bannerA BATTLE-SCARRED CONFEDERATE BANNER.
A BATTLE-SCARRED CONFEDERATE BANNER.
Our guard was very kind to us, and allowed us to take hold of their stirrup straps, which was quite a help to us as we marched along, especially in crossing streams, one of which I remember was up to our waists. It began raining at midnight, and continued most of the next day. The night was very dark, and from the distance we had covered from the time we started, it seemed to us that we must be very near the city. Finally we turned to the left and moved toward the James river, in a southeasterly direction from Richmond.
As we had no sleep the night before, but rode all night, and now were walking all night in the rain and mud, and without food, you may know we were in a wretched condition. Every now and then a friendly Yank would hand us a cracker from his haversack, saying, "Here, Johnnie." But they were on short rations themselves, and could not help us much in that respect.
The next day we were in constant peril from the shells thrown from the Confederate batteries, that seemed to come in every direction. In fact, Sheridan was completely surrounded, except on one side, and his progress was stopped there by the Chickahominy river.
This is a slow, marshy river, crossed by two or three bridges. The chief one had been destroyed by the Confederates. Sheridan was in close quarters, and we prisoners had made up our minds that he would have to surrender his army.
We got so bold and impudent that we hailed Yankee officers as they passed us, and said, "Hey there, Mr. Yank, I speak for that horse."
Among these officers so hailed was a red-headed major, who was in command of our guard. Prior to this, he had been very surly and exceedingly gruff and harsh. So much so, that the prisoners had whispered among themselves that if we did get him in our hands we'd make him sweat, and when it became evident not only to us, but to the enemy, that they were in danger of capture, this particular officer changed his attitude toward us very perceptibly. He took our jeers and taunts without a word, and, luckily for us, about this time he was relieved of his position, and another put in his place. Perhaps he had asked for it, knowing that he wouldn't receive very kind treatment if he fell into our hands.
But, oh, the irony of Fate. On a hill fronting the river (not far from the bridge) was an old Virginia mansion. The prisoners were led to this house and ordered to tear it down and carry the timbers to the river and rebuild the bridge. What do you think of that? Of course, we had to obey, but we made loud complaints, and while we were carrying this timber and rebuilding the bridge, our enemy was protecting us, from their standpoint (as far as they could), by keeping back the Confederates, who were pouring shot and shell into their ranks from every direction. The bridge was repaired, Sheridan's command was soon safe on the other side, and our hopes died away.
There are two little incidents connected with my capture that I ought not to leave out, so I will go back to that event. The first one may serve a good purpose if the reader is ever placed in similar circumstances.
When I realized that we were in the hands of the enemy, but before they had gotten to where I was, I lay down on my face in the ditch alongside of the wounded and dead, pretending myself to be dead. I had the most awful feeling while lying there imaginable, and felt that at any moment I might be thrust through with a bayonet, and the feeling was so intense that as soon as I heard the Yankees tramping about me and calling upon the men to surrender, I got up and surrendered. If I had only had presence of mind enough to have lain on my back and watched them from the corner of my eye, I might have passed through the ordeal and escaped after they left, as they did not remain long.
In the first place, the men were cavalrymen, and hence had no bayonets. Then again, the Confederate bullets were hissing about their ears in such a manner that they never would have thought of testing a "Johnnie Reb" in that way in order to see whether he was really dead or playing possum.
The other incident was the second night after our capture. It was still raining, and the weather was quite cool for the season (it was about the 10th of May). We were all wet to the skin, and nearly starved. We were stopped in a field, a guard placed around us, an old cow driven up and shot, and we were told to help ourselves. So every fellow that could get a knife went up and cut his own steak. They gave us some fence rails, out of which we made little fires and broiled our cow meat. She may have been tough and old, and I know we had no salt, but the meat was as sweet to us as any porterhouse steak we had ever eaten.
We huddled together for the night like pigs, and slept comfortably, notwithstanding we had tramped the earth into a mud hole.
But to go back to the crossing of the Chickahominy river. Once across that river, the enemy seemed to have very little opposition to their march toward the James.
I know it was a long, weary march, and their horses were giving out all along the way. When a horse got too sore-footed to travel, he was shot, and as we passed along we saw hundreds of these horses, with the warm life-blood flowing from a hole in their foreheads, lying by the side of the road. This was done to prevent the horses from falling into the hands of the Confederates.
When we got in sight of the James river, the prisoners were halted in an orchard, and rested there for an hour or so. Just over the fence were some little pigs, with their tails curled around like a curl on a girl's head, rooting around for something nice to eat. One of the prisoners called to a Yankee to catch a pig and throw it over the fence. He at once made a dive for the pigs and got one, and threw it to us. A great crowd rushed for the pig, every fellow with a knife in his hand, and as many as could get hold of the little fellow began cutting into his anatomy. I had hold of one of the hind legs, and while we cut, the pig squealed. I got a whole ham for my share. Of course, I shared it with my comrades.
We gathered sticks and built little fires, and had a grand feast of roast pig. My, it was sweet! There was neither ceremony, pepper nor salt.
Soon after this banquet we were marched to the James river, put on a steamer, and our empty stomachs filled to the brim with a good dinner. The first course was good beef soup, thickened with vegetables. We certainly enjoyed it. Then came roast beef and real baker's bread (something we hadn't had for an age).
But to go back to Spottsylvania Courthouse. Grant's efforts to get to Richmond by breaking through Lee's lines were as ineffectual there as they had been in the Wilderness two days before. So he packed his grip (so to speak) and made another move toward the James river.
These two battles, of course, had reduced his fighting forces materially, but the Government at Washington kept filling up his ranks and supplying him with every need. In fact, in one case particularly, they sent him more war material than he could use, and rather than encumber his march, he sent 100 cannon back to Washington, while the poor Confeds had no such source of supply, and had to be content with making the best of the material they had.
Gen. Lee moved his army in a parallel line with Grant's, and kept in his front, ready to dispute his passage if he attempted to move forward.
FOOTNOTES:[5]General Longstreet gives 63,998 as the total strength of Lee's army in this campaign. Longstreet was severely wounded at the Battle of the Wilderness by a bullet shot through the neck. Was carried from the field on a litter, and was unable to return to the army for several months. Lee had lost the services of Jos. E. Johnson, Jackson, Longstreet, and a few days later J.E.B. Stuart. These were his ablest lieutenants.
[5]General Longstreet gives 63,998 as the total strength of Lee's army in this campaign. Longstreet was severely wounded at the Battle of the Wilderness by a bullet shot through the neck. Was carried from the field on a litter, and was unable to return to the army for several months. Lee had lost the services of Jos. E. Johnson, Jackson, Longstreet, and a few days later J.E.B. Stuart. These were his ablest lieutenants.
[5]General Longstreet gives 63,998 as the total strength of Lee's army in this campaign. Longstreet was severely wounded at the Battle of the Wilderness by a bullet shot through the neck. Was carried from the field on a litter, and was unable to return to the army for several months. Lee had lost the services of Jos. E. Johnson, Jackson, Longstreet, and a few days later J.E.B. Stuart. These were his ablest lieutenants.
From James River to Petersburg.
"Down on the left of the Rebel lines,Where a breastwork stands on a copse of pines,Before the Rebels their ranks can form,The Yankees have carried the place by storm."
I think it was about the 12th of May when Grant began his march from Spottsylvania, and it was, I think, the 3rd of June when he made another attempt at Cold Harbor to enter Richmond by breaking through Lee's army, and another desperate battle was fought, but the losses were not so great as they were at the Wilderness or Spottsylvania. Grant, however, was again defeated, and continued his march toward the James river. In this battle the colonel of my regiment (Flournoy) was killed. He was a dashing young colonel, but not as prudent as an officer should be. At the time he was killed he was standing on the top of the breastworks, behind which men were fighting, shouting defiance at the enemy, and challenging them to come out in the open and fight it out. Of course, it did not take them long to put a bullet through his body. At one time he was major of the regiment, then lieutenant-colonel, and on the retirement of his father, he was made colonel. His father was once Governor of the State. Richards, Captain of Company C, was made colonel of our regiment, and held this position during the war. He had commanded a company of cavalry from Clark county, Virginia.
Grant differed from other commanders who fought the army of Northern Virginia in this respect—he refused to acknowledge defeat. If his attacks failed at one point after repeated attempts, he would move his army to the left and attack again. This he kept up to the end of the war.
Not being able to reach Richmond by attacking Lee on the north side of the river, he crossed his main army to the south side, and stretching out his line of battle from the James to Petersburg, began a long siege, that lasted through the fall and winter till late in the spring.
Now to go back to prison.
The steamer on which we were placed and given such a good, substantial dinner, soon after this took its departure down the James and landed us at Fortress Monroe, where we were put in an inclosure with a number of other prisoners, and among them the officers and crew of the British steamer "Grayhound," that had been captured while trying to run a blockade into one of the Southern ports.
They all seemed to be Southern sympathizers, and whenever they had an opportunity showed the Confederate prisoners much kindness, even going so far as to distribute gold among them, of which they seemed to have an abundant supply. This was, of course, done on the sly, and the Confederates were careful to conceal these gifts. Those who were well enough off to wear stockings, slipped the gold in their stocking-leg. Some put it in their mouths. This was necessary, as the prisoners were frequently searched.
These Englishmen were loud in their protests, and were making all kinds of threats as to what their Government would do if it learned of their treatment.
After remaining there a few days the Confederates were again marched aboard a steamer and taken to "Point Lookout," where a regular prison-camp had been established. I think there were about 15,000 prisoners at this camp guarded by negro troops, which made our Southern blood boil. As the darkies used to say, "The bottom rail had got on top."
The camp was on a point of land formed by the junction of the Potomac river and Chesapeake Bay on the north side of the river. I imagine there were about ten acres of ground, surrounded by a high board fence, probably about 14 feet high. Just below the top was built a platform about three feet wide, and on this platform the guards walked to and fro with their guns on their shoulders. From their position they could overlook the whole camp, as the ground was perfectly level. There was also a strong guard inside the camp, while artillery and regiments of infantry were stationed near the camp to guard it from outside attack, and one or more gunboats patrolled the waters that nearly surrounded the camp.
Notwithstanding this precaution, occasionally prisoners made their escape. One ingenious method that baffled our guards for a long time was the following:
The prisoners were allowed to go outside of the enclosure on the beach to bathe. And if an empty barrel or box happened to be floating on the water, a prisoner in bathing would watch his opportunity, slip his head under the barrel or box, and then as the tide drifted up the river, would follow it, keeping as near the shore as necessary until he got beyond the reach of the guard, and then take to the woods.
The punishment for trying to escape was cruel. Those who were caught at it were strung up to a pole by the thumbs, with the tips of their toes just touching the ground. Sometimes the men would faint, and had to be cut down.
Upon the whole, prison life was very monotonous. It was an unhealthy camp; so much so, that the prisoners considered that they had a better chance for their lives fighting in the army.
The water was brackish and unpleasant to the taste. The only water we had was from pumps scattered about over the camps, and during the four months that I was there the pumps were always surrounded by a thirsty crowd of from 40 to 50 prisoners, each with his tincup, trying to wedge his way in, that he might quench his thirst.
The food, while good, was very scant. Breakfast consisted of coffee and a loaf of bread, which, under ordinary circumstances, with vegetables and other food, would probably suffice for two meals. This loaf was given us at breakfast, and if we ate it all then we went without bread for dinner. If there was any left over we took it to our tents, laid it on the ground, and saved it for dinner.
The dinners consisted of a tincup of soup (generally bean or other vegetable), a small piece of meat on a tinplate, on which a little vinegar was poured to prevent scurvy. My recollection is we had no other meal, but my mind is not perfectly clear on this point. I do know, however, that we were always hungry, and the chief topic of conversation was the sumptuous meals we had sat down to in other days.
As I recalled the tables of former years laden with bacon, cabbage, potatoes and hominy, I remember how I reproached myself for not having eaten more when I had the opportunity. Delicacies never entered into the discussion; it was always the plain, simple foods that we talked about and longed for.
We were told that the short rations were given us in retaliation for the scanty food supplied to their soldiers in Southern prisons.
The hospitals were crowded all the time, and there were many sick in the camp waiting their opportunity to go into hospitals.
We lived in what is known as Sibley tents, shaped like a bell, with an opening in the top about 15 inches in diameter.
There were 12 men to a tent, who, when they slept, arranged themselves in a circle, like the spokes of a wagon, with their feet toward the center. These tents were as close as they could stand on the ground, with wide avenues between every two rows of tents, thus allowing every tent to front on an avenue.
Every day the prisoners were called out of their tents and formed in line; roll was called and the prisoners searched. And while they were being searched, the guards were searching the tents. For just what purpose this search was done I do not know, unless it was for fear that arms might be smuggled in to be used by the prisoners for making their escape.
Many of the prisoners had a peculiar affection of the eyes, caused, perhaps, by the glare from the white tents, the sand, and the reflection from the water. There was nothing green to be seen anywhere, consequently many of the prisoners became blind for a portion of the 24 hours. Just as the sun was sinking behind the fence they would become totally blind, and had to be led about by someone. As morning light came the blindness would disappear.
Some of the prisoners who were mechanics or artisans got work outside, but I believe they got no pay except full rations and the privilege of bringing things into camp, such as blocks of wood, pieces of metal, etc. Out of these were manufactured a great many interesting little articles—small steam locomotives, wooden fans, rings from rubber buttons set with gold and silver, and sometimes gems. One ingenious fellow built a small distillery and made whiskey from potato rinds or whatever refuse he could pick up, and got drunk on the product.
All about the camp were boards on which these manufactured articles were exposed for sale. A cracker would buy a chew of tobacco. The tobacco was cut up into chews and half chews. The crackers were brought in by the men who went out to work. I cannot recall all the curious things that were exposed for sale within the camp.
Whilst in prison, twice I was very kindly remembered by Miss Melissa Baker of Baltimore, Md., who sent me boxes containing provisions, clothing, towels, soap, toothbrush, jars of preserves, cooked ham, crackers, lemons, tea, coffee and sugar. When I received the first box I just concluded that I was going to kill myself eating. I ate, and ate, and ate. I simply could not stop; and so did all my comrades in the tent.
So, of course, the box didn't last long. However, at first I suffered no evil consequences, but finally, like most of the other prisoners, was taken sick (but not from eating), and my comrades made application for my entrance into the hospital. I had to wait a week or ten days before there was a vacancy. I was carried there on a stretcher, and was so sick that I had to be fed.
Soon after my entrance into the hospital Caleb Rector was brought in. His home was on the turnpike between Middleburg and Upperville. He had a scorching fever, and was soon delirious. I put my hand on him, and the heat almost burned me. One day a nurse took a wet towel and put it on his forehead. Although he was unconscious, I saw a smile play over his face, and as the nurse was bending over him he reached up one hand and caught the nurse by the hair; then pulling his head down, and lifting the wet towel with his other hand, tried to put it on the nurse's forehead. That act revealed the character of the man. He was open-hearted and generous, and the cool towel on his forehead was so pleasant to him that he wanted the nurse to share it with him.
hillGEN. A.P. HILL,Commanding a corps of Lee's army. Killed just before the final surrender.
GEN. A.P. HILL,Commanding a corps of Lee's army. Killed just before the final surrender.
The nurses were all men, chosen from among the prisoners. I never saw a woman the whole time I was in prison.
The hospitals were long tents, each holding about 30 cots. As soon as a patient died, he was taken out to the dead-house, the sheets changed, and another brought in.
When I was first taken there I remarked to my neighbor that I did not think that was very healthy (meaning the placing of a new patient at once on a bed that was still warm from the body that had just been removed). He replied that the bed that I was on had been occupied by a smallpox patient, and I was put on it a few minutes after the patient was taken out.
However, there was a separate hospital for contagious diseases, and the patient was removed as soon as the disease developed.
Most of those who went into the hospital died. The dead were all carried at once to the dead-house on stretchers, and once a day a two-horse wagon came in, and their bodies were laid in it like so much cord wood, uncoffined, taken out and buried in long trenches. The trenches were seven feet wide and three feet deep, and the bodies were laid across the trench side by side and covered with earth.
I had been in prison about four months when news came that the two Governments had agreed upon an exchange of prisoners; it only included the sick in the hospitals. Of course, every patient in the hospital was on the anxious bench and wondering whether he would be included among the fortunate ones. Some days afterward a corps of physicians came to the hospital tents examining the different patients that lay in the cots, taking the name of one and leaving another. I happened to be among those who were selected for exchange. The object seemed to be to take only those who were not liable to be fit for service soon.
We were not at this time exchanged, but each side had agreed to parole the sick from the hospitals, that is, those who were not too ill to be moved. At one time the two Governments freely exchanged prisoners, but this worked so much to the advantage of the South that the North refused to continue the agreement. All Southern soldiers were enlisted for the war, and when the prisoners came back from the North they went at once into the armies of the Confederacy, while Northern prisoners, returning from the South, mostly went to their homes, as they enlisted for one year, and their terms of service in most cases had about expired. Then again, the South was taxed severely to feed its own soldiers and citizens, and were only too glad to get rid of the burden of caring for Northern prisoners, and hence the North did all they could to restrict the exchange of prisoners, but there was such a pressure brought to bear upon the U.S. Government by those who had sick and wounded friends confined in Southern prisons, that now and then each side would parole a number of prisoners from the hospitals who might later be exchanged. My recollection is that about 1500 Confederate prisoners in the hospital at Point Lookout were paroled at this time, and I among them.
We were put on a steamer and carried to a point below Richmond, on the James river, where we met a like number of Federal prisoners that came down from Richmond, and there the exchange was made. The vessel that carried us up the river was a small one, and the sick were packed on the deck and in the hold of the vessel as thick as they could lay. They were all sick, but had to lie on the hard decks with no attention, except that a doctor now and then went through the vessel handing out pills to any who wanted them. He carried them loose in his pocket, and as he stepped between and over the men as they lay on the hard beds, he would say, "Who wants a pill?" And all around him the bony, emaciated arms would be stretched up to receive the medicine. What the pills contained no one knew, but the suffering men swallowed them and asked no questions. They were sick, and needed medicine, and this was medicine. What more did a sick soldier need? The disease, however, was almost entirely a bowel affection, and, perhaps, the same medicine served for all cases. Many died on the way. A large number of the dead were put off at Fortress Monroe as the vessel passed.
Just before reaching the point where the vessels were to meet in the river, our vessel was drawn up alongside of a fine large steamer, and we were transferred to it.
All the very sick were placed upon new mattresses. This was the condition in which we were received by our Confederate friends.
The vessel that landed us on the bank of the James took back the Federal prisoners that had been brought down from Richmond, but I hardly think they were transferred to the smaller vessel that brought us from Point Lookout. The Federal authorities were ashamed to let the officers of the Confederate Government see the miserable condition in which we were transported; hence the transfer to the larger vessel just before delivering us to the Confederates. As soon as we landed we were all given a tincup of hot, nutritious soup, the like of which we had not tasted since leaving our homes for the field, unless it was the soup the Yanks had given us four months before when we embarked on the James river for Fortress Monroe prison.
We were conveyed from this point to Richmond by rail, and distributed among the various army hospitals in the city. I was sent to the Chimborazo Hospital, on the outskirts of the city, located on a bluff looking down the river, within hearing distance of the siege guns on Dury's Bluff, on the James. These were constantly throwing missiles of some sort at the Yankee gunboats below. I remained in the hospital about ten days, and then was considered well enough to go into camp with other convalescents. There were several hundred of us. The camp was near the city.
Some were paroled prisoners and some were from the hospitals of the city, but not strong enough to return to their commands.
All who could reach their homes were allowed leave of absence, but much of the Confederate territory was then in the hands of the Northern armies, and all whose homes could not in safety be reached were placed in camps until they were in condition for active service. Of course, those on parole could not re-enter the army until regularly exchanged.
After remaining in this camp a short time and receiving in Confederate paper money a portion of our pay, we were marched into Richmond and to one of the depots. We did not know what disposition they intended making of us (perhaps we were going to a new camp), but there was a train that was just starting out for Gordonsville, so three of us got on the rear platform of the end car and thus beat our way to Gordonsville without being noticed. This was as far as the train could go in safety on account of the proximity of the enemy. When we got off we noticed Gen. Lee standing in the crowd, having just alighted from the train. I had often seen him, but never got as close to him as I desired. Now, this was my chance. I went up within five feet of him, and took a good look. I never expect again to look upon such a splendid piece of humanity. He was dressed in a new Confederate uniform that fitted him perfectly, with long-legged boots, reaching above the knees. His collar was adorned on each side with three gold stars, surrounded by a gold wreath. His head was covered with a new soft black hat, encircled with a gold cord, from which dangled two gold acorns, one on each end. His hands were covered with yellow buckskin gauntlets, reaching one-third the way to his elbows. His beard was iron-gray, white predominating; it was closely clipped, and was what is called a full beard. I imagined that he was a little over six feet and would weigh 190 pounds. His eyes, I think, were brown, and as bright as stars. No picture could possibly do him justice. I suppose it would take cycles of time to produce another such as he—so perfect in form and feature.
We three at once struck off across the fields to go as far as we could toward our homes. We moved in the direction of Charlottesville, and, avoiding the town, passed beyond, but were soon apprised of the fact that we could not go farther without danger of running into the enemy. We put up at a farmhouse for a few days, and after learning that the enemy had withdrawn from the immediate vicinity, we took to the road, our destination being the home of my brother Gerard, a farmer living near McGaheysville, Rockingham county, just west of the Blue Ridge. We arrived there in due time, and remained quite a while, perhaps a month. We did work about the farm, which was accepted as compensation for our board. Of course, no one thought of asking money consideration from a soldier, and as far as I was concerned, I felt free to come and go without money and without price.
When I was captured I rode a borrowed horse, belonging to one of the members of my command. This horse was not captured with me, and was taken possession of by the owner, but I had a horse that I had left with my brother Gerard to recuperate, and when I reached there I expected to use this horse in getting home. Imagine my disappointment when I was told that he was dead. His rest and good pasture had put fresh blood in his veins and vigorous life in his body, and one day, as he was sporting in the field and performing various gymnastic stunts, he broke a blood vessel, and bled to death.
My brother John, who was then in prison, had a horse there also. I pressed that horse into service, and started for home late in the fall. I got safely through the enemy's lines, and received a warm welcome by the folks at home. I was still a paroled prisoner, and had to refrain from going on any of the expeditions that were making Mosby and his men famous and a terror to the authorities in Washington, although I was strongly tempted to do so. The winter was spent pretty much as the one I have already described. The life of the Confederacy, for whose existence we had suffered and lost so much, was hanging in the balance. Every family was mourning the loss of one or more dead or maimed; food and clothing could hardly be obtained at any price. To add to the distressed condition, a decree had gone out from Washington that all the mills, barns, provender for beast and food for man was to be burned, and all cattle and horses of every description found, driven off. This decree had been carried out with a cruelty that in the light of present-day civilization seems incredible.
The armies, "like the locust of Egypt," went out from Washington, swept down the rich valley of Virginia beyond Staunton and destroyed or carried off everything except the homes and the old men and women and children who occupied them. Many of these homes were destroyed by catching fire from the burning barns and mills. Every part of Virginia within reach of the Northern armies suffered the same devastation.
While I write this, a gentleman sits in my office who was in the Northern army and took part in the burning. I have just read the foregoing to him and asked him if it were not true. "Yes," said he, "every word of it."
Notwithstanding this condition of things, everywhere might be heard the cry, "On with the dance, let joy be unconfined." Mosby's fame as a daring raider had spread far and wide, and his command had increased to over 500. Dashing young cavaliers from every part of Virginia, mounted upon handsome steeds, came trooping in to join his command. They were mostly boys who were too young to enter the army at the beginning of hostilities, but now, as they became old enough to be ranked as soldiers, were anxious to get into the midst of the greatest excitement. The hills and valleys of Loudoun and Fauquier, coupled with parts of the adjacent counties, furnished the field, and John S. Mosby of Warrenton, Va., was accepted as their leader.
What might we expect when these 500 handsome young men, all well mounted and armed, in whose veins flowed the blood of the heroes of the revolution? These 500 heroes, coming in every few days, some of them with the marks of the battle on their bodies and trophies of victories in their hands. What do you suppose those Virginia girls were going to do about it, put on sackcloth and ashes? Well, it was sackcloth they wore, and many of their treasures were in ashes, but their spirits were unbroken. They had faith in the God of battles, and while they could not bear arms, they said, "Let us make merry, for these are our brothers and lovers; we should cheer them with laughter and song; it will make them stronger and braver." And so it did, and they fiddled and danced while "Rome burned."
Some time during the latter part of the winter I learned that all the prisoners who were paroled at a certain time had been exchanged, and were ordered to rejoin their various commands. That included me.
As I was no longer under obligation not to take up arms against the U.S. Government, I could not refrain from taking some part in the upholding of what was often called Mosby's Confederacy (meaning the territory in which he operated), so I was tempted to steal a few more days before obeying the order from Richmond. I went with Mosby on one occasion when the Yankees made a raid through Loudoun and Fauquier with cavalry and artillery seeking to annihilate his command. Mosby had all his force out on the occasion, and hung on the enemy's front flanks and rear from the time they entered Mosby's territory until they left. He did not allow them time to eat, sleep or rest. In an encounter near my home a Yankee's horse was killed, from which I took the bridle, which was a very fine one. In doing so I got my hands bloody, and the blood from the bridle stained my clothes. This started the rumor that I was wounded, and it reached my home before I got there, but I soon arrived and explained the mistake.
Shortly afterward I was in company with a number of others en route for Lee's army, the greater portion of which was south of Richmond, stretching from there to Petersburg.
Now to go back to my capture at Yellow Tavern. After Grant's repulse at Cold Harbor he crossed the James river with his army and began the siege of Richmond, which lasted all through the remainder of the fall and winter of 1864 and 1865 into April.
The colonel of my regiment (Flournoy), who I stated was killed at the battle of Cold Harbor, was the last of the colonels in my brigade to lose his life. A gallant young officer, but a little too fond of the bottle, not very choice in his language, rather reckless. A few days before he was killed he remarked to one of his staff as they stood around the camp-fire, "I don't believe the bullet that is to kill me has yet been molded." Foolish man; at that very time, not far from where he stood, was a soldier in blue carrying about his waist a leather cartridge-box that held the very bullet that was to end his life, and not many hours afterward that bullet and that colonel met. The latter surrendered without a word.
The winter was a long, dreary one, and the Confederates, being compelled to live in the trenches night and day, suffered terribly from cold and hunger. Wade Hampton took Gen. Stuart's place after the latter's death, and during the winter made a raid inside Grant's lines and drove out 1500 head of fat cattle. It did not take Lee's hungry soldiers long to dispose of them and lick their chops for more. Grant's great army, stretching from the James river to Petersburg, compelled Gen. Lee to do the same with his little, half-starved and scantily-clothed force, and all winter long Grant pounded away at Lee's front, trying to break through. The most sensational event that occurred was the battle of the Crater, as it was called. Grant attempted to break Lee's line by digging a great tunnel, which had for its object the blowing up of Lee's intrenchments, and then in the confusion, rushing a large force into the opening. The tunnel was finished up to and under Lee's line and loaded with explosives. I believe there was a premature explosion, which resulted in the killing of more of Grant's soldiers than of Lee's, and then the attack that followed resulted in a great slaughter of Grant's men and the total failure of the project.
From Petersburg to Appomattox and Home.
"There hangs a saber, and there a rein,With a rusty buckle and a green curb chain;A pair of spurs on the old grey wall,And a moldy saddle—well, that is all."
April 2, 1865, Lee was compelled to evacuate Richmond, abandon his whole battle line, and fall back toward the mountains. He hoped to be able to join his forces with those of Gen. Jos. E. Johnston, who was advancing northward through North Carolina, but his losses were so heavy and his army almost starved, the road deep with mud from excessive rains, making it impossible for his gaunt, lean horses to draw his artillery and wagons. He saw further resistance was useless, so on April 9, 1865, Lee surrendered what was left of his once formidable army. The number was a little less than 8000 men. I have seen it stated that Lee had about 35,000 men,[6]when, on April 2, he ordered the evacuation of his line of intrenchments. Some of his cavalry, being on the outskirts, were not included in the surrender. Besides this, during the seven days' retreat, Grant's forces were pressing Lee's army on all sides, killing, wounding and capturing some of his men every hour; this accounts for the small number that Gen. Lee personally surrendered. The first thing that was done after the surrender was an application from Gen. Lee to Grant for food for his horses and men, which was promptly supplied. Of course, there is much that is interesting in connection with the surrender that need not be recorded here. Grant's treatment of Lee and his soldiers won for him praise all over the South.
milestoneONE OF STONEWALL JACKSON'S MILEPOSTS. A FAMILIAR SIGHT TO THOSE WHO TRAVELED THE VALLEY TURNPIKE DURING THE CIVIL WAR.
ONE OF STONEWALL JACKSON'S MILEPOSTS. A FAMILIAR SIGHT TO THOSE WHO TRAVELED THE VALLEY TURNPIKE DURING THE CIVIL WAR.
But to go back. As I have said, I was on the march from home toward the army, and had reached a point not far from Charlottesville. There were about a dozen of us, all belonging to my regiment. About noon we saw advancing toward us a small body of cavalry. At first we took them for the enemy and approached them cautiously, they using the same precaution. When we discovered that we were fellow-Confeds we passed with a salute. One of them called to us and said, "Boys, you may as well go home; Lee has surrendered his army." We paid no attention to it, but moved on. A mile farther we met another squad and asked what was the news from the army. We got this reply: "As we passed through Charlottesville we came near being mobbed for telling the news from the army. You had better go on and find out for yourselves." Soon after this we met a colonel leading about 40 cavalrymen. By this time we began to feel that something was wrong. The colonel halted his men and frankly told us that it was a fact that Lee had surrendered his army. He stated that some of the cavalry had escaped and they were making their way toward their homes, and advised us to do the same. The colonel and his men moved on, and we halted for an hour in the road discussing the situation and trying to determine what to do. We were not prepared to act upon the evidence that we had had regarding the surrender, but were willing to admit that it might be true. One fellow from Company F, riding a gray horse, rose in his stirrups, and lifting his clinched hand high above his head, said, "If Gen. Lee has had to surrender his army, there is not a just God in Heaven."
Finally we decided to cross the mountains into the Virginia Valley and tarry in the vicinity of Staunton and await further tidings. I made a bee-line for my brother Gerard's. The others scattered here and there. After remaining a few days at my brother's I started, in company with six or eight others, who were from the lower end of the valley, principally Clark county, for my home in Loudoun, with no definite idea as to what I should do before I got there. In fact, the others were in the same frame of mind.
We had heard and read the proclamation that all Confederate soldiers who would surrender their arms and take the oath of allegiance to the U.S. Government (except a certain grade of officers) would be allowed to go to their homes and not be molested, but we had not yet come to the point of surrendering.
We moved on down the valley pike, noting as we went the terrible havoc the war had made, commenting on what we called Jackson's mileposts, viz. the skeletons of horses that had fallen by the way. They were, however, too thick to be called mileposts, but that is what we called them.
A little below Woodstock, I think it was, we saw on a hill, standing in the middle of the road facing us, two sentinels on horseback. They were Yankee pickets. I think there were eight of us. We halted. Someone said, "Well, boys, what are we going to do? We can't pass these pickets. Shall we surrender?" I guess we stood there for an hour. We were all mounted. Finally a young fellow from Clark county said, "I'm going up and surrender." Another said, "I go with you." And the two, taking something in their hands that would pass for a flag of truce (white handkerchiefs had become obsolete), went forward and were allowed to pass. They went to headquarters and surrendered. Then one by one the little band melted away, leaving two, and I was one of them. We were not ready to surrender. We went back out of sight, and made a flank movement to get into the foothills of the Massanutten mountains, and by keeping under cover of the timber, managed to get within 12 miles of my home without being molested.
As we stood on the edge of the woods we saw the Yankee cavalry moving up and down the turnpike running from Paris to Middleburg. It looked as if there was nothing else to do but surrender. At this point my comrade deserted me and went forward and surrendered. I watched my opportunity, slipping across the pike unobserved, and following the Blue Ridge mountains until nearly opposite my home, took a straight line across the fields and reached home safely. As I carried my full complement of arms I created no little surprise and consternation.
Union soldiers were constantly passing along the road which ran close by my home, some of them stopping for water or for information, but I could not fully make up my mind to surrender. My brother Richard of Mosby's command was of the same mind. Mosby and all his men had surrendered, and the family pleaded with us to do the same, but we were obstinate. This, however, was nothing to our credit. When one is whipped he should be man enough to acknowledge it and brave enough to surrender, unless the conqueror be a cannibal.
Thus ended my career as a soldier. As I look back over those four eventful years, after a lapse of over 40 years, it all seems a dream. In time of peace it is a struggle for 75 per cent. of us to get a fair living out of the earth, but the people down South managed to live, and were in a degree comfortable and contented, and managed to get food enough to preserve their bodies and keep them strong and healthy. Flour was $500 a barrel. I paid $125 in Richmond for a hat that I could now buy for $1. This common red-striped candy, $25 per pound. Samuel Rector had gone from Loudoun county to Richmond in 1864 on some business. When ready to go home he thought it would be nice and the proper thing to do to take the family some little remembrances. He went into a confectionery store and asked to see some candies. The jars were taken down and he tasted first one then another. Selecting one and asking the price, he was told that it was $25 per pound. It was of the long, red-striped variety just mentioned, worth in times of peace about 10 cents per pound. He had a pound of it wrapped up, and handed the proprietor a $50 Confederate note. Twenty dollars was handed back in change. Mr. Rector said, "I understood you to say the price was $25." "That is true," said the affable confectioner, "but you ate $5 worth." The joke was well worth $5 to Mr. Rector, and he got more pleasure out of it than he did out of the pound of candy.
There were four commodities with which the South was plentifully supplied, viz., tobacco, cotton, money and horses. We raised the two former in the territory not harassed by marching armies. The third was supplied by printing presses, and the horses were captured from our enemy. Of course, bridles, saddles, harness and wagons came with the horses.
I have omitted a great many little entertaining incidents partly for the sake of brevity and partly because they escaped my memory at the time they should have been narrated. One that I just now recall, and one which the children always used to make me tell whenever war stories were called for, regardless of how often it had been repeated, I will insert here:
One cold, windy night in the winter of '62 I was on picket on the turnpike between Upperville and Middleburg. Pickets in the Confederate army always stood alone, as two or more would likely be absorbed in conversation and forget their duty. We were also admonished not to dismount. I was a little reckless that night, and dismounting stood leaning against my horse to break the bleak wind and absorb as much heat from his body as possible. He became restless, and I noticed that he was looking intently down the pike and throwing his head up and down as horses will do when excited. I listened, but could hear no sound, and told my steed to keep still, but his keen eyes or ears saw or heard something that worried him, and he kept his ears pointed down in the direction from which the enemy would probably come if they came at all. I said to myself, "You had better mount your horse." But I delayed. I then recalled the fact that news had reached the camp that day that a body of cavalry had left the vicinity of Washington and was moving northeast, and we were admonished to keep a sharp lookout. Then I concluded to mount, but before I could do so I realized that it was too late.
I was standing close by one of those old Virginia stone fences, about five feet high, and in the darkness I saw an object creeping up on the other side of the fence, close to it, and only a few feet from where I stood. I immediately concluded that the object was a man, and that he was from the enemy and was bent on capturing or killing the picket, so as to surprise our camp. The most accessible weapon I had was my sabre. I drew it and made a cut at what I conceived to be the man's head. As I did so, the object disappeared behind the fence, and in its place appeared what proved to be a black cat's tail, which in a flash followed the cat. Although it was quite dark, the little black object appearing between me and the sky was plainly visible. This incident taught me a lesson that I never forgot. I mounted my horse, and never was known afterward to dismount when on the picket line. I believe this was the greatest fright I encountered during my whole four years' war experience.
One more little incident, and a short tribute to the remarkable fidelity of the colored people of the South to the Southern cause and the families of their owners, and I shall have finished.
There was in my company a soldier by the name of Owens—Mason Owens. He was a splendid fellow, quiet in his demeanor, brave in battle, always in his place, whether that place was in the front or rear rank, but never liked to do anything that called for disguise or deception, such as acting as a spy or disguised as a Union soldier, in order to get into the enemy's camp, although he recognized that it was necessary to have men for work of this kind. Owens was very fond of me; in fact, I had no more faithful friend in the army. He was continually with me, doing me favors, sharing with me any delicacy that came into his possession, keeping close by me in battle. Sometimes when the regiment would be ordered to dismount for the purpose of engaging the foe on foot (and he was No. 4, making it his duty to remain mounted and take care of Nos. 1, 2, and 3 horses), he would quickly dismount and take my place in the ranks and leave me the care of the horses (a place few objected to having), and many like favors. One afternoon, near night, our captain said that he had a requisition for six picked men to do some hazardous nightwork within the enemy's lines, just the kind of duty that Owens detested. But fate was against him, and he and five others were selected. He sullenly complied, and as he rode out of the ranks with his face flushed and his head bowed, I heard him say, "I don't like this." Someone said, "Owens, I'll take your place." He turned and gave him a look that must have chilled the fellow's blood, and said, "Didn't you hear Capt. Gibson call me?"
I saw the six ride off; Owens didn't even say good-bye to me. That night one of Lee's noted scouts led these men, with others taken from other commands, into the enemy's camp, and Owens never returned. He was shot, and fell from his horse, dying either from cold or the wound. At intervals during the night a citizen living near where he fell heard someone calling, but was afraid to go out. The next morning he found his dead body and buried it. I grieved very much over his death, occuring as it did.
Now I want to say that I shall ever have a tender spot in my breast for the colored people, owing to what I know of the race, judged from my association with them from early childhood up to and including the years of the Civil War, and, indeed, some years after.
My home in Loudoun county, on the border line between the North and South, gave me an unusual opportunity of judging how far the negro could be trusted in caring for and protecting the homes of the men who were in the Southern armies. Scattered all through the South, and especially in the border States, there were white men who were not in sympathy with the South, and some of them acted as spies and guides for the Northern troops as they marched and counter-marched through the land. But I never knew of a negro being guilty of like conduct. They not only watched over and protected the women and children in their homes, but were equally as faithful and careful to protect the Southern soldier from capture when he returned home to see his loved ones.
No soldier in Loudoun or Fauquier counties ever feared that his or his neighbor's servants would betray him to the enemy. The negro always said, in speaking of the Southern soldiers, "our soldiers," although he well knew that the success of the North meant his freedom, while the success of the South meant the continuation of slavery.
Another remarkable thing. No one ever heard of a negro slave, or, so far as I know, a free negro of the South, offering an insult or an indignity to a white woman. They were frequently commissioned to escort the daughters of the family to church or to school, or on any expedition taking them from home. Sometimes the distance was long and across fields and through lonely woods, but the kinky-headed, pigeon-heeled colored man always delivered his charge safely, and would have died in his footsteps to do it if the occasion required. Freedom, education, or both, or something else, has developed in the negro a trait that no one ever dreamed he possessed until after the close of the Civil War. Hence, I have a great respect for the race. Not, however, on account of this lately-developed trait, but for those other traits that were so much in evidence during the time that tried men's souls.
The following is the name of the several divisions of the army in which I served, and the names of the chief of each division from the captain of my company to the commander-in-chief of the army:
Company.—I was in Company A, first commanded by Col. Richard H. Dulaney, who served a few months and was promoted. He was succeeded by Bruce Gibson of Fauquier county, Virginia, who served during the entire war, and was once knocked from his horse by the concussion of a shell, but sustained no other injuries. Was a prisoner from June, 1864, to the end of the war.
Regiment.—Sixth Virginia Cavalry, commanded first by ex-Governor Flournoy, who served one year, retired on account of age, was succeeded by his son, who was killed at Cold Harbor in June, 1864, and was succeeded by Richards from Clark county, Virginia. The regiment was composed of ten companies, and came from the following counties: Loudoun, Fauquier, Clark and Prince William.
Brigade.—First; Robinson, and then Gen. Wm. E. Jones, who was killed; then Gen. Lomax, who, I believe, is still living near Warrenton, Fauquier county, Virginia.
Division.—Gen. Fitzhugh Lee, nephew of Gen. Robert E. Lee. He survived the war, and died a few months ago.
Corps.—Commanded by Gen. J.E.B. Stuart, who was killed at Yellow Tavern in 1864. He was succeeded by Gen. Wade Hampton of South Carolina, who survived the war and died a few years ago.
Army.—Northern Virginia; commanded first by Gen. P.G.T. Beauregard, who was succeeded by Joseph E. Johnston, who was succeeded by Gen. Robert E. Lee, who held the position until the close of the war. Lee was also made commander-in-chief of all the Confederate armies.