The Example of Lee, Jackson and Stuart
Now when these men got into the army the “esprit de corps” took possession of them. They got shaken down tosoldierthoughts, and judgments. They began to estimate men by their personal value to the cause that was their supreme concern. In that army, three men held the highest place in the heart and mind, of every soldier in it—they were General Lee, Stonewall Jackson and Jeb Stuart—each the highest in his line.All the army had, for these three men, reverent honor, enthusiastic admiration, and absolute confidence. We looked up to them as the highest types of manhood—in noble character, superb genius, and consummate ability. They were by eminence the heroes—the beloved leaders of the army. There were many other able, and brilliant leaders, whom we honored, but these were set apart. In the thoughts, and hearts of all the army, and the country as well, these three were the noblest and highest representatives of our cause; and every man did homage to them, and was proud to do it. But, as was known, with all their high qualities of genius, and personal character, and superb manhood, each one of these three men was a devout member of Christ’s Church; a sincere and humble disciple of Jesus Christ; and in his daily life and all his actions and relations in life, was a consistent Christian man. All his brilliant service to his country was done as duty to his God, and all his plans and purposes were “referred to God, and His approval and blessing invoked upon them, as the only assurance of their success.” All who were personally associated with these men came to know that this was the spirit of their lives; and many times, in religious services, in camp, these men, so idolized by the army, and so great in all human eyes but their own, could be seen bowing humbly down beside the private soldiers to receive the holy sacrament of the Blessed Body and Blood of Christ.
Now, when the men, who had been so indifferent to religion at home, as so unnecessary for them, came up against this fact, and came to look up to these three men as their highest ideals of manhood, they got an eye opener. If men like Lee, and Jackson, and Stuart, and others, felt the need of religion for themselves, the thought would come, “Maybe I need it, too. No man can look down on the manhood of these men; if they esteem religion as the crown of their manhood, it is not a thing to be despised, or neglected, or treated with indifference. It is a thing to be sought, and found and taken into my life.” And this train of thought arrested the attention, and got the interest and stirred to truer thoughts, and finally brought them to Christ. Thousands of these men were led to become devout Christians, and earnest members of the church through the influence of the three great Christian leaders, and other Christian comrades in the army.
Now, when these men got back home after the war and the survivors of those groups got settled back in their various communities, there was a great difference in the religious situation, from what it had been before the war. There had taken place a complete change in these men, in their attitude toward religion, and this wrought a great change in this respect in their communities, for the returned soldiers of any community were given a place of peculiar honor, and influence. They had their record of splendid, and heroicservice behind them and they were held in affectionate, and tender regard—not only by their own families, and friends, but by all their neighbors and fellow-citizens. What that group of soldiers thought, and wanted,wentin that town, or countryside.
Now, that group of men who set the pace, and made the atmosphere in that community were Christians. The serious phase of life; the seasoning of hardships; the discipline; the oft facing of death; the stern habit of duty at any cost, which they had passed through during the war had made them very strong men, and very earnest Christians. What they stood for, they stood for boldly, and outspokenly on all proper occasions. They were not one whit ashamed of their religion and were ready at all times, and about all matters to let the world know just where they stood; to declare by word, and deed who they were, and whom they served.
All this set up before the eyes of that community a very strong, forcible, manly type of religion. These were not women, and children, and they were not sick or weak men—they were the very manliest men in that town, and so were taken and accepted by general consent.
Just think of the effect of that situation upon the boys and young men growing up in that community. The veteran soldiers, back from the war, with all their honors upon them—were heroes to the young fellows.What the soldiers said, and did, were patterns for them to imitate; and the pattern of Christian life, set up before the youngsters, made religion, and church membership most honorable in their eyes. They did not now, as aforetime, have to overcome the obstacle in a young man’s mind which lay in the association of weakness with religion, and which had largely been suggested to them by the older men, in the former times.
The old Christian soldiers, whom they now saw, set up in them the idea that religion was the manliest thing in the world, and so inclined them toward it, and assured the most serious, and respectful consideration of it. Religion could not be put aside lightly, or treated with contempt as unmanly, for those veteran heroes were living it and stood for it, and they were, in their eyes, the manliest men they knew.
Now, this leaven of truer thought about religion was leading society all through the South; the Southern men and boys everywhere were feeling its influence, and it was having most remarkable effects. The increase in the number of men, who after the war were brought into the church by the direct influence of the returned soldiers, “who had found their souls” through the experiences of their army life, was tremendous. Those soldiers did a bigger service to the men of their race by bringing back religion to them than they did in fighting for them during the war.
Just after the war, in the far harder trials and soul agony of the Reconstruction days, I think that the wonderful patience, and courage which resisted humiliation, and won back the control of their States, and rebuilt their shattered fortunes and pulled their country triumphantly up out of indescribable disaster, can only be thus really explained—that those men were “strong and of a good courage” because “their minds were staked on God.”
The history of the Southern people during that epoch is unmatched by the history of any people in all time. The result they achieved, this was the reason—beneath the superb “grit” of the Southern people lay deep the conviction “God is our refuge and strength” and “The God whom we serve. He will deliver us.” It was the spiritual vision of the men of the South that saved it when it was ready to perish—and let the men of the South never forget it! Let them give unceasing recognition and thanks to God, for that great deliverance.
If I have made clear my thought—the connection of the religious revival in the army with the fortunes of our people at home after the war—I am glad! If I haven’t, I am sorry! I can’t say any fairer than that, and I can only make the plea that was stuck up in a church in the West, in the old rough days, when a dissatisfied auditor of the sermon, or the organist, was likely to express his disapproval with a gun. The notice up in front of the choir read like this: “Pleasedon’t shoot the musician, he’s doing his level best”—I make the same request.
But, to return to our muttons! Let us get back to the winter camp at Morton’s Ford.
Spring Sprouts and a “Tar Heel” Story
The winter had now worn away and the spring had come. Vegetation began to show signs of life. Its coming bore us one comfort in one way—among others. It was not so cold, and we did not have to tote so many logs of wood to keep up our fires. Down on the river flats, where vegetation showed sooner than it did on the hills, green things began to shoot up. Dandelions, sheep sorrel, poke leaves and such, though not used in civil life, were welcome to us, for they were much better than no salad at all. The men craved something green. The unbroken diet of just bread and meat—generally salt meat at that—gave some of the men scurvy. The only remedy for that was something acid, or vegetable food. The men needed this and craved it—so when the green shoots of any kind appeared we would go down on the flats, and gather up all the green stuff we could find, and boil it with the little piece of bacon we might have. It improved the health of the men very much.
At this time, there was a North Carolina Brigade of Infantry at the front furnishing pickets for the river bank. They were camped just back of our winter quarters. Those fellows seemed to be very specially strong in their yearning for vegetable diet, so much sothat they attracted our attention. Every day we would see long lines of those men passing through our camp. They would walk along, one behind another, in almost unending procession, silent and lonesome, never saying a word and never two walking together—and all of them meandered along intent on one thing—getting down to the flats below “to get some sprouts” as they would say when asked where they were going.
Later on, we would see them in the same solemn procession coming back to camp—every man with a bunch of something green in his fist.
This daily spectacle of Tar Heels swarming through our camp interested us; we watched them mooning along. We tried to talk with them, but all we got from them was, “We’uns is going to git some sprouts. Don’t you’uns love sprouts?”
We did, but we didn’t go after them in such a solemn manner. Our “sprout” hunts were not so funereal a function; rather more jovial, and much more sociable. Also this devotion to the search for the herb of the field excited our curiosity. They were all the time craving green stuff, and going after it so constantly. We had a story going around which was supposed to explain the craving of a Tar Heel’s insides for greens.
This was the story:
One of these men got into the hospital. He had something the matter with his liver. The doctor tried his best to find out what was the matter, and tried allsorts of remedies—no results. At last, in desperation, the doctor decided to try heroic treatment. He cut the fellow open, took out his liver, fixed it up all right (whatever that consisted in), washed it off and hung it on a bush to dry, preparatory to putting it back in place. A dog stole the liver, and carried it off. Here was a bad state of things—the soldier’s liver gone, the doctor was responsible. The doctor was up against it. He thought much, and anxiously. At last a bright idea struck him. He sent off, got a sheep, killed it, took out its liver, got it ready, and sewed it up in that soldier in place of his own. The man got well, and about his duties again. One day, soon after, the doctor met him and said with much friendly interest, “Well, Jim, how are you?”
“Oh, doctor,” he replied in a very cheerful tone, “I’m well and strong again.”
The doctor looked at him, and asked him significantly, “Jim, do you feelall right?”
Falling into that characteristic whine, Jim said, “Yes, sir, I am well and strong, but, Doctor, all the time, now, I feel the strangest hankering after grass.”
That was the sheep’s liver telling. Our theory was that all of those fellows had sheep’s livers, and that accounted for the insatiable “hankering after grass.”
I told this story in an after-dinner speech at a banquet some time ago to a company of twenty-nine female doctors of medicine—trained, and practicingphysicians. They made no protest; listened with unbroken gravity; accepted it as a narrative of actual occurrence, and looked at me with wide-eyed interest. When I finished I thought it best to tell them that it was all a joke. Then they laughed themselves into a fit.
Well, this little account of our doings, and our life in the winter camp at Morton’s Ford—1863-1864—is done. Out of its duties, and companionships; its pleasures, and its deeper experiences, we Howitzers were laying up pleasant memories of the camp for the years to come. And often in after years, when some of us comrades got together we would speak of the old camp at Morton’s Ford.
The spring was now coming on. We knew that our stay here could not last much longer. How, and when, and where we should go from here, we did not know. We knew we would go somewhere—that was all. “We would know when the time came, and ‘Marse Robert’ wanted us” he would tell us.
That is the soldier’s life—“Go, and he goeth; come, and he cometh; do this, and he doeth it.” No choice. Wait for orders—then, quick! Go to it!
Well we were perfectly willing to trust “Marse Robert” and perfectly ready to do just what he said. Meantime we take no anxious thought for the morrow; we go on with our work, and our play—we are “prepared to move at a moment’s warning.”
Nineteen miles from Orange Court House, Virginia, the road running northeast into Culpeper crosses “Morton’s Ford” of the Rapidan River, which, just now, lay between the Federal “Army of the Potomac” and the Confederate “Army of Northern Virginia.”
As this road approaches within three-fourths of a mile of the river it rises over a sharp hill, and, thence, winds its way down the hill to the Ford. On the ridge, just where the road crosses it, the guns of the “First Richmond Howitzers” were in position, commanding the Ford; and the Howitzer Camp was to the right of the road, in the pine wood just back of the ridge. Here, we had been on picket all the winter, helping the infantry pickets to watch the enemy and guard the Ford.
One bright sunny morning, the 2d of May, 1864, a courier rode into the Howitzer Camp. We had been expecting him, and knew at once that “something was up.” The soldier instinct and long experience told us that it was about time for something toturn up. The long winter had worn away; the sun and winds, of March and April, had made the roads firm again. Just across the river lay the great army, which was only waiting for this, to make another desperate push for Richmond, and we were there for the particular purpose of making that push vain.
For some days we had seen great volumes of smoke rising, in various directions, across the river, and heard bands playing, and frequent volleys of firearms, over in the Federal Camp. Everybody knew what all this meant, so we had been looking for that courier.
Soon after we reached the Captain’s tent, orders were given to pack up whatever we could not carry on the campaign, and in two hours, a wagon would leave, to take all this stuff to Orange Court House; thence it would be taken to Richmond and kept for us, until next winter.
This was quickly done! The packing was not done in “Saratoga trunks,” nor were the things piles of furs and winter luxuries. The “things” consisted of whatever, above absolute necessaries, had been accumulated in winter quarters; a fiddle, a chessboard, a set of quoits, an extra blanket, or shirt, or pair of shoes, that any favored child of Fortune had been able to get hold of during the winter. Everything like this must go. It did not take long to roll all the “extras” into bundles, strap them up andpitch them into the wagon. And in less than two hours after the order was given the wagon was gone, and the men left in campaign “trim.”
This meant that each man had, left, one blanket, one small haversack, one change of underclothes, a canteen, cup and plate, of tin, a knife and fork, and the clothes in which he stood. When ready to march, the blanket, rolled lengthwise, the ends brought together and strapped, hung from left shoulder across under right arm, the haversack,—furnished with towel, soap, comb, knife and fork in various pockets, a change of underclothes in one main division, and whatever rations we happened to have, in the other,—hung on the left hip; the canteen, cup and plate, tied together, hung on the right; toothbrush, “at will,” stuck in two button holes of jacket, or in haversack; tobacco bag hung to a breast button, pipe in pocket. In this rig,—into which a fellow could get in just two minutes from a state of rest,—the Confederate Soldier considered himself all right, and ready for anything; in this he marched, and in this he fought. Like the terrapin—“all he had he carried on his back”—thisallweighed about seven or eight pounds.
The extra baggage gone, all of us knew that the end of our stay here was very near, and we were all ready to pick up and go; we were on the eve of battle and everybody was on the “qui vive” for decisive orders. They quickly came!
“Marse Robert” Calls to Arms
On the next day but one, the 4th, about 10 o’clock, another courier galloped into camp, and, in a few moments, everybody having seen him, all the men had swarmed up to the Captain’s tent to hear the first news. Captain McCarthy came toward us and said, very quietly, “Boys, get ready! we leave here in two hours.” Then the courier told us that “Grant was crossing below us in the wilderness. That everything we had was pushing down to meet him; and that Longstreet, lately back from Tennessee, was at Gordonsville.” The news telling was here interrupted by Crouch sounding the familiar bugle call—“Boots and saddles,” which, to artillery ears, said, “Harness up, hitch up and prepare to move at a moment’s warning.”
The fellows instantly scattered, every man to his quarters, and for a few minutes nothing could be seen but the getting down and rolling up of “flys” from over the log pens they had covered, rolling up blankets, getting together of each man’s traps where he could put his hands on them. The drivers took their teams up on the hill to bring down the guns from their positions. All was quickly ready, and then we waited for orders to move.
It was with a feeling of sadness we thought of leaving this spot! It had been our home for several months; it was painful to see it dismantled, and to think that the place, every part of which had somepleasant association with it, would be left silent and lonely, and that we should see it no more.
While we waited, after each had bidden a sad “good-bye” to his house, and its endeared surroundings, it was suggested that we gather once more, for a last meeting in our log church. All felt that this was a fitting farewell to the place. To many of us this little log church was a sacred place, many a hearty prayer meeting had been held there; many a rousing hymn, that almost raised the roof, many a good sermon and many a stirring talk had we heard; many a manly confession had been declared, many a hearty, impressive service in the solemn Litany of the Church, read by us, young Churchmen, in turn. To all the Christians of the Battery (they now numbered a large majority) this church was sacred. To some, it was very, very sacred, for in it they had been born again unto God. Here they had been led to find Christ, and in the assemblies of their comrades gathered here, they had, one after another, stood up and, simply, bravely, and clearly, witnessed a “good confession” of their Lord, and of their faith.
So, we all instantly seized on the motion, to gather in the church. A hymn was sung, a prayer offered for God’s protection in the perils we well knew, we were about to meet. That He would help us to be brave men, and faithful unto death, as Southern soldiers; that He would give victory to our arms, and peace to our Country. A Scripture passage, the 91stPsalm, declaring God’s defense of those who trust Him, was read. And then, our “talk meeting.” It was resolved that “during the coming campaign, every evening, about sunset, whenever it was at all possible, we would keep up our custom, and such of us as could get together,wherever we might be, should gather for prayer.”
And, in passing, I may remark, as a notable fact, that this resolution was carried outalmost literally. Sometimes, a few of the fellows would gather in prayer, while the rest of us fought the guns. Several times, to myvery livelyrecollection we metunder fire. Once, I remember, a shell burst right by us, and covered us with dust; and, once, I recall withvery particulardistinctness, a Minie bullet slapped into a hickory sapling, against which I was sitting, not an inch above my head. Scripture was being read at the time, and the fellows were sitting around with their eyes open. I had tolookas if I had as lieve be there, as anywhere else; but Ihadn’t, by a large majority. Icouldnot dodge, as I was sitting down, but felt like drawing in my back-bone until it telescoped.
But, however circumstanced, in battle, on the battle line, in interims of quiet, or otherwise, we held that prayer hour nearly every day, at sunset, during the entire campaign. And some of us thought, andthinkthat the strange exemption our Battery experienced, our little loss, in the midst of unnumbered perils, and incessant service, during that awful campaign, was, that, in answer to our prayers, “the God of battlescovered our heads in the day of battle” and was merciful to us, because we “called upon Him.” If any think this a “fond fancy”we don’t.
Well! to get back! After another hymn, and a closing prayer, we all shook hands, and then, we took a regretful leave of our dear little Church, and wended our way, quiet and thoughtful, to the road where we found the guns standing, all ready to go. Pretty soon the command—“Forward!” rang from the head of the line. We fell in alongside our respective guns, and with a ringing cheer of hearty farewell to the old Camp, we briskly took the road,—to meet, and to do, what was before us.
We tramped along cheerily until about dark, when we bivouacked on the side of the road, with orders to start at daylight next morning. As we pushed along the road,—what road! gracious only knows, but a country road bearing south toward Verdiersville,—brigades, and batteries joined our march, from other country roads, by which we found that all our people were rapidly pushing in from the camps and positions they had occupied during the winter, and the army was swiftly concentrating.
It was very pleasant to us to get into the stir of the moving army again, as we had been off, quite by ourselves, during the winter, and the greetings and recognitions that flew back and forth as we passed, or were passed by, well known brigades or batteries, were hearty and vociferous. Such jokes and“chaffing” as went on! As usual, every fellow had his remark upon everything and everybody he passed. Any peculiarity of dress or appearance marked out a certain victim to the witty gibes of the men, which had to be escaped from, or the victim had to “grin and bear it.” If “Puck” or “Punch” could have marched with a Confederate column once, they might have laid in a stock of jokes and witticisms,—and first-class ones, too,—for use the rest of their lives.
Next morning, at daylight,—the 5th of May,—we promptly pulled out, and soon struck the highway, leading from Orange Court House to Fredericksburg, turned to the left and went sweeping on toward “The Wilderness.”
The Spirit of the Soldiers of the South
Here we got into the full tide of movement. Before and behind us the long gray columns were hurrying on to battle,—and as merry as crickets.
One thing that shone conspicuous here, and always, was the indomitablespiritof the “Army of Northern Virginia,” their intelligence about military movements; their absolute confidence in General Lee, and their quiet, matter of course,certainty of victory, under him. Here they were pushing right to certain battle, the dust in clouds, the sun blazing down, hardly anything to eat, and yet, with their arms and uniform away, a spectator might have taken them for a lot of “sand-boys on a picnic,”ifthere had only been some eatables along, to give color to this delusion.
And their intelligence! These men were not parts of a great machine moving blindly to their work. Very far from it! Stand on the roadside, as they marched by and hear their talk, the expression of their opinions about what was going on, you soon found that these men, privates, as well as officers, were well aware of what they were doing, and where they were going. In a general way, they knew what was going on, and what wasgoing to go on, with the strangest accuracy. By some quick, and wide diffusion of intelligence among the men, they understood affairs, and the general situation perfectly well. For instance, as we passed on down that road to the fight, we knew,—justhowwe didn’t know,—but wedid know, and it was commonly talked of and discussed, as ascertained fact, among us as we marched,—that General Grant had about 150,000 men moving on us. We knew that Longstreet was near Gordonsville, and that one Division of A. P. Hill had not come up. We knew that we had, along with us there, only Ewell’s Corps and two divisions of A. P. Hill’s Corps, the cavalry and some of Longstreet’s artillery. In short, as I well remember, it was a fact, accepted among us, that General Lee was pushing, as hard as he could go, for Grant’s 150,000 with about 35,000 men; and yet, knowing all this, these lunatics were sweeping along to that appallingly unequal fight, cracking jokes, laughing, and with not the least idea in the world ofanything else but victory. I did not hear a despondent word, nor see a dejected face among the thousands I saw and heard that day. I bear witness to this fact, which I wondered at then, and wonder at now. It is one of the most stirring and touching of my memories of the war. It was the grandest moral exhibition I ever saw! For it was simply the absolute confidence in themselves and in their adored leader. They had seen “Marse Robert” ride down that road, they knew he was at the front, and that was all theycaredto know. The thing wasboundto go right—“Wasn’t Lee there?” And the devil himself couldn’t keep them from going where Lee went, or where he wanted them to go. God bless them, living, or dead, for their loyal faith, and their heroic devotion!
Peace Fare and Fighting Rations!
I have alluded to rations; they were scarce here, as always when any fighting was on hand. Even in camp, where all was at its best, we had for rations, per day, one and a half pints of flour, or coarse cornmeal,—ground with thecobin it we used to think,—and one-quarter of a pound of bacon, or “mess pork,” or a pound, far more often half a pound, of beef.
But, in time of a fight! Ah then, thin was the fare! That small ration dwindled until, at times, eating was likely to become a “lost art.” I have seen a man, Bill Lewis, sit down and eat three days’ rations at one time. He said “He did not want the trouble of carrying it,andhe did wantonemeal occasionally that wasn’t an empty form.” The idea seemed to bethat a Confederate soldier wouldfightexactly in proportion as hedidn’t eat. And hisbusinesswas tofight. This theory was put into practice on a very close and accurate calculation; with the odds that, as a rule, we had against us, in the battles of the Army of Northern Virginia, we had to meet two or three to one. Then, each Confederate soldier was called upon to be equal to two or three Federal soldiers, and, therefore, each Confederate must have butone-halforone-thirdthe rations of a Federal soldier. It was easy figuring, and so it was arranged in practice.
It was eminently so in this campaign, from the first. When we left camp, on the 4th a few crackers and small piece of meat were given us, and devoured at once. That evening, and on this day, the 5th, we receivednone at all, and in that hard, forced march we became very hungry. An incident that occurred will show how hungry we were. As we passed the hamlet of Verdiersville, I noticed a little negro boy, black as the “ace of spades” and dirty as a pig, standing on the side of the road gazing with staring eyes at the troops, and holding in his hand a piece of ash-cake, which he was eating. A moment after I passed him, our dear old comrade and messmate, Dr. Carter, the cleanest and most particular man in the army, came running after us (Carter Page, John Page, George Harrison, and myself) with gleeful cries, “Here, fellows, I’ve got something. It isn’t much,but it will give us a bite apiece. Here! look at this, a piece of bread! let me give you some.”
As he came up he held in his hand the identical piece of bread I had seen the little darkey munching on. It was a small, wet, half-raw fragment of corn ash-cake, and it had moulded on one edge a complete cast of that little nigger’s mouth, the perfect print of every tooth. The Doctor had bought it from him for fifty cents, and now, wanted to divide it with us four—a rather heroic thought that was, in a man hungry as a wolf. Of course we young fellows flatly refused to divide it, as we knew the Doctor, twice our age, needed it more than we. We said, “We were not hungry; couldn’t eat anything to save us.” A lie, that I hope the recording Angel, considering the motive, didn’t take down; or, if he did, I hope he added a note explaining the circumstances.
We then began to joke the Doctor about the print of the little darkey’s teeth on his bread and suggested to him, to break off that part. “No, indeed,” said the Doctor, gloating over his precious ash-cake, “Bread’s too scarce,Idon’t mind about the little nigger’s teeth, I can’t spare a crumb.” And when he found he could not force us to take any, he ate it all up.
Indifference to the tooth prints was a perfectly reasonable sentiment, under the circumstances, and one in which we all would have shared, for we were wolfish enough to have eaten the “little nigger” himself. The Doctor didn’t mind the little chap’s tooth marksthenbut—he didafterwards. After he had been pacified with a square meal, the idea wasn’t so pleasant, and though we often recalled the incident, afterwards, the Doctor could not rememberthis part of it. He remembered the piece of ash-cake, but, somehow, he could not be brought to recall the tooth marks in it. Not he!
It was about eleven o’clock when we passed Verdiersville. Soon after, we turned down a road, which led over to the plank road on which A. P.Hill’s column was moving. Hour after hour all the morning, reports had come flying back along the columns, that our people, at the front, had seen nothing but Federal Cavalry; hadn’t been able to unearth any infantry at all. An impression began to get about that maybe after all, there had been a mistake, and that Grant’s army was not in front of us.
About this time, that impression was suddenly and entirely dispelled. A distinct rattle of musketry broke sharply on our ears, and we knew, at once, that we had foundsomething, and, in fact, it was soon clear that we had found Federal infantry, enough and to spare.
That sudden outbreak of musketry quickened every pulse, and every step too, in our columns. Harder than ever we pushed ahead, and as we advanced, the firing grew louder, and the volume heavier till it was a long roar. The long-roll beat inour marching columns, and some of the infantry brigades broke into the double quick to the front, and we could see them heading off, right and left into the woods.
Marse Robert’s Way of Making One Equal to Three
We had now come to the edge of that forest and thicket-covered district, the “Wilderness of Spottsylvania.”
Grant had crossed the Rapidan into this tangled chaparral, and it is said he was very much surprised that Lee did not dispute the passage of the river. But “Ole Marse Robert” had cut too many eye teeth to do anything like that. He was far too deep a file, to stop his enemy from getting himself into “a fix.” He knew that when Grant’s great army got over there, they would be “entangled in the land, the wilderness would shut them in.”
In that wilderness, three men were not three times as many as one man. No! no! not at all! Quite the reverse! Lee wouldn’t lift a finger to keep Grant fromgettingintothe wilderness, but quick as a flash he was, to keep him from getting out. This, was why he had been marching the legs off of us, rations or no rations. This, was why he couldn’t wait for Longstreet, but tore off with the men he had, to meet Grant and fight him, before he could disentangle himself from The Wilderness. We had got up in time; and into the chaparral our men plunged to get at the enemy, and out of it was now roaring back over our swift columns the musketry of the advance. Asbrigade after brigade dashed into line of battle the roar swelled out grander, and more majestic, until it became a mighty roll of hoarse thunder, which made the air quiver again, and seemed to shake the very ground. The battle of The Wilderness was begun, in dead earnest.
The crushing, pealing thunder kept up right along, almost unbroken, hour after hour, all through the long noon, and longer evening, until just before night, it slackened and died away. It was the mostsolemnsound I ever heard, or ever expect to hear, on earth. I never heard anything like it in any other battle. Nothing could be seen, no movements of troops, in sight, to distract attention, or rivet one’s interest on the varying fortunes of a battlefield. Only,—out of the dark woods, which covered all from sight, rolled upward heavy clouds of battle-smoke, and outward, that earth shaking thunder, now and then fiercely sharpened by the “rebel yell,”—the scariest sound that ever split a human ear,—as our men sprang to the death grapple.
We had pushed up along with the rest; but by and by our guns were ordered to halt, to let the infantry go by. Here, while we waited for them to pass, we saw the first effects of the fight. Just off the road there was a small open field containing a little farmhouse and garden and apple orchard, where the cavalry had been at work, that morning before we cameup. Around the house and in the orchard lay ten dead Federal troops, three of our men, and a number of horses; all lying as they had fallen. One of the Federals was lying with one leg under his horse, and the other over him; both had, apparently, been instantly killed by the same ball, which had gone clear through the heads of both man and horse. They had fallen together, the man hardly moved from his natural position in the saddle. Another had a sword thrust through his body, and two others, in their terribly gashed heads, gave evidence that they had gone down under the sabre. The rest of them, and all three of our men, had been killed by balls. Not a living thing was seen about the place.
We were called away from this ghastly scene by the guns starting again, and we moved on rapidly to the front. As we went, at a trot, one of the men, John Williams, who was sick with the heat and exhaustion of the trying march, and was sitting on the trail of the gun, suddenly fainted, and fell forward under the wheel. He was, fortunately, saved from instant death by a stone, just in front of which he fell. The ponderous wheel, going so rapidly, struck the stone, and was bounded over his body, only bruising him a little. It was a close shave, but we were spared the loss of a dear comrade, and good soldier.
An Infantry Battle
When we got up pretty close to the line of battle, we halted and then were ordered to pull out besidethe road and wait for orders. Here we found a great many batteries parked, and we heard that it was, as yet, impossible to get artillery into action where the infantry was fighting. In fact, the battle of The Wilderness was almost exclusively anInfantryfight. But few cannon shots were heard at all during the day; the guns could not be gotten through the thickets. We heard, at the time, that we had only been able to put in two guns, and the Federals, three, and that our people had taken two of them, and the other was withdrawn. Certainly we hardly heardasingle shot during most of the fight. But we didn’t know at the time the exemption we were to enjoy. It was a strange and unwonted sight, all those guns, around us, idle, with a battle going on. For the way General Lee fought his artillery was a caution to cannoneers. He always put them in, everywhere, and made the fullest use of them. We always expected, and we always got, our full share of any fighting that was going on. And to be idle here, while the musketry was rolling, was entirely a novel sensation. We were under a dropping fire, and we expected to go in every moment. A position which every old soldier will recognize as more trying than being in the thick of a fight. It was very far from soothing.
When we had been waiting here a few minutes, Dr. Newton, since the Rev. John B. Newton of Monumental Church, Richmond, Va., afterwards BishopCoadjutor of Virginia, but then the surgeon of the 40th Virginia Infantry, rode by our guns, and recognizing several of us, boys, his kinsmen, stopped to speak to us. After a few kind words, as he shook hands with us very warmly at parting, he pointed to his field hospital, hard by, and very blandly said, “Boys, I’ll be right here, and I will be glad to do anything for you in my line.” To fellows going, as we thought, right into battle, this was about the last kind of talk we wanted to hear. A doctor’s offer of service in our situation, was full of ghastly suggestions. So his well-meaning proffer was met with opprobrious epithets, and indignant defiance. It was shouted to him in vigorous Anglo-Saxon, what we thought of doctors anyhow, and that if he didn’t look sharp we’d fix him so he would need a doctor, himself, to patch him up. The Doctor rode off laughing at the storm his friendly remarks had raised. Never was a kind offer more ungraciously received. I suppose, however, if any of us had got hurt just then, we would have been glad enough to fall in with the Doctor, and to have his skillful care. Fact is, soldiers are very like citizens—set light by the doctor whenwell, but mighty glad to see him when anything is the matter.
The Doctor, and all his brother “saw-bones” soon had enough to do for other poor fellows, if not for us. Numbers of wounded men streamed past us, asking the way to the hospitals, some, limping painfullyalong, some, with arms in a sling, some, with blood streaming down over neck or face, some, helped along by a comrade, some, borne on stretchers. It was a battered looking procession; and yet, I suppose that people will be surprised to hear, it was ascheerfula lot of fellows, as you can imagine. Wounded men coming from under fire are, as a rule, cheerful, often jolly. Being able to get, honorably, from under fire, with the mark of manly service to show, is enough to make a fellow cheerful, even with a hole through him. Of course I am speaking now of the wounded who can walk, and are not utterly disabled.
Eagerly we stopped those wounded men to ask how the fight was going. Their invariable account was that it was all right. They spoke about what heavy columns the enemy was putting in, but they said we were pressing them back, and every one spoke of the dreadful carnage of the Federals. One fellow said, after he was shot in the advancing line, he had to come back over a place, over which there had been very stubborn fighting, and which our men had carried, like a hurricane at last, and as he expressed it, “Dead Yankees wereknee deepall over about four acres of ground.” The blood was running down and dropping, very freely, off this man’s arm, while he stood in the road and told us this.
These accounts of the wounded men from the line of battle put us in good heart, which was not lessenedby a long line of Federal prisoners being marched to the rear, and the assurance by one of the guard that there were “plenty more where these came from.”
And so at last this long exciting day wore away. As dark fell the firing ceased. We got some wood and made fires, and, pretty soon after, “old Tom Armistead,” our Commissary Sergeant, rode up. His appearance was hailed with delight, as the promise of something to eat. These transports were destined to be moderated when Tom told what he had to say. He had ridden on from the wagons, far in the rear, and all he could get was a few crackers, and a small bag of wet brown sugar. This he had brought with him, across his horse.
Each man got two crackers and one handful of sugar. This disappeared in a twinkling. And then we sat around the fires discussing the events of the day. One subject of general anxiety, I remember, was when Longstreet would be up. As well as things had gone this day, we all knew well, how much his Corps would be needed for tomorrow’s work. It was generally regarded as certain that he would get up during the night, and we lay down to sleep around our guns confident that all was well for tomorrow.
Next morning we were up early. I don’t remember that we had anything to eat, and as the getting anything to eat in those days made a deep impression on our minds, I infer that we didn’t. However we got awash, a small one. We did not always enjoythis refreshment; then had to be content with a “dry polish” such as Mr. Squeers recommended to Nicholas Nickelby at “Dotheboys Hall,” when the pump froze. But on this occasion we had, with difficulty, secured one canteen of water between three of us, wherein we were better off than some of the others. The tin pan in which we luxuriated during winter quarters had been relegated to the wagon, both as inconvenient to carry, and as requiring too much water. It always took two to get a “campaign wash.” One fellow poured a little water, out of the canteen, into his comrade’s hands, with which he moistened his countenance, a little more poured over his soaped hands, and the deed was done. On this occasion when one canteen had to serve for three, and no more water was to be had, our ablutions were light; in fact, it was little more than a pantomime, in which we “went through the motions” of a wash. But we were afraid to leave the guns a minute, after daylight, for fear of a sudden movement to the front, so we had to do with what we had.
Soon after this, our cares about all these smaller matters suddenly fell out of sight. That fierce musketry broke out again along the lines, in the woods, in front. It increased in fury, especially on the right. Very soon reports began to float back that the Federals were heavily overlapping A. P. Hill’s right, and things looked dangerous. Then it was rumored that some of Hill’s right regiments were beginning to give way,under the resistless weight of the columns hurled upon him and round his flank. We could quickly perceive this to be true by the sound of the firing, which came nearer to us and passed toward the left. This immediately threw our crowd into a fever of excitement; the idea of lying there, doing nothing, when our men were falling back, was intolerable. Every artillery man thought that ifhis batterycould only get in, it would be all right. We knew what a difference it would instantly make, if all these silent guns could be sweeping the columns of the enemy. We would soon stop them, we thought! We just ached for orders to come but they did not. Still the news came, “impossible to get artillery in;” and loud and deep were the angry complaints of some, and curses of others, and great the disgust of all at our forced inaction. One fellow near me, voiced the feelings of us all—“If we can’t get in there, or Longstreet don’t get here pretty quick, the devil will be to pay.”