, between sobs, “Men, we have fought through the war together. I have done the best that I could for you.” It is said there was not a dry eye among those who witnessed the sad leave-taking.
GRANT’S GENEROSITY TO HIS FOES.
Gen. Grant’s greatness never shone to better advantage than in the generous terms accorded his conquered foes, and his modesty and consideration for the feelings of the confederate soldiers was such that he never paraded himself among them during the preparations for the formal surrender.
When the surrender was announced the Union soldiers, shouted, hurrahed, danced and manifested their joy in all sorts of boyish pranks, but it soon passed off, and as they beheld the ragged, starved, wearied and sad-eyed veterans who had followed Lee into the last ditch their joy was turned to pity and sorrow and the blue divided with the gray their rations and they drank coffee from the same tin cups and water from the same canteens!
When the papers were all signed and paroles given the confederates and the Union forces formed in line and faced each other. The veterans of Lee advanced until there was but a few yards of space between the lines.
“Halt! right dress! front!” was the command from their officers.
The Union forces presented arms, the vanquished returned the salute like men and soldiers, stacked their guns, unbuckled their battle-scarred equipments, furled their tattered flags and laid them tenderly across their stacks of muskets, wiped the tears that many of them shed on their coat sleeves and went their way to take up life anew, but never to bear arms against our glorious Union.
STACK ARMS.“Stack Arms!” In faltering accents slowAnd sad, it creeps from tongue to tongue,A broken, murmuring wail of woe,From manly hearts by anguish wrung,Like victims of a midnight dream!We move, we know not how or why!For life and hope like phantoms seem,And it would be relief—to die!
RETRACING THE STEPS.
The armies of Grant and Sherman turned their backs on the South and took up their line of march for Washington, where they had been ordered to report for a general review and muster out. We passed through Richmond and retraced our steps over much of the same ground that had been fought over the previous year, and all along the route were reminders of the terrible struggles between the two great armies.
Earthworks that had swarmed with soldiers were now deserted. Everywhere there were bleaching bones of horses and men; grinning skulls, disabled artillery caissons, rusty sabres, bayonets, gun-barrels, canteens, haversacks, weather-stained clothing and mounds of earth that marked the resting places of many whose army record was closed with the single word “missing.”
We were a jolly lot, however, realizing that our battles, hardships and marches were about over.
A COURTEOUS ENEMY.
One day on our return march, when the troopshad halted for rest, my comrade suggested that we make a reconnaissance and see if we could not find a little something in the eating line to vary the monotony of coffee, hardtack and “salt hoss.” Back from the roadside we espied a comfortable looking house and we made a “bee line” for it.
In the doorway stood a woman who returned our salutation of “good afternoon, madame,” with “Go right away from here, Yanks, you’ve killed my boy, Tom, and I don’t want to ever look on a blue coat again.”
We expressed sympathy and assured her our mission was a peaceful and honorable one, we wanted something to eat and had good money to pay for it. At this point in the conversation a fine looking man came to the door. He was dressed in a faded butternut colored uniform and on the collar of his coat we noticed the insignia of a Confederate colonel. He gave us a military salute and said: “Come right up here on the veranda, men,” and turning to the woman said: “These soldiers are not responsible for our Tom’s death; ’twas the fo’tunes of wah, and my deah wife, you must remember that all ovah the nawth mothers are weeping for their boys that are sleepin’ under Virginia sod. These are some of the 2d corps boys, that divided their rations with the 2d corps C. S. A. at Appomattox. These are some of Gen. Hancock’s men that treated me so chivalrously at Gettysburg.”
“You see, boys,” he continued, “our Tom was a sergeant in my company when we went into that fight, and was mortally wounded that day in the wheatfield.
“When our line fell back I couldn’t go away and leave my poor boy with his life fast ebbing out, so I jes’ stayed and holding his head on my knee listened to his last message for his mother and then laid him away under the sod, and of cose was yo’ah prisoner. But no southern bo’n man ever performed a more knightly act than did one of yo’ah generals that night when he sent me back to our lines under a flag of truce.
“We are comin’ out of this war poor, and if you’ll excuse the expression, d—d poor, but as long as I’ve got a scrap I’ll share it with a man with a red clover leaf on his cap.”
As the colonel told his story tears coursed their way down his bronzed cheeks, and the two boys, whose emotional natures were not easily stirred had great, big lumps in their throats. For the first time in many months we sat down at a table to eat a meal. If there was scanty fare there was abundance of genuine hospitality of a warmth that is so characteristic of the southern people.
When we took our leave the colonel called black Joe and told him to “tote” our luggage “down the pike,” and on the way we suggested to the darkey that now he was free we presumed he would be leaving the old place and perhaps enlist in somecolored regiment and wear fine clothes with brass buttons and other fixings. “No, suh, boss, spec I allus stay right yere. I lak Massa Lincum soldier mens, and I’se much ’bleeged to ’em, but I lak my ole massa an’ missus a heap bettah. An’ den when Marse Tom went to de wah—Tom an’ I useter run roun’ bare-foot when we’s little—I promis him I allus stay with his mammy an’ as Tom can nevah come back any mo’ I reckon I’se boun’ to stay yere.”
At another house we met a sharp-tongue woman who said:
“Yo’uns could nevah have whipped Bob Lee if he’d had half as many men as yo’uns. We’uns could outfight and outmarch you bluebellied Yanks every time.”
She informed us that she had lost two sons by the war and that her husband was then in a southern hospital laid up with his third wound, and her eyes snapped as she said she wished she could have given a dozen boys to the “cause.” We admired the grit of this Spartan like mother and regretted in our hearts that the war had borne down with such crushing weight on the gentle sex of the South.
THE BLOODY ANGLE AT SPOTTSYLVANIA.
One night our brigade went into camp near Spottsylvania court house, and in the vicinity of the “bloody angle” where the hardest fighting ofthe war occurred. Here 11 months before the 2d corps made a charge more desperate than that of the “light brigade,” the percentage of killed being more than double that in the battle made famous by Tennyson. Here the rebel infantry were massed in double lines with the artillery supporting them in redans. Hancock’s veterans charged them in open field and were victorious, capturing about 4,000 prisoners, 20 pieces of artillery, thousands of small arms, 30 stands of colors with Gens. Johnson and George H. Stuart among the prisoners.
It was here that the celebrated tree was found that was completely severed by bullets. Gen. Miles, who had been a brigade commander at the “angle” and who was then our division general, caused the stump to be dug up and conveyed to Washington where it was exhibited at the grand review and was afterwards placed in the war department. The tree measured about 20 inches through.
The armies reached Washington about the middle of May, and in most cases the organizations were allowed to pitch tents on their old camping grounds. It was almost like getting back home again. The only sad feature was to think of the many who had been with us there before who had since answered the last roll call.
THE GRAND REVIEW.
The assembling of the armies at Washington was for the purpose of marching them in review through the nation’s capital before mustering them out of service.
As Grant’s and Sherman’s troops numbered too many for a one day review, the former were given precedence and May 23 was fixed as the day.
We left our camps in Virginia at an early hour and crossed over the long bridge into that part of the city east of the capitol where the troops were massed ready to move when the hour should arrive.
The signal gun was fired at 9 a. m., and the victorious hosts took up their line of march down the avenue, past the reviewing stand at the White House, thence to Georgetown and back to Virginia by the Aqueduct bridge.
The city was thronged with patriotic people from all over the country, many coming a thousand miles or more to see a father, brother, son or lover in the ranks of that mighty army that was so soon to vanish away.
The 2d corps did not pass the reviewing stand until afternoon and as we swung into Pennsylvania avenue a most grand and inspiring sight met our eyes. Every house top, balcony, window, tree and telegraph pole were black with people, and the street was a seething mass of humanity. Through the center, like a silvery stream coursing its way through a landscape, was a mile of glistening bayonets, waving flags and prancing steeds who had smelled the smoke of many battles. Everybody was thrilled with the sight, and as we marched down the avenue the music of the bands was drowned by the huzzahs of the throngs. Whenever a tattered battleflag appeared ladies rushed forward and strewed flowers before the standard bearers and loaded them and the color guards with wreaths and bouquets. Even the drummer boys came in for a share, and I felt then, as I do now, that it was a grand thing to have earned the right in whatever modest rank, to march with 100,000 veterans with the scars, smoke and dust of scores of battles upon them.
It took nearly all day for the Army of the Potomac to pass the reviewing stand which was filled with many of the prominent people of the country.
An incident of the review was the running away of Gen. Custer’s horse, which became unmanageable in the parade and ran past the reviewing stand with the dashing general in the saddle and his red neck tie streaming out over his shoulders. Afterthe steed was subdued the general rode back to the reviewing stand and saluted the dignitaries and was heartily cheered. Every soldier who marched in that parade was impressed with the wording of a motto that was stretched across the front of the United States treasury. It read, as near as I remember:
“The only debt we can never pay is the one we owe our brave soldiers and sailors.”
SHERMAN’S ARMY.
Sherman and his veterans were reviewed the following day and the enthusiasm of the preceding day was repeated. The writer was a spectator and noted a marked difference in the appearance of the two armies. The Army of the Potomac had been “slicked up” a little for the occasion, and their marching was much better. Gen. Sherman expressed contempt for a paper collar on a soldier and the multitudes saw Sherman’s army go through Washington just as they had marched to the sea.
“Sherman’s Bummers” were an amusing feature with their trophies gathered along the march through Georgia and the Carolinas, consisting of mules, donkeys, oxen, cows hitched to plantation carts, and negro contrabands of all sizes and ages arrayed in costumes, quaint and ridiculous.
Immediately after the review the work of disbandment of the armies began and every daytroops were sent north and the sword was laid aside for the plowshare.
SECOND REVIEW OF THE GRAND ARMY.
I read last night of a Grand ReviewIn Washington’s chiefest avenue—Two hundred thousand men in blue,I think they said was the number—Till I seemed to hear their tramping feetThe bugle blast and the drum’s quick beat,The clatter of hoofs in the stoney street,The cheers of the people who came to greet,And the thousand details that to repeatWould only my verse encumber,—Till I fell in a revery, sad and sweet,And then to a fitful slumber.When, lo! in a vision I seemed to standIn the lonely capitol. On each handFar stretched the portico; dim and grand,Its columns ranged, like a martial bandOf sheeted spectres whom some commandHad called to a last reviewing.And the streets of the city were white and bare,No footfall echoed across the square;But out of the misty midnight airI heard in the distance a trumpet blare,And the wandering night winds seemed to bearThe sound of a far tattooing.Then I held my breath with fear and dread;For into the square with a brazen tread,There rode a figure whose stately headO’erlooked the review that morning,That never bowed from its firm-set seatWhen the living column passed its feet,Yet now rode steadily up the streetTo the phantom bugle’s warning.Till it reached the capitol square and wheeledAnd there in the moonlight stood revealedA well known form that in state and fieldHad led our patriot sires;Whose face was turned to the sleeping camp,Afar through the river’s fog and damp,That showed no flicker, nor waning lamp,Nor wasted bivouac fires.And I saw a phantom army come,With never a sound of fife or drum,But keeping time to a throbbing humOf wailing and lamentation;The martyred heroes of Malvern Hill,Of Gettysburg and Chancellorsville,The men whose wasted figures fillThe patriot graves of the nation.And there came the nameless dead—the menWho perished in fever-swamp and fen,The slowly-starved of the prison-pen;And marching beside the others,Came the dusky martyrs of Pillow’s fight,With limbs enfranchised and bearing bright;I thought, perhaps ’twas the pale moonlight—They looked as white as their brothers!And so all night marched the Nation’s dead,With never a banner above them spread,Nor a badge, nor a motto brandished;No mark—save the bare uncovered headOf the silent bronze Reviewer;With never an arch save the vaulted sky;With never a flower save those that lieOn the distant graves—for love could buyNo gift that was purer or truer.So all night long swept the strange array;So all night long, till the morning gray,I watched for one who had passed away,With a reverent awe and wonder,Till a blue cap waved in the lengthening line,And I knew that one who was kin of mineHad come; And I spake—and lo! that signAwakened me from my slumber.—Bret Harte.
WHEN JOHNNIE COMES MARCHING HOME.
After the grand review, our regiment was ordered back into the forts again around Arlington.
It was not until October, 1865, that we marched down Pennsylvania avenue for the last time to take the cars for home. Our regiment had gone to the front 18 months before, 1500 strong and notwithstanding the fact that the 9th New York had been consolidated with us we were going home with but 500 men.
At the Baltimore & Ohio railroad depot, in Washington, a pathetic incident occurred. A dozen or more of the regiment who were yet in the hospitals came down to see us off. Among them were three or four one-legged men and as many minus an arm. What must have been the feelings of these men who had to be left behind, maimed and crippled for life?
Our regiment being principally from New York City we were sent there for disbandment and were quartered in some barracks at the battery for a couple of days.
One afternoon we marched up Broadway as far as the City Hall, where we were reviewed by the governor of the state and the mayor of New York.
The city had sent us a new stand of colors the year before and we were returning them, battle-scarred and tattered. My blood runs quicker as I recall the enthusiastic reception we received that afternoon from the crowds that lined Broadway.
Here and there was a group of veterans who had preceded us home. The old 63d, 69th and 88th New York regiments—Thomas Francis Meagher’s Irish brigade, with whom we had served in Hancock’s corps—and when any of these boys recognized us they went wild. There are two characteristics about an Irishman that I like. He is never lacking in enthusiasm or bravery.
After the review the regiment was ordered to proceed to Hart’s Island, where it was to be paid off and disbanded. We went by boat, and an amusing episode occurred as the regiment was marching aboard.
Big Ed. ——— of the band, who played one of those old-fashioned big brass horns reaching back over his shoulder about three feet, and which could be heard to the foot of the line of a brigade, had been out with the boys seeing the sights, and it is possible may have been a little unsteady of foot. At any rate, he took two or three steps backward when he marched on the boat, and in doing so missed the gang plank and dropped intothe cool waters of the bay. He came up clinging to his horn and called lustily for help. The colonel and a couple of deck hands succeeded in landing him, horn and all.
The last man was finally aboard. The gang plank had been hauled in. The boatmen were casting off the big heavy ropes that held us to the dock, when a voice from shore shouted “Hold there!” The voice was that of a big, burly policeman. Behind him was a woman holding by one hand a boy of about 5 years of age, his curly golden locks floating out from under a little blue soldier cap. On the other side was a sweet-faced little girl.
“What’s wanted?” yelled the captain from the upper deck.
“Is Sergt. Thomas Burke on board?” replied the big policeman.
“Blast my eyes if I know,” retorted the captain “And I’ve no time to find out, either. You can settle your little business with him some other day,” probably thinking the sergeant had been out on a lark.
Burke’s comrades had found him in the meantime and he came to the side of the boat, and as he caught sight of the party, he said with a voice choked with emotion.
“Kate!”
“Oh, Tom!” responded Kate.
“Let me off the boat!” shouted Tom.
“Too late,” replied the captain.
The big wheels of the steamer were churning the water when our colonel, who had been attracted by the loud talking, appeared and asked what was the matter.
Burke, tall, straight and every inch a soldier, but pale and thin from the effects of a wound received in the last fighting, saluted his superior and said:
“’Tis my wife and children, colonel, that I have not seen in almost three years.”
“Tie up your boat again, captain,” said the colonel.
The captain ripped and tore and mentioned between oaths that he wasn’t taking orders from any army officers “not even Gen. Grant himself.”
Col. Hulser was furious and pulling his revolver he commanded the captain to reverse the engines and run out a gang plank.
The captain muttered between his teeth, touched the engineer’s bell and the gang plank again bridged the space between boat and dock. Sergt. Burke walked off, clasped his wife to his breast in a passionate embrace, then took a child on each arm, turned and faced his comrades, who had, sympathetically, been looking on, and they sent shoreward a mighty cheer.
“Bring your wife and little ones aboard!” shouted the colonel.
They came and went with us to Hart’s Island.
Mrs. Burke explained to the colonel that they had come from Tarrytown, or some other town up the Hudson, because “Little Mac” (named after Gen. George B. McClellan) had begged so hard to come and see his papa with the soldiers he had fought and marched with.
Mrs. Burke, Little Mac, and the sweet little blue-eyed sister saw the last dress parade of the 2d Heavy, and Sergt. Thomas Burke stood in line with his comrades.
It was certainly a grand privilege to go all through a great war and be permitted to come home with one’s own comrades. To be present at the last roll call. To hear the clatter of the bayonets as the battle-scarred muskets are stacked for the last time. To see the furling of the tattered colors that one has followed for four years. To hear the last command of the officers, the last tattoo and the final “taps.”
There never was such another bugler in the whole army of the Potomac as our little Gracey. Small of stature, gentle by nature, but a marvel with his trumpet. I have told in a former chapter how at Cold Harbor, after sounding the charge for Gen. Hancock’s troops, he sat down by a tree and wept like a child when he saw the lines of mangled, bleeding men returning.
Gracey was at our last dress parade at Hart’s Island, New York, and after the parade the guns were stacked for the last time, and then Graceysounded “taps” or “lights out” as it was always called in the army. The call is one of the sweetest, yet saddest of all the army calls and on this occasion our old bugler seemed to breathe his very soul into his trumpet, for the tears were trickling down his cheeks while strong, bronzed men who had walked up to the cannon’s mouth on many a famous battlefield were not without emotion as they broke the ranks for the last time and bade farewell to their old comrades.
My father and I got out of the old stage coach at Carthage two days later, and as we alighted he remarked that it was just four years to a day since he had left for the war, and I found that my services figured up over three years and a half.
SCATTERING REMINISCENCES.
A COMRADE’S LOVE.
James Tabor and Dennis Garrity were about the last two soldiers that would have been taken for chums. Garrity was a great thick-chested Irishman with brawny arms and a roistering sort of manner who had served through the Crimean war and knew more of tactics in the first year of the Civil war than half of our officers.
Tabor was scarce more than a boy, a slender, palefaced youth, mild of manner and gentle of speech as a girl.
Tabor’s mother had given him a little pocket Bible when she kissed him good-bye, and, unmindful of the jeers of his comrades, he read it every evening and knelt and offered up a silent prayer before wrapping himself in his blanket.
When the first death occurred in our camp we had no chaplain. Tabor was called upon to read the burial service and make a prayer. After that some of the boys tried to tease him by calling him “parson.”
AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN.
Away up in York state there was an old-fashioned flower garden with roses, hollyhocks, sweet-williams, larkspurs, marigolds, lady-slippers, pansies, violets and other emblems of purity and the simple life. The boy had loved that old garden, so when it came summer he had a little reminder of it with a box of pansies by the side of his tent.
One day a soldier who had been drinking just enough of the sutler’s beer to make him think he was smart came along, and as he passed Tabor’s tent he gave the box a kick, upsetting it. Garrity saw the act, and he took the smart chap by his coat collar and shook him as a terrier would a rat.
A crowd gathered and then Garrity proceeded to read the riot act to those assembled.
“Look a’here, my hearties,” said he, “I’m going to give you young devils some advice, an’ you’ll be doin’ well to mind what I be sayin’. I want you young blackguards to be very careful how you thrate this lad hereafter. No more pokin’ fun at his religion, ’twould be better if all of you had some of the same.
“I’m none too good meself an’ ought to be counting me beads oftener than I do, but I likes fair play, and be that same token I’ll see that James Tabor has it or me name is not Dennis.
“So now, me laddy bucks, if you don’t like whatI’m sayin’ you can put it in your pipes an’ smoke it.”
This little episode was the beginning of a strange and tender attachment between Tabor and Garrity that lasted to the close of the war. They tented together, slept under the same blanket and drank from the same canteen—except when Garrity’s had some of Uncle Sam’s commissary in it, for Dennis, like many an old campaigner, liked a little whisky.
The boys called Tabor “Jim” or “Jimmie,” but it was always James when Garrity spoke of him. When Tabor wanted his comrade it was: “Have you seen Mr. Garrity?”
BIG INJUNS FROM ONONDAGA.
Among the recruits that came to our regiment in the winter of 1862 was a squad of 25 or 30 Indians from the Onondaga reservation. Among them was a fairly good brass band. The officers had no business to enlist them, and they were all discharged in a few months.
They were with us one pay day, however, and managed to get some firewater. Then they went on the war path and there was “blood on the moon” and they indulged in war dances that were the real thing. One “big Injun” was discovered crawling under the back of the colonel’s tent. He was armed with a sabre bayonet which had been sharpened forthe express purpose of lifting the hair of that officer.
They dared all the white men to fight them, and, finally, a young buck rubbed up against Garrity, who gave him a slap on the side of his head that sent him spinning. This led to a challenge to fight and the affair was arranged to take place in the fort late in the afternoon.
GARRITY WAS STRENUOUS.
A ring was formed, and the men stripped to the waist and turned their pants pockets inside out to show that they carried no concealed weapons. Garrity whipped the Indian in less than two minutes. Then another red man pulled his shirt over his head and strode up in front of Garrity, who gave him his medicine in short order. Then another wanted to try his hand and was given a chance and was quickly vanquished.
Perhaps you will think me yarning, but it is the truth that our Dennis whipped four strapping Onondagas and was ready for more when his little guardian angel slid into the ring, and, taking Garrity by the arm, led him away as though he had been a child.
It was a wonderful influence this little boy had over his great, strong comrade.
Garrity loved a strenuous life and wanted something doing all the time if it was nothing morethan tossing the colonel’s darkey up in a blanket or tipping over the cart of a pie peddler.
He could play cards behind the breastworks with the shells screeching over his head or joke a comrade on the firing line.
In this connection I am reminded of an incident at the opening of the second Bull Run battle. The regiment was in line of battle nearly two hours in the morning without firing a shot. The artillery on both sides were pounding away at each other, and the strain on the men’s nerves was something intense. A certain lieutenant who had incurred the dislike of his men by his pompousness in camp duties thought that before going into battle he would make peace with the boys, so he walked along in front of the company and said: “Now, my men, we are about to meet the enemy for the first time and it is more than likely that some of us will never see the sun rise again. In my position it has become my duty on various occasions to criticise and reprove, but I hope you will understand that I meant it for your good. I can assure you, that I have a warm place in my heart for every one of you, and if any man in the ranks feels the least ill will towards me I beg of him to put it away out of his heart as we stand here facing our foes.
“I have a further request to make and that is, if I fall in this fight, and it is possible for you todo so, that you will have my body embalmed and sent home.”
There was not a response for a minute or two and then Garrity spoke up: “The boys don’t mind forgivin’ you, leftenant, but if I may be pardoned the observation, the facilities for embalming the dead on a battlefield are devilish poor.”
That same lieutenant covered the distance between Bull Run bridge and the outposts near Alexandria before taps were sounded that night, and being a large man, he stripped for the race and those who saw him at the finish claimed that a shirt, trousers and a pair of socks were all that were left of his former showy uniform and equipment.
His name? Well, the boys of the regiment who read this will know and it does not matter to the rest whether it was Smith, Jones or Brown.
Gen. Lee surrendered his army to Gen. Grant the 9th day of April, 1865. There was skirmishing right up to the last minute, notwithstanding the fact that negotiations were in progress for 24 hours, but the last hotly contested battle that occurred between the forces was on the afternoon of the 7th, when the second corps of the army of the Potomac came in contact with the bulk of Lee’s army on the old Lynchburg stage road.
They were intrenched on the crest of a long slope of open ground and Gen. Miles’ division was ordered to attack. The old first division of thesecond corps had been in the habit of sweeping things when they went for the enemy, but in this last fight they were repulsed by the desperate confederates, who, though they were weary and nearly famished, fought with the desperation of a hunted animal brought to bay.
It was in this encounter that the subject of this sketch received the wound that nearly cost him his life.
Gen. Miles’ troops after reaching the works of the enemy had to retrace their steps and leave their dead and wounded under the guns of the enemy.
When our regiment re-formed again every one was looking around to see who was missing and it was then that Dennis Garrity discovered that Tabor had been left behind.
He would go back and find James, he said, and no entreaties would stop him.
“Dennis Garrity will bring that poor boy in or he’ll lay out there on the field with him,” he said, and Dennis went, with the bullets and shells flying and brought in his “little James” on his back, fully a half a mile, and took him to the field surgeons and had his wound promptly attended to, which probably saved his life.
Dennis was with us in the final review when we marched down Pennsylvania avenue in the grandest and most impressive pageant that ever took place in this country.