Another question has been as often asked. "Why was Lee not successful at Gettysburg?" Gen. Lee seemed to have anticipated this question, and answered it in language almost divine when he said, "It was all my fault." He hoped this would have quieted criticism, but it did not, and for forty-odd years critics have been trying to fix the blame on someone.
Of course, I cannot solve the problem, but I would suggest this: Gen. Lee could not take the risk at Gettysburg that he took when he fought his other battles. He was too far from his base of supplies. If he had been defeated at Seven Pines, Manassas, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, he would have had the defences of Richmond to fall back upon. But not so at Gettysburg. If he should be defeated there he must retain an army strong enough to cut through the lines of the enemy, in order to reach his base of supplies.
After three days' fighting at Gettysburg he had gone as far as he dared go toward the depletion of his men and supplies; hence he ordered a retreat, knowing that he was still strong enough to handle the enemy and reach the south bank of the Potomac.
Some say it was because Jackson was not there; but the battles of the Wilderness, Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor, where Grant was in command of the Northern army, demonstrated that Lee could win victories without Jackson. Perhaps what contributed most to Lee's defeat at Gettysburg was the absence of the cavalry just at a time when he needed it most. Had Stuart kept the cavalry between the two armies, and informed Lee as to the movements of the enemy, he would not have been placed in such a disadvantageous position as he was at Gettysburg. Then again, the enemy had vastly superior numbers.
leeGEN. ROBERT E. LEE.This picture was taken at the rear of General Lee's house on Franklin street, Richmond, in April, 1865, immediately after his return from Appomattox, and represents him in the style of uniform which he habitually wore in the army.
GEN. ROBERT E. LEE.This picture was taken at the rear of General Lee's house on Franklin street, Richmond, in April, 1865, immediately after his return from Appomattox, and represents him in the style of uniform which he habitually wore in the army.
Whatever may have been the cause of his defeat, Gen. Lee, with the magnanimity characteristic of him, said: "It was all my fault."
FOOTNOTES:[2]The two armies, occupying opposite banks of the river near Fredericksburg, began their march for Gettysburg June the 3rd, 1863, moving northeast along the Rappahannock river, the cavalry of each army marching between. When Lee reached the Blue Ridge he crossed it at three different places, Chester Gap, Ashby's and Snickersville Gaps. The two cavalry forces came together and fought quite a severe battle, beginning at Aldie, below Middleburg, and extending to Paris, at the foot of the mountain. Directly after this battle Stuart took the main part of his cavalry, moved back as far as Salem, or Delaplane, as it is now called, moved across the country in rear of the Federal army, passing Manassas and Centerville, then marched direct for the Potomac, which he crossed between Leesburg and Washington. Then through Maryland into Pennsylvania as far as Carlisle, and there he turned south, arriving at Gettysburg on the night after the second day of the battle, thus completely encircling the Union army. (See map).On its march down the Virginia valley to the Potomac Lee's army took 4000 prisoners, 25 cannon, 250 wagons, 400 horses, 269 small arms and quantities of stores.[3]The map only shows one point where Lee crossed into Maryland, but the army divided before reaching the Potomac, one part crossing at Williamsport, and the other at Shepherdstown, and, uniting at Hagerstown, moved on toward Chambersburg. From this point, Lee sent a portion of Ewell's division as far north as Carlisle, while another portion marched to York, then to Wrightsville, on the Susquehanna river, all returning in time to meet the Union army at Gettysburg.[4]General Longstreet, in his book "From Manassas to Appomattox," says the Confederate forces that crossed the Potomac were 75,568, and fixes the total of the Union army at 100,000, in round figures. General Meade's monthly returns for June 30, shows 99,131 present for duty and equipped at Gettysburg.
[2]The two armies, occupying opposite banks of the river near Fredericksburg, began their march for Gettysburg June the 3rd, 1863, moving northeast along the Rappahannock river, the cavalry of each army marching between. When Lee reached the Blue Ridge he crossed it at three different places, Chester Gap, Ashby's and Snickersville Gaps. The two cavalry forces came together and fought quite a severe battle, beginning at Aldie, below Middleburg, and extending to Paris, at the foot of the mountain. Directly after this battle Stuart took the main part of his cavalry, moved back as far as Salem, or Delaplane, as it is now called, moved across the country in rear of the Federal army, passing Manassas and Centerville, then marched direct for the Potomac, which he crossed between Leesburg and Washington. Then through Maryland into Pennsylvania as far as Carlisle, and there he turned south, arriving at Gettysburg on the night after the second day of the battle, thus completely encircling the Union army. (See map).On its march down the Virginia valley to the Potomac Lee's army took 4000 prisoners, 25 cannon, 250 wagons, 400 horses, 269 small arms and quantities of stores.
[2]The two armies, occupying opposite banks of the river near Fredericksburg, began their march for Gettysburg June the 3rd, 1863, moving northeast along the Rappahannock river, the cavalry of each army marching between. When Lee reached the Blue Ridge he crossed it at three different places, Chester Gap, Ashby's and Snickersville Gaps. The two cavalry forces came together and fought quite a severe battle, beginning at Aldie, below Middleburg, and extending to Paris, at the foot of the mountain. Directly after this battle Stuart took the main part of his cavalry, moved back as far as Salem, or Delaplane, as it is now called, moved across the country in rear of the Federal army, passing Manassas and Centerville, then marched direct for the Potomac, which he crossed between Leesburg and Washington. Then through Maryland into Pennsylvania as far as Carlisle, and there he turned south, arriving at Gettysburg on the night after the second day of the battle, thus completely encircling the Union army. (See map).
On its march down the Virginia valley to the Potomac Lee's army took 4000 prisoners, 25 cannon, 250 wagons, 400 horses, 269 small arms and quantities of stores.
[3]The map only shows one point where Lee crossed into Maryland, but the army divided before reaching the Potomac, one part crossing at Williamsport, and the other at Shepherdstown, and, uniting at Hagerstown, moved on toward Chambersburg. From this point, Lee sent a portion of Ewell's division as far north as Carlisle, while another portion marched to York, then to Wrightsville, on the Susquehanna river, all returning in time to meet the Union army at Gettysburg.
[3]The map only shows one point where Lee crossed into Maryland, but the army divided before reaching the Potomac, one part crossing at Williamsport, and the other at Shepherdstown, and, uniting at Hagerstown, moved on toward Chambersburg. From this point, Lee sent a portion of Ewell's division as far north as Carlisle, while another portion marched to York, then to Wrightsville, on the Susquehanna river, all returning in time to meet the Union army at Gettysburg.
[4]General Longstreet, in his book "From Manassas to Appomattox," says the Confederate forces that crossed the Potomac were 75,568, and fixes the total of the Union army at 100,000, in round figures. General Meade's monthly returns for June 30, shows 99,131 present for duty and equipped at Gettysburg.
[4]General Longstreet, in his book "From Manassas to Appomattox," says the Confederate forces that crossed the Potomac were 75,568, and fixes the total of the Union army at 100,000, in round figures. General Meade's monthly returns for June 30, shows 99,131 present for duty and equipped at Gettysburg.
From Gettysburg to the Wilderness.
"But who shall break the guards that waitBefore the awful face of Fate?The tattered standards of the SouthWere shrivelled at the cannon's mouth,And all her hopes were desolate."
The main army marched slowly back up the valley, crossing at the various gaps east of Winchester, and occupied a position on the south bank of the Rapidan, a branch of the Rappahannock.
The cavalry under Stuart took the east side of the Blue Ridge and marched in a parallel line with the infantry. This took me by my old home. I could stop only for a few minutes. I remember that I was upbraided for my appearance and was compared to the "Prodigal Son." But when I told them what I had passed through, they were ready to kill the fatted calf. I had, though, no time for this, as my regiment was on the march. Besides, I knew there was no calf.
The enemy kept at a safe distance, and did not molest us. We halted at Brandy Station, where we had fought the battle of June 9th, a month before. They halted at the Rappahannock and occupied both sides of the river.
The land for miles and miles around Brandy Station was almost level and entirely denuded of fences, the soldiers having used them for firewood. It was an ideal battlefield.
Here was the home of John Minor Botts, a distinguished Virginian, respected and protected by the Northern army for his Union sentiments, and by the South for his integrity. He had a beautiful home and a fine, large estate, a choice herd of milch cows, and I have often gone there at milking time and got my canteen filled with milk just from the cow.
The price we paid was 25 cents a quart, in Confederate money. We thought it very cheap for such good, rich milk, and all of us had a good word to say for Mr. Botts and his family, even if they were Unionists.
Gen. Stuart threw out his pickets across the fields, and just in front of us the enemy did likewise. The pickets were in full view of each other, and a long-range musket might have sent a bullet across the line at any time, but we did not molest each other. At night the lines came still closer together, and we could distinctly hear them relieving their pickets every two hours, and they doubtless could hear us doing the same.
This state of things remained for several weeks. Not a shot was fired during all that time, and so well acquainted did the pickets of each army become, that it was not an uncommon thing to see them marching across the fields to meet each other and exchange greetings, and often the Confederates traded tobacco for coffee and sugar. I took quite an interest in this bartering and trading. This got to be so common that Gen. Stuart had to issue an order forbidding it.
After a while conditions changed. Gen. Lee had sent Longstreet's corps to Tennessee to reinforce Bragg, weakening his army to the extent of 20,000 men. Probably for this reason the enemy determined to make a demonstration, and began a movement toward our front. But so considerate were they that they did not open fire on us until we had gotten beyond range of their guns. This fraternal condition perhaps never existed before between two contending armies.
As they advanced we gradually fell back, and when we had retreated about a mile, they began firing on us. The friendly sentiment was soon dissipated, we returned the fire, and began to dispute their passage. But as they had a much larger force we gradually released the territory, fighting as we retreated.
My part of the line carried me directly through the streets of Culpeper, and the fighting in and around the town was the heaviest that we encountered. Several of our men had their horses killed, and I saw the enemy's cavalry pick the men up as they ran in their effort to escape.
We continued to fall back until we reached the Rapidan. Here Gen. Lee was strongly entrenched, and the enemy, after remaining in our front for some days, fell back to their old position on the Rappahannock. There was one item of interest which I neglected to mention in its proper place, and that was an address which Gen. Lee issued to his soldiers after his long march back from Gettysburg. It was printed on paper, about the size of a half sheet of note paper. It began with these words: "To the Soldiers of the Army of Northern Virginia:" "Soldiers, we have sinned." I cannot remember any more of the address, but those words have lingered lovingly in my memory ever since. Each soldier was handed one of these papers, and I am ashamed to say I did not keep my copy, and do not know of anyone who did.
Shortly after this demonstration of the Union army, Gen. Lee made an advance, but not directly in front. He moved his army toward the northeast, and his efforts seemed to have been to make a flank movement and get in the enemy's rear, just as had been done the year before when Jackson got in the rear of Pope at Manassas. The cavalry remained to watch the enemy's front, and prevent a move toward Richmond.
After Lee had gotten well on his march the cavalry crossed the river and began to drive in the enemy's outposts and press them back toward Culpeper, and then on through Culpeper to Brandy Station, where the enemy made a stand.
A short distance beyond the station was a slight elevation running across our front, completely hiding the movements of the enemy. As there was no elevation anywhere that we might occupy and see beyond the ridge in our front, all we could see was the large force occupying the crest of the ridge. We were afraid to charge, for fear of running into their whole army.
After a good deal of maneuvering and waiting we saw the long lines of Union cavalry coming over the ridge and moving toward us in the line of battle. Closer and closer they came, and when they got within 200 yards of us, their leader ordered a charge, and it looked as if the whole column was coming right into our ranks.
I have a vivid recollection of the scene. I noticed as they approached that quite a number of them, perhaps every third man, was reining in his horse, which meant, "I have gone as far as I mean to go." Of course, what I saw my comrades saw, and we knew at once, by this action, they were whipped; but the others came on, dashing right into our ranks, firing as they came. The dust and smoke from the guns made it almost impossible to distinguish friend from foe, but I noticed close to me a large Union officer, riding a splendid horse, with his sabre over his head, calling his men to follow him. I had my sabre drawn, and I raised it over his head, but did not have the heart to hit him. Somehow or other, my arm would not obey me. It seemed too much like murder.
But Lieut. Armistead (an officer in my company) was not so chicken-hearted, but spurred his horse, "Long Tom," up until his pistol almost touched the officer, and shot him in the side. I saw him fall from his horse, and afterward attempt to get up. Then I lost sight of him. It was said to be Gen. Baker of the Union army, who was in command of the forces making the attack. We took some prisoners, others in the confusion, amid the dust and smoke, fled and escaped within their own lines. Then there was a halt for an hour or more.
Several fresh regiments of our cavalry came up and took positions, ready for attack or defence, whichever it might be.
What troubled our command was to know what was beyond that ridge. We were afraid to move forward, for fear of running into ambush.
Presently we saw a magnificent sight. The colonel of the Fourth Virginia Regiment, mounted on a beautiful black horse, moved forward, calling upon his regiment to follow him. It was Colonel, afterward General, Rosser.
As the regiment moved toward the enemy's lines, at a gallop, the cry went up and down the ranks, "Look at Rosser, look at Rosser." Everybody expected to see him tumble from his horse, shot to death. But he went forward, leading his men, and when the enemy discovered that we were coming in earnest, they turned on their heels and fled. Other regiments followed in rapid succession, and when we had gotten on top of the ridge we found that the enemy was disappearing in the distance as fast as their flying horses could carry them. We afterward learned that their stand at Brandy Station was only intended to check our forces until theirs could get across the Rappahannock river, about three miles distant.
After this fracas was over we began to look about us to see whether any of us showed marks of the strife. I found a bullet hole through the strap that held my sabre to my belt, and as the strap laid close to my side, it was allowed to pass as a "close shave." But the greatest danger I was in, I think, was from the sabre of Gen. Baker. A right cut from that strong arm of his could have severed my head.
There was one of our command who was shot in the neck, and an artery cut. The blood spurted out like water from a spigot. He dismounted and stood by his horse until, weakened by the loss of blood, he fell to the ground. He realized, as everyone else did, that he was beyond human aid. As Solomon put it in Ecclesiastes, "The golden bowl had been broken."
But to go back. Early in the day, when we were driving the enemy from our front, the cavalry dismounted and fought on foot. This was often done, as the men can do better execution when on the ground, and, besides, they are better protected from the fire of the enemy. On foot, you have to protect you the trees and the rocks and the fences, every little hillock; in fact, anything else that would stop a bullet, but on horseback you are a splendid target for the sharpshooter. Hence, the cavalry on some occasions preferred to be on foot. But when there was any retreating to do, like Richard III, they wanted a horse.
On this particular occasion I was among those chosen to lead the horses. In fact, it always fell to the fourth man. He sat on his horse, while the other three men dismounted and went to the front. These were called the led horses, and, of course, they followed in the rear, keeping as much out of danger as possible.
As we moved along through the fields we passed a small dwelling; I halted in front of the door and asked the good lady of the house for something to eat. She came out, trembling from head to foot, with two other ladies, who I presume were her daughters, and gave me some bread.
Seeing the long string of led horses, she asked in the most distressed tone if all the men belonging to those horses had been killed. I explained the meaning of the horses being led, and assured her they were in no danger, as the enemy was retreating rapidly in our front, and all danger had passed.
Just an hour before this the conditions were reversed. I was on foot, and on the firing line, and another was leading my horse.
We had taken shelter behind a low-railed fence, against which the Yankees, who had just left it, had thrown the earth as a protection. We were all lying down close to the ground and firing over the top of this obstruction, when a shell came hissing across the field, striking the breastwork a short distance from where I lay, scattering the rails and dirt in every direction. I remarked that as lightning never struck twice in the same place, that was the safest spot to get, and I began to crawl toward it. I had hardly moved a yard when another shell struck in this very same spot, verifying the old adage, that "there are exceptions to all rules."
We were ordered to move forward from this position across the open field, which we did, the bullets buzzing past our ears like so many bees. We went a few hundred yards and then lay down flat on the ground in the grass, and continued firing at the puffs of smoke in our front, as that was all we could see. The enemy was lying as flat to the ground as we were. A great deal of this kind of fighting is done in this way. It doesn't rise to the dignity of a battle, but is called skirmishing.
One poor fellow lying next to me was struck by a bullet with a dull thud, that caused him to cry out in pain, and as we moved forward I saw him writhing in agony. I presume he was not mortally wounded, as mortal wounds do not cause much or any pain.
In the meantime, our enemy crept away from our front, and mounting their horses, galloped off. We followed in hot pursuit.
But to return to where we left our friends (the enemy crossing the Rappahannock). We did not pursue them beyond the river, but moved northeast, crossing the river at the same place where we had crossed on the march to Gettysburg. It was about 9 o'clock at night; beyond we could see all the hills brilliantly illuminated with camp-fires. It was a gorgeous spectacle.
As we had driven the enemy across the river a few miles below, of course, we in the ranks, concluded that these were the camp-fires of the enemy, and that a night attack was to be made upon their camp. But we crossed, notwithstanding, and as we rode up to the blazing fires we discovered that we were right in the midst of Lee's infantry.
We went into camp for the night. Early in the morning we were in the saddle, with both cavalry and infantry on the march. Marching parallel to us was the whole Union army. They were making for the defences of Washington, and we were trying to cut them off.
When we got as far as Bristoe Station, not far from Manassas, Gen. Lee made a swoop down upon them and tried to bring them to battle, but they were too swift for us. We did, however, have quite a severe fight at Bristoe Station between the advance guard of our army and the rear of the enemy.
Gen. A.P. Hill, commanding one of Lee's corps, made the attack. It was very severe while it lasted, and the roar of the musketry was terrific. But the enemy got away.
After it was over one of my company (Frank Peak) heard Gen. Lee severely reprimand Gen. A.P. Hill in these words: "Gen. Hill, your line was too short and thin." I presume Gen. Lee thought if Gen. Hill had extended his line farther out, he might have captured the entire force in our front.
In this battle Rev. A.W. Green (to whom I have already referred as being captured at Harper's Ferry by Jackson) had one of his fingers shot off. I have often joked him and said it was I who shot it off. Just as I am writing this Mr. Green, whom I have not seen for 10 years, came into my office, and I told him what I was doing. He held up his hand, minus one finger, and said, "Yes, you did that."
We followed the retreating enemy some distance below Manassas, but could not overtake them. We halted for awhile, and a few days afterward the whole army, cavalry, infantry and artillery, marched slowly back toward the Rapidan.
The expedition was fruitless. The infantry, as is nearly always the case, marched with the wagon-trains, while the cavalry, in nearly every instance, leaves the wagons behind, depending upon whatever can be picked up from the farmers or the enemy.
In this particular section at this time, the farmers had no chance to plant crops. The trees had already been stripped of fruit. We could not even find a persimmon, and we suffered terribly with hunger. Of course, there was plenty of grass for the horses, but the men were entirely destitute of provisions.
We were looking forward to Manassas with vivid recollections of the rich haul that we had made there just prior to the second battle of Manassas, and everybody was saying, "We'll get plenty when we get to Manassas." We were there before we knew it. Everything was changed. There was not a building anywhere. The soil, enriched by the debris from former camps, had grown a rich crop of weeds that came half way up to the sides of our horses, and the only way we recognized the place was by our horses stumbling over the railroad tracks at the junction. It was a grievous disappointment to us.
While fighting just below Manassas, the enemy threw a shell in among the led horses, which burst and killed several of them.
A short time after that, while lying in camp, our stomachs crying bitterly for food, someone suggested we try horse flesh. I remember pulling out my knife and sharpening it on a stone preparatory to cutting a steak from one of the dead horses, but just at this point a caravan on horseback arrived with a supply of food. We had a rich feast, and were happy again.
I do not know where the Union army halted in their retreat toward Washington, but in a day or two after this, Lee moved his entire army back toward its old camp on the Rapidan, as I have just said.
I think this was early in November. We felt winter approaching, and I remember when we reached the Rappahannock, although there was a bridge a mile below, the cavalry forded the stream, the men getting wet above their knees, as the water came well up to the sides of the horses. Gen. Lee, noticing that the men were wet from fording the river, said to our brigade commander (Gen. Lomax) in a kind and fatherly tone, "My! general, you should have used the bridge below." I suppose Gen. Lomax thought that as we were soldiers we ought not to mind a little wetting, even if the cold November winds were blowing.
mrs leeMRS. R.E. LEE,Wife of Gen. R.E. Lee, taken from an old photograph soon after the close of the war. The spots are result of defects on the original photograph.
MRS. R.E. LEE,Wife of Gen. R.E. Lee, taken from an old photograph soon after the close of the war. The spots are result of defects on the original photograph.
My recollection is that the whole army, infantry, cavalry and artillery, encamped in and around Brandy Station and prepared for winter. The infantry began to build little low huts, the cracks filled up with mud and tops covered with slabs split from logs.
Every mess had its own hut. The cavalry, knowing that they would likely be kept on the march, made no preparation for winter.
Some time after this (I can't remember just how long) orders came to break camp and move back on the south side of the Rapidan. I do not know what commotion this move caused in the ranks of the infantry, but we cavalrymen, who remained for some time in that neighborhood and saw the deserted villages, sympathized with the infantry in the loss of their homes. But as the Six Hundred remarked, "It is not for us to ask the reason why, but to do and die."
Shortly afterward the cavalry withdrew to the south bank of the Rapidan, near the infantry. I think this was in Orange county, near Orange Courthouse, probably half a mile from the river.
Some time in January a courier came in from the front across the river and reported that the enemy's cavalry had been seen a few miles below, moving toward our camp.
The bugles sounded "saddle up" all through the camp, and several regiments of cavalry were soon in line and crossing the river. They dismounted, formed in line of battle, and moved across the fields. We soon found the enemy in our front, also dismounted, and firing began. We were ordered to fall back gradually toward the river, fighting as we retreated, the object being to draw the enemy toward the batteries that were on the opposite side of the river.
As we neared the banks of the river where the led horses were, our purpose was to remount and to cross the river, but the enemy pressed us so close that some of us, I among them, were compelled to cross on foot. This was rather a chilly experience, when you consider that it was the middle of January. But we got over, and our batteries opened fire on the enemy and compelled them to fall back.
Just as we came out of the river we met the infantry coming down and taking position behind the breastworks that had been thrown up along the south bank of the river. Those who had forded the river were allowed to go to camp, a short distance off, to dry their clothes, for it was freezing weather.
I had mounted my horse, and as I passed the column of infantry coming down to the river, a bullet fired by the enemy's sharpshooter on the opposite side struck one of the men, and he fell in a heap, dead, at the feet of my horse. He dropped as suddenly as if he had been taken by some powerful force and thrown violently to the ground. Every joint and muscle in his body seemed to have given way in an instant.
After we had dried our clothes before the camp-fire our command re-crossed the river to find out what the enemy proposed to do. We were again dismounted and formed in line across the field as before, and, moving forward, found the enemy just beyond the reach of our batteries. Lying close to the ground we began firing at each other, continuing long after dark. Then the firing ceased. After remaining there for some time, someone in command (I don't know who it was) ordered Capt. Gibson of our company to send four men with instructions to creep up as near as they could to the enemy's lines, stay there, and report whenever the enemy withdrew.
I was selected as one of the four men. When we got pretty near their line we got down flat on the ground, and like so many snakes crawled along until we got as close as we dared. We could distinctly see them on their horses, but we did not remain long before we saw them withdraw. We heard their officers giving the command.
We then came back, and had some difficulty getting in without being shot, from the fact that the regiment to which we belonged had been withdrawn and another put in its place, and the men did not seem to understand that we were out on this mission. We made our report, and shortly afterward mounted, re-crossed the river and went into camp. It proved to be nothing more than a reconnoissance of the enemy's cavalry, probably to find out whether Lee's army was still encamped on the river.
Some time after this, perhaps two or three weeks, while on picket some miles up the river, a considerable distance from the main army's encampment, a body of the enemy's cavalry crossed the river somewhere between the pickets, and got behind the line of pickets unobserved.
It was a very foggy morning. Our post consisted of six men, and our position was a few hundred yards back of the river.
Two of the men were on picket; the others were at the post.
About 6 o'clock in the morning we heard a few shots in our rear. One of our men was sent back to find out the cause of it. He had not been gone many minutes when we heard other shots, which forced us to the conclusion that the enemy in some way had gotten behind us. Our pickets had also heard the firing, and came in to find out what the trouble was.
We followed the direction of the shots, and had not gone far before we saw through the heavy fog quite a large body of cavalry.
Whether friend or foe, it was impossible to determine. So we thought discretion the better part of valor and immediately turned, each fellow taking care of himself.
Three went up the river. Faunt Neal and myself took the opposite course. The Yankees (for it proved to be the enemy) had seen us, and started in pursuit. Neal and I rushed down the hill toward the river, passing a grove of small pine trees. My comrade turned abruptly to the right and hid himself in this sanctuary, while I continued across the meadow and up the hill on the opposite side into the woods and escaped.
We all turned up in camp the next day except one. He had ridden straight into the enemy's lines, thinking they were Confederates. This ended his military career.
I think it was about the first of February an order had been sent from headquarters allowing a certain number of regiments a furlough. It extended to my regiment. Some of the companies could not avail themselves of it, because their homes were wholly in the territory occupied by the enemy. My company was among the fortunate ones, although many of our men were from Loudoun and Fauquier, and the enemy was occupying part of this territory and making frequent raids through the other portions. But our officers stood sponsor for us, and we started for our respective homes as happy as children let out of school.
Those of us living in Loudoun and Fauquier had to observe the greatest caution to keep from being picked up by the enemy's scouting cavalry before reaching home. But there were no misfortunes, and with joy unspeakable, we, one by one, reached the "Old Homesteads."
To attempt to express the pleasure we got out of this little vacation would tax the English language severely.
'Tis true that these were not just the old homes we had left three years before in our bright new uniforms, with well-groomed horses and full haversacks. The marching and counter-marching of first one army, then the other, destroying fences and barns and driving off cattle and horses, made a great change in the appearance of things.
No one attempted to keep up appearances. Besides, at this time, nearly every home mourned one or more dead. The most of my old schoolmates who had crossed the Potomac en route for Gettysburg went down on that hot July afternoon when Pickett made his famous charge, for the Eighth Virginia Infantry, in which nearly all my schoolmates had enlisted, was almost annihilated that bloody afternoon.
Among the killed was Edwin Bailey, whom I have already mentioned as going out with me from Middleburg in the spring of 1862, he to rejoin his regiment, and I to enlist in the Sixth Virginia Cavalry. By his side in that battle was his brother John. Edwin fell first, mortally wounded, and John, severely wounded, fell across him. Edwin said, "John, if you get home, tell them I died a Christian." These were his only and last words.
I have often used this incident as an exemplification of the claims of Christianity.
Notwithstanding all this, we enjoyed our vacation immensely, but there was not a day that we were not in danger of being surrounded and captured. The bluecoats were scouting through the country almost continuously in search of Mosby's "gang," as they called it. We had to keep on guard and watch the roads and hilltops every hour of the day. We had the advantage of knowing the country and the hiding places and the short cuts, and then we had our loyal servants, always willing to aid us to escape "them Yankees."
For instance, I made a visit to Sunny Bank, the home of my brother-in-law, E.C. Broun. My horse was hitched to the rack, and I was inside enjoying the hospitalities of an old Virginia home, when one of the little darkies rushed in and said, "Yankees." They were soon all around the house, but, before getting there, one of the servants took the saddle and bridle off my steed, hid them, and turned him loose in the garden, where he posed as the old family driving nag, while I went to the back porch, climbed a ladder, and lifting a trap-door, got in between the ceiling and the roof. The trap-door was so adjusted that it did not show an opening. The ladder was taken away, and there I stayed until the enemy departed. I got back home safely, eight miles off, and had other close calls, but owing to the fidelity of the colored people, who were always on the watch, and whose loyalty to the Confederate soldiers, whether they belonged to the family in which they lived or not, was touching and beautiful beyond comprehension. They always called the Confederates "Our Soldiers," and the other side "Them Yankees."
About this time a new star appeared upon the field of Mars. John S. Mosby, a native of Warrenton, Fauquier county, Virginia, serving as lieutenant in the First Virginia Cavalry, was captured and put in prison in Washington in the old Capitol. He was not there long before he was exchanged, but while there his mind was busy. He conceived the idea that if he had a small body of men well armed and well mounted, and given an independent command, he could render the Confederacy great service by operating along the lines of the B. & O., the C. & O., and the Orange and Alexandria railroads, and also upon the enemy's supply trains, that were constantly moving to and fro up and down the valley and other sections. He reported his plan to Gen. Stuart when he got out of prison. Gen. Stuart favored it, and referred it to Gen. Lee, and Gen. Lee referred it to the War Department at Richmond, resulting in Mosby's being commissioned a captain, with ten men detached from his regiment (the First Virginia Cavalry) with permission to increase the number by recruiting from the young men in the district where he operated.
Mosby lost no time in getting his little force together at some point in Loudoun county. His first expedition was to Fairfax Courthouse. His plan was to get as close to the enemy as he could, hide his men behind a hill or in a body of timber, and rush pell-mell upon a passing wagon-train, or a detachment of Union troops, stampede them and capture what he could. In this way he captured or destroyed a great many wagons, took horses, mules and prisoners by the thousands. My younger brother Richard joined this command in 1864, being a little over 17 years old.
It may seem strange to the present age that a country devastated as this portion of Virginia was at this time, with so many homes mourning the loss of their brave sons slain in battle, or maimed for life, with starvation almost staring them in the face, with the capital of their country besieged by great armies, with what we would call at this day deprivation and suffering incomparable, that the people could have any heart for festivities, such as dances and plays. But such was the fact. The soldiers during their furlough were received everywhere as heroes, and were banqueted and entertained as if peace and plenty reigned throughout the land. Many a parody like the following was gotten off: "There was a sound of revelry by night," and "Les Miserables" (Lee's miserables) had gathered there.
But it must be remembered that it was this spirit among the Southern people that made them endure their hardships and sustain the conflict as long as they did. It was the women standing loyally by their husbands, brothers and lovers that made the Southern soldiers ready to play or ready to fight, regardless of what they had in their haversacks or wore on their backs.
There was no fixed time for our furlough, but we had places of rendezvous where we were ordered to meet once a week to receive instructions. Finally the time came when we were summoned to collect at Upperville (near the home of our captain) for the march back to the army.
I do not remember the date, but it was early in March. I do remember the first encampment we made for the night. We got up the next morning with six inches of snow covering us, resulting in my horse getting a bad cold, for during our furlough he was housed in a warm stable. This cold never left him, and he died from the effects of it several months afterward.
We were ordered to report at Staunton, Va. It was a long march from Loudoun county, but we were used to long marches. When we arrived there we found our regiment awaiting us. Without even a day's rest we were ordered to Richmond, a still longer march, and after remaining there two weeks we were ordered to Fredericksburg. A line of this route drawn on the map would form almost a perfect letter C, and if it had not been for a small obstacle in our way, in all probability we would have continued the march, forming the letter O.
The obstacle in our way was Grant's army on the Rappahannock.
From the Wilderness to James River.
"Turning his bridle, Robert LeeRode to the rear. Like waves of the sea,Bursting the dikes in their overflow,Madly his veterans dashed on the foe."
The army of Northern Virginia had met and defeated McDowell, McClellan, Pope, Burnside and Hooker, and caused the retirement of Meade, but the Government at Washington had at last found a soldier believed to be a full match for Gen. Lee.
Grant had been successful in the West, and his achievements had made him the Nation's idol, so he was brought to the East and placed in command of the army of the Potomac.
All during the late fall and winter and early spring he was preparing an immense army, whose rendezvous was on the Rappahannock and in the district about Culpeper Courthouse. It was a greater and better equipped army than that under McClellan in 1862. Then again, McClellan was an untried soldier, while Grant had won his spurs on more than one battlefield. So the North had a right to feel that Lee would be beaten and Richmond captured. Besides this great army, another 30,000 strong was marching up the James river, taking the same route McClellan took two years before.
Gen. Benj. F. Butler was its commander. The two armies were to unite and compel the surrender or evacuation of the Confederate Capital.
It was about the first of May when Grant began his movements toward Lee's front. At this time the whole cavalry force of Gen. Lee was encamped in a rich grazing district about five miles from Fredericksburg.
We had been there several weeks, our horses had been wading in grass up to their knees. They had shed their winter coats, and were looking fine, and seemed to be ready for the fray.
Our principal article of food was fresh fish, caught from the Rappahannock river.
As we loitered around the camp from day to day, speculating as to when we should be called to the front, and discussing what would be the result of the coming battle, we began to get restless, as soldiers will. They live on excitement, and the booming of guns and the rattling of musketry is the sweetest music they can hear.
One bright May morning (it must have been about the first day of the month) we saw a courier with his horse all flecked with foam as he came dashing into our camp. He halted and asked for Gen. Stuart's headquarters. It proved to be a messenger from Gen. Lee, and it meant that the death-struggle was about to begin.
Soon the bugles were sounding all through the camps the old familiar call, "Saddle up, saddle up." We mounted, and each company forming in line and counting off by fours, wheeled into columns of two and marched off toward what was afterward known as the Battlefield of the Wilderness.
We arrived at the position assigned us about dark, where we went into camp in the woods, tying our horses to the trees and building camp-fires to cook our supper. I had (like the boy in the parable of the loaves and fishes) in my haversack a few small fresh fish, and I was wondering whether they would be sweet or not. I remember distinctly laying them on the coals of fire to broil. It has been 43 years since then, but I can assure you I can almost taste those fish today. I don't think I ever ate anything so sweet.
leeGEN. FITZHUGH LEE,Who commanded a division of Gen. J.E.B. Stuart's cavalry.
GEN. FITZHUGH LEE,Who commanded a division of Gen. J.E.B. Stuart's cavalry.
The next day we were in the saddle early. The cavalry formed the right wing of Lee's army. The battle lasted two days. The cavalry fought almost entirely on foot. It was mostly in heavy timber and thick undergrowth.
The first day we did not see the enemy, but we knew he was there, for the woods were ringing with the sound of their guns, and bullets were hissing about our ears.
When we struck this heavy body of timber we found a narrow road running through it. We followed this road cautiously for two or three miles. My company was in front. About 200 yards in front of the company rode two soldiers, side by side. We knew somewhere in front of us was the enemy, and it was our mission to find him. Suddenly we heard two shots—pop, pop. We all knew what that meant. The armies of Lee and Grant had met, and as far as I know, these were the first two shots fired of the Battle of the Wilderness. They had come from the enemy's guns. They had seen our advance guard, and the shots meant, "so far shalt thou come, and no farther." We took the hint and halted.
The regiment was dismounted, and the led horses were taken back some distance; we deployed on the right and left of the road and awaited results; then moved forward until we discovered the enemy's line. We exchanged some shots, and began falling slowly back, while they advanced.
As we retired, their bullets were hissing through our ranks and cutting the bark from the trees and the twigs from the bushes, and now and then striking down our men.
My cousin, Dallas Leith, and myself stood together behind a tree for protection. As he fired, his head was exposed, and a bullet from the enemy's ranks just brushed his lips. He turned to me and said, "Wasn't that a close shave?" And at the same time a bullet grazed my finger as I fired.
We fell back through the timber to the edge of the open fields, and getting behind a rail fence, remained there until the enemy came up. We held our fire until they got close to us, when we poured a volley into their ranks that sent them scurrying back through the woods. We then climbed the fence and followed them up.
About 20 steps from the fence we saw two Yankees lying mortally wounded. We gathered around them and asked them some questions about where they were from, and one of our men pulled a photograph from the pocket of one of them. It was a picture of a young girl, and one of the men said, "I guess that's his sweetheart." He opened his eyes and said with much difficulty, "No, it is my sister." Our captain was standing by, and as the men were so close to our line, someone conceived the idea that they had come up to surrender, and one of them said to our captain, "Captain, these men came up to surrender, and were shot down." One of the Yankees denied the accusation with some feeling. They were both shot in the breast, and were bleeding profusely. It was very evident that they had but a short time to live.
The captain ordered them to be taken back to a place of safety. They begged to remain where they were, saying that they hadn't long to live, but they were taken back to a safer place.
We were again ordered forward, and kept on until we came in touch with the enemy, when the firing was resumed.
Dallas Leith and myself were again behind a tree. He was kneeling down loading his gun, when his head was again exposed, and a ball struck him in the forehead. It tore away a part of the bone, exposing his brain. I felt confident the boy was killed, and had no other thought than that of leaving him there, for we had all we could do to carry back the wounded, much less the dead.
We were then ordered to fall back, and someone more humane than I proposed that we carry his body back with us. I protested that it was impossible, but the others insisted, and, tying a handkerchief around his head, his hair drenched with blood, we picked him up and carried him back about a mile, when to our surprise we got into a road and there found an ambulance. Putting him in it, he was carried to the hospital, in the rear. Strange to say, he lived about ten days, giving his father time to come from Loudoun county to see him before he died. About this same time his younger brother Henry (at home) was blown to pieces by a shell that he had picked up in the field on his father's farm and was trying to open it, to see what was inside.
But to return to the battle. This state of things continued for two whole days, with little intermission. Sometimes, however, there was not a shot fired for an hour.
During one of these intervals I remember sitting down, leaning my back against a large tree, and began writing a letter to my folks at home. Capt. Gibson came up to me and said, "Young man, if you don't want to get shot, you'd better get on the other side of that tree, for somewhere just in front of us, and not a great distance off, is the enemy's skirmish line, and they may open fire at any moment." I moved behind the tree and resumed my writing, but was suddenly stopped by the sound of firing in our front, that caused us to creep farther back into the woods.
On another occasion we had fallen back out of the timber into the open fields, and were firing from behind a fence at the enemy in the woods, whom we could not see for the undergrowth. Our attention was called to a large body of cavalry on our left, apparently the enemy on mischief bent.
There are times in a battle when every private soldier on the firing line becomes a "Commander-in-Chief." It is when orders cannot be given, or would not be heard if they were. Each soldier seems to know intuitively what to do, and the whole line acts in concert.
At this particular time the body of cavalry on our left proved to be the bluecoats, moving toward our rear. It did not take long for the information to spread up and down the line, and at once every man in the ranks, in absence of any orders from headquarters, concluded that the thing to do was to fall back. So each soldier gave the order to himself, and quicker than it takes time to tell it, the line was moving back over the fields.
We had retreated perhaps 200 yards when the movement was noticed by Gen. Fitzhugh Lee. He came galloping toward us on his white horse, and with a voice that could be heard above the shots of the guns, he said, "What does this mean?" In reply, hundreds of hands pointed toward the enemy on our left, and some voices said, "They're getting in our rear." Gen. Lee said, "Tut, tut, tut; go back, go back." And without a word every man wheeled around and started back for the position he had left. Gen. Lee perhaps knew that there were forces enough there to take care of the enemy, who, as we saw it, was getting behind us.
As I said before, this kind of warfare continued for two days, and all the time it was going on we could hear the booming of the artillery on our left, telling us that Grant was doing all he could to beat back or break through Lee's lines, and we knew, too, that he was not accomplishing his purpose. We could always tell which way the battle was going by the direction from which the sound came.
The night of the second day Grant silently and rapidly withdrew the main portion of his army from Lee's front and marched toward Spottsylvania Courthouse, which was some distance to the right of where the cavalry was fighting.
His object was to surprise Gen. Lee, and get between him and Richmond. But Gen. Lee had anticipated that very movement, and when Grant's infantry moved forward at Spottsylvania Courthouse, he found Lee's army there confronting him. Then began the bloodiest battle of all the war, so it is said.
It was during the Battle of the Wilderness that Gen. Grant sent that famous dispatch to Washington, "I will fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." If he meant the line between his army and Lee's, he changed his mind within 24 hours. But if he meant a line stretching from Wilderness to Petersburg, he kept his word. It took him all summer to get his army south of the James river, and cost him the loss (it is said) of 100,000 soldiers.
He could have placed his army there without firing a shot by following the route taken by McClellan, but Grant well knew he must first cripple Lee's army before he could capture Richmond, and that he could afford to lose five men to Lee's one in doing it, and I presume he thought the district called the "Wilderness" a good place to begin the work.
While Grant's army was moving under the cover of night and the dense forests toward Spottsylvania Courthouse, our cavalry also moved in the same direction. And when Grant ordered his lines forward the next morning, the first to receive them was our cavalry.
The enemy's cavalry still confronted us when we began fighting. It seemed to be the same old tactics that had been played for the last two days, except that it was a little fiercer.
Among the killed that day was a handsome young colonel of one of the regiments of our brigade. His name was Collins. I think he was a Georgian.
He was always dressed as if he were going to a reception. His complexion was as fair as a woman's. His hair was light. He habitually wore a clean white collar and a bright new uniform (something unusual among soldiers in the midst of an active campaign), but "death loves a shining mark," and he was taken off.
About 10 o'clock in the morning our cavalry was withdrawn from the front, and going back to our led horses we mounted and slowly rode back toward Spottsylvania Courthouse.
The country here was different from where we had been fighting the two days previous. Much of it was open fields, and the timbered part of it was not encumbered with undergrowth.
As we slowly fell back we looked behind us and saw a gorgeous sight. It was Grant's line of battle moving forward as if on "Dress Parade," their brass buttons and steel guns with fixed bayonets glistening in the sun, with their banners floating in the breeze. The first thought among the private soldiers was, "Has Grant stolen a march on Lee, and is Richmond doomed?" It certainly looked so at this moment, but we kept on falling back.
As we entered the woods we suddenly came upon Lee's infantry lying down in line of battle waiting the enemy's advance. As we approached them, word was passed up and down the line not to cheer the infantry. This was the custom in the face of a battle when the cavalry, retiring from the front, gave way to the infantry.
They opened their ranks and let us pass through, and we formed in line some distance behind them. The infantry was entirely concealed from the enemy's view, and up to this time I am quite sure that Grant did not know that he was facing Lee's army at Spottsylvania Courthouse. But he was soon to be undeceived in a manner most tragic.
Lee's infantry waited until the enemy was within 100 yards, and then, rising to their feet, poured a volley into their ranks that brought many of them to the ground, and sent the others back from whence they came. This was only the beginning of the battle.
Leaving the infantry to take care of that part of the field, the cavalry was moved a mile to the right and again dismounted, and moved forward until we came under fire of the enemy's guns. We laid down behind a rail fence and fired between the rails. A bullet struck a rail just in front of my head and knocked the dust and splinters in my face, almost blinding me for a little while. We did not remain there very long, but were soon ordered back, and as we moved across the open fields in full view of the enemy, they kept up an incessant fire, many of the shots taking effect.
We could see the Union officers on the little hills in every direction, with their field glasses to their eyes, trying to discover what was in front of them.
The cavalry retired from the field, leaving the infantry to do the rest. How well it was done the historian has tragically told the story. It was on this field that "Hancock, the superb," made eight distinct attacks on Lee's center, and finally breaking his line of battle, rushed his troops by thousands into the breach, and for the moment it looked as if the Confederacy was doomed.
Gen. Lee, seeing the peril in which his army was placed, ordered forward Gordon's division (which he was holding in reserve), placed himself at the head of it, and was about to lead them into battle in order to restore his broken lines. Shells were falling about Gen. Lee and his life was in peril. One of the officers rode up to him and said, "Gen. Lee, this is no place for you; you must go to the rear." His troops refused to go forward until Gen. Lee had retired from the front. One of the soldiers came forward, and taking the reins of Lee's horse, led him back. Then Gen. Gordon led his division forward, the enemy was driven back, the line was restored, and Gen. Lee's army was saved from destruction and another year added to the life of the Confederacy.
I heard Gen. Gordon in a lecture delivered at "Music Hall," Baltimore, some years ago, describing this event, say (as he stretched out his hands horizontally), "My dead were piled that high, and three days after the battle I saw wounded men trying to pull themselves from under the mass of the dead above them. And at one point the slopes were so slippery with blood that my soldiers could not stand until the ground had been carpeted with the bodies of their fallen comrades."
A tree about six inches in diameter standing in a field was literally cut down by bullets, not a shot from a cannon having been fired on that part of the field.
The Standard Encyclopedia puts the strength of Grant's army at 150,000, but does not state how many men Lee had. Perhaps 75,000 would be a fair estimate. The same authority gives Grant's losses at the battle of the Wilderness as 18,000; Lee's at 11,000.[5]
The losses in the battle of Spottsylvania Courthouse, fought two days afterward, were as great, if not greater, than those of the Wilderness.
When the cavalry retired from the front they mounted their horses, and almost Lee's entire cavalry force, headed by their chief, Gen. J.E.B. Stuart, started in a bee line for Richmond, without halting a moment.
Gen. Sheridan, commanding Grant's cavalry, had passed around our right wing with his whole command, and was heading toward the Confederate Capital.
I think it was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon when we started. Sheridan was several miles ahead of us. We marched all night. We overtook Sheridan at Hanover Junction, on the railroad leading to Richmond; not, however, until he had destroyed a large quantity of provisions stored there for Lee's army, a great loss to the Confederates at that time.
Sheridan had prepared for this expedition, and all of his men had well-filled haversacks, while ours were empty.
I cannot remember just when and where we got in front of Sheridan, but I know from Hanover Junction on we were in constant touch with his forces, and harassed them all we could.
At a place called "Yellow Tavern" several regiments of our cavalry (mine among them) were dismounted, formed across the fields, and moved forward in real line of battle style until we came upon the enemy, also dismounted. After a brisk encounter we fell back to a road that was somewhat sunken.
There we halted for the purpose of stopping the enemy's advance, for the sunken road furnished us some protection, but they did not stop. They marched on, firing as they came.
Their line was longer and thicker than ours, and it was evident that we were about to be surrounded. Some of our men mounted the fence in the rear and fled across the fields. Others stood their ground and were captured, I among them.
I was near Colonel Pate, the colonel commanding a regiment in my brigade. He was killed by a bullet striking him in the center of the forehead. Also near me was our captain, Bruce Gibson.
There was a little culvert across a ditch in the road that the farmers used in going from the road into the field. Some of our men crept under this culvert and escaped. Probably 200 of us were captured.
But the army sustained a greater loss than that, a loss second only to that of Stonewall Jackson.
Just behind our line in the field was Gen. Stuart with his staff. A bullet struck him somewhere about the stomach. He was held on his horse until it was led to a place of safety. Then he was taken from his horse, put into an ambulance and carried to Richmond. He died the next day.
Stuart was considered the greatest cavalry leader of the war on either side, and his death brought a very great loss to Gen. Lee, and also to the whole Confederacy.
The Confederacy had from the beginning attached greater importance to the cavalry arm of the service than had the North, and many had been the daring raids that Stuart made within the enemy's lines, capturing thousands of wagons laden with military stores, and many thousand prisoners. In fact, almost our entire cavalry was equipped with saddles, bridles and arms captured from the enemy; nearly all the wagons in Lee's army were captured wagons. But perhaps Providence knew that the time was near at hand when we would not need these things, so He permitted the one who had been the means of supplying our wants in this particular to retire from the field. He was buried in Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond, Va., and a magnificent equestrian statue marks the spot.
Many of Stuart's raids were made under the cover of darkness. He always wore a long ostrich feather in his hat, and was a splendid rider. The soldiers had a war song, the chorus of which was something like this: "We'll follow the feather of Stuart tonight."
The prisoners were taken back and put under guard. I think this was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. We remained there quietly until after dark, all the time, however, the fighting was going on, but we were out of reach of danger in that respect, so we had a brief breathing spell.
After dark Sheridan's whole command began to move slowly toward Richmond, making frequent stops of a few minutes. The prisoners marched two abreast, with a line of cavalry guard on each side. We had, of course, to keep up with the cavalry.