On April the 17th I received orders to proceed to Petersburg, and join Captain Pegram there. The iron-clad which was building at Norfolk was not likely to be ready for several months; and, as Captain Pegram was anxious to be in active service, he was assigned to the command of the iron-cladLouisiana, which was building at New Orleans, and said to be nearly finished. With his usual kindness he caused me to be ordered to the same vessel, and asked me to go down with him. My first visit to the “Cockade City” was a very agreeable one, as I made acquaintance there with a number of Captain Pegram’s relatives, including his niece, Mrs. Annie T. White, and his sister, Mrs. David May.
From Petersburg the journey by railroad to Louisiana was dreary and monotonous in the extreme. I have a bare recollection of being invited at Kingville, S. C, to go to the end of the station and inspect an astonishingly fat hog, which was the wonder of that part of the country. There really was no other incident of note that I recall, except the frequent delays, and the arrival at different points too late for the connecting trains. As we neared our destination, the air was full of ugly rumors. We learned that the United States fleet had attacked the forts below New Orleans, and it was reported that the city had been evacuated. But we pressed on, and finally reached Jackson, Miss., where we were told that it was no use to go any further. No passenger trains were now running, but we succeeded in getting on a train that was going down, and got within twenty miles of New Orleans. There the cars were stopped; and in a short time train after train came up from the city, bringing outthe Confederate troops, under command of General Mansfield Lovell, and such stores as could be carried off. A number of the soldiers who belonged to the “Garde d’Orleans,” flatly refused to go any further, and, to my surprise, were allowed to return to the city, which was now in the possession of Butler’s forces. There was no choice for us but to go back to Virginia; and Captain Pegram took charge of dispatches from General Lovell, giving an account of the disaster. So it turned out that, by stopping a day or two at Petersburg, we had missed an opportunity of participating in one of the fiercest naval fights of the war. The vessel which Captain Pegram was to have commanded was taken down the river in an unfinished condition, and was either sunk or was blown up. The journey back was worse than the journey down, as the delays were multiplied. It was on the train, soon after leaving Lovell’s troops at Tangipahoa, that I first met Colonel James M. Morgan (then a midshipman), whose sister I afterwards married. The vessel on which he was serving, theMcRae, was lost in the engagement, and he made his escape from the city with great difficulty.
When we reached North Carolina there was no comfort there. Norfolk had been evacuated by the Confederate forces, and theVirginiahad been destroyed to prevent her from falling into the hands of the enemy. I received permission to rest in Sussex for a few days, and then went to Richmond, where I was assigned to duty on a floating battery lying in the James River, and commanded by Captain Parker, with whom I had served on theBeaufort. This so-called battery was a large flat, with a shield heavily plated with iron in front. The name of the battery was theDrewry, and she lay at Rockett’s, below Richmond. I had fancied that she was a vessel of the same class as theVirginia,and when I went down to the place where she lay I looked about vainly for the vessel. Hailing a man who was at work on what I supposed to be a dredge, I asked which was theDrewry. “This is she,” said he. I was both disappointed and disgusted. TheDrewrywas really a lighter, about eighty feet long and fifteen feet broad, and was intended to be loaded down within eight or ten inches of the water. She had a wooden shield, V shaped, covered with heavy iron bars, and in the angle of the shield was cut a port-hole for her one heavy gun. She had no engines or sails, and was to be towed or allowed to drift into position when an engagement was expected.
I engaged quarters at a very pleasant house in Franklin Street, and found amongst the boarders there the mother and sister of Clarence Cary, whom I had known on theNashville. The sister, Miss Constance Cary, married, after the war, Mr. Burton N. Harrison, who was the private secretary of President Davis. Miss Constance Cary, or Miss “Connie,” as she was usually called, wrote a good deal in war times under thenom de plumeof “Refugitta;” and during the last few years has written at least one very charming society novel, besides an admirable work on household decoration. There were also there, in the pleasant company, Miss Hettie Cary, the famous Baltimore beauty, and her sister, Miss Jennie Cary, a handsome woman, and unfailingly amiable. Of course she was overshadowed by her sister; and she used to say that the only inscription necessary for her tomb-stone would be: “Here lies the sister of Hetty Cary, the lady who presented the Confederate colors to Beauregard’s troops at Manassas.” Miss Hetty Cary, late in the war, married General John W. Pegram, a nephew of Captain R. B. Pegram. A fight tookplace two or three weeks after her marriage, and Mrs. Pegram went immediately to the front to assist in caring for the wounded. Almost the first man who was brought up, as she reached the field hospital, was her dead husband. The Carys and Captain Pegram’s sister-in-law, Mrs. General Pegram, and her daughters, Miss Mary and Miss Virginia Pegram, were as kind and considerate to me as if I had been a member of their family. To one of Captain Pegram’s nephews, Willie Pegram, the youngest son of Mrs. General Pegram, I became very warmly attached. He was at this time particularly boyish looking, and wore spectacles, which added to the simplicity of his appearance. A graduate of the Virginia Military Institute, he had gone into service as a private in Company F of the First Virginia Regiment, and upon the promotion of Captain Lindsey Walker, had been elected Captain of the Purcell Battery.
My time in Richmond passed almost too pleasantly. I was not satisfied with myself, and saw no prospect of accomplishing anything as long as I remained in the Navy. McClellan’s army was close to Richmond, and one fine morning, at the end of May, the battle of Seven Pines began. I obtained leave of absence, and, armed with a navy sword, hastened down to the field, arriving there about night-fall. The first troops I fell in with at the front belonged to a Georgia regiment, the Eighth Georgia, I think; and I asked to be permitted to take a musket and go in with them as a volunteer, the next morning. Next morning came, but the fight did not, and I trudged disconsolately back to Richmond.
I now made up my mind to leave the Navy. Fearing that Captain Pegram would object to this, I went to the Navy Department myself and handed in my resignation, which hadbeen approved by Captain Parker. I took care to say that I only resigned in order that I might go into the army as a private soldier. My purpose was to join the Purcell Battery, which Willie Pegram commanded, but he refused to consent to this, telling me that if I waited something better would turn up. I was not willing to wait, and went out to the battery and reported to him for duty a few days before the Seven Days Battle began.
The camp of the Purcell Battery was then on the Mechanicsville Turnpike, as well as I remember; and it was a day or two after my arrival that the Confederate battle flags were first distributed to the Army of Northern Virginia. I remember, as though it were yesterday, the return of Willie Pegram from head-quarters, with the battle flag for our battery. It was only a square of coarse cloth with a blue field and a red cross dotted with stars. But to the soldiers of the Confederate armies it was then the emblem of all that we fought for, as it is now the token of what the Confederate soldiers endured, and of what our people lost.
At the time of the battles around Richmond the Artillery had not been formed into battalions, as was done later in the war; and to each brigade was attached one field-battery. The Purcell Battery was attached to Field’s Brigade, of A. P. Hill’s Division.
Early in the afternoon of Thursday, June 26th, 1862, the head of General Hill’s column crossed the Chickahominy, and moved towards Mechanicsville. It was the first time I had seen the Confederate troops marching to meet the enemy; and the gleaming bayonets, and waving flags, the rumbling of the artillery, and the steady tramp of the men, were both exhilarating and imposing. One of Field’s regiments led the advance, with two guns from our battery. We neared a narrow road between two steep banks, and were confident that we should feel the enemy there. There was a puff of smoke and the sharp crack of a rifle; the skirmishers advanced, and we threw some shells into the woods. The skirmishers kept steadily forward. They entered thewoods and were lost to sight. Soon they reached the enemy’s line, and the engagement began. We had now reached a point near Ellyson’s Mill, at Mechanicsville, which had been strongly fortified by the enemy. They had a battery in position, and amused themselves by taking pot-shots at us. Willie Pegram, however, remained motionless in his saddle, no more concerned at the shells which were ploughing up the dust about him than if he had been lounging on the porch in Franklin Street, this beautiful evening. An officer rode hurriedly up, and then the order rang out: “Attention, Battery! Forward! Trot! March!” and with a cheer we rattled along the road and came into battery in an open field, in full view of the enemy. The guns were instantly loaded, and the firing began. The Yankees were not idle; and a shower of shot and shell enveloped us. I had not been assigned, as yet, to any particular duty in the battery, and looked on as an interested observer until accident should make a vacancy that I might fill. I tied my horse behind a corn crib, near by, and awaited developments, walking up and down in the rear of the guns to see what was going on. It was not an agreeable situation, as there was nothing to divert my attention from the manifold unpleasantnesses of the terrific fire which the enemy concentrated upon us. They had twenty-four guns in position against our single battery, and were able to enfilade our line, as well as to pound us by their direct fire. It was one of the greatest errors of the early days of the Confederacy that batteries were allowed to be knocked to pieces in detail, when, by massing a dozen batteries, the enemy could have been knocked quickly out of time and many lives saved. A solid shot bowled past me, killed one of our men, tore a leg and arm from another, and threw threehorses into a bloody, struggling heap. This was my chance, and I stepped to the gun and worked away as though existence depended on my labors. For the great part of the time I acted as Number 5, bringing the ammunition from the limber to Number 2 at the piece. I felt for the first time the fierce excitement of battle. There was no thought of danger, though the men were falling rapidly on every side.
So the battle continued until about six o’clock, the men cheering wildly whenever there was any sign of weakening on the part of the enemy. I did not know what hurt me; but I found myself on the ground, hearing, as I fell, a man near me say: “That Britisher has gone up at last.” In a few moments I recovered my senses, and found that I was not dead, and that no bones appeared to be broken. The warm blood was pouring down my left leg, and on examination I saw that a piece of shell had scooped out five or six inches of the flesh below the knee, and near the femoral artery, making an ugly wound. I did not feel that I was disabled, however, and, tying a handkerchief as tightly as I could around my leg, I went back to my post, and there remained until the battery was withdrawn after sunset. Towards the end of the engagement only three men were left at the gun at which I was serving. At a second gun only four men were left. Another battery relieved us, and drew some of the enemy’s fire. But I think it must have been nine o’clock when we finally left the field. The official list of casualties in our battery showed four killed and forty-three wounded, out of about seventy-five who went into the engagement. Among the killed was Lieutenant Elphinstone.
The battle-field was several miles from Richmond, and the problem was, how to get back there. I hobbled a partof the way as well as I could, and was then put into an ambulance with two wounded men, one of whom died before we reached Richmond. I stopped at a Field Hospital for a minute to get some morphine for my wounded comrade, and then had my first experience of scientific butchering. A rough table, consisting of two or three planks, was used for the operations; and there the surgeons were hard at work, their sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, their arms and hands besmeared with blood, cutting deep with their knives into the quivering flesh, or sawing with a harsh grating sound through the bones of the insensible soldier. Under the table lay arms, hands, feet, and legs, thrown promiscuously in a heap, like the refuse of a slaughter house.
Upon reaching Richmond I was taken to my old quarters in Franklin Street, and made much of. The RichmondDispatch, after describing the battle in which we had been engaged and giving a list of the casualties in our battery, said: “This list proves the desperate bravery exhibited by the command in the bloody strife. We learn that Mr. Dawson, a young Englishman, who came over in theNashville, volunteered for the engagement, and received a wound while acting most gallantly.” My old friends in the Navy (and the Navy officers are more clannish and stick together more closely than the Army officers do,) came at once to see me. First, of course, was my dear friend, Captain R. B. Pegram, who chided me for resigning from the Navy without telling him what I was going to do. Commodore Hollins, Commodore Forrest, and Captain Arthur Sinclair, were exceedingly attentive. The surgeons told me there was no danger of serious results from my wound, if severe inflammation could be prevented; and Captain W. H. Murray, of one of the Maryland regiments, rigged up an arrangement for me by which water was allowed to drip, night and day, on the bandages, to keep them moist and cool. Miss Hetty Cary rather turned the tables on me, by sending me word that she would have come down to my room with her sister to see me, but that I had criticised so sharply, before I had been hit, the conduct of ladies who had gone to the hospitals to attend to the wounded soldiers, that she would not think of doing violence to my feelings now by giving me any of her personal attention. In truth, the young ladies who did visit hospitals were disposed to be ratherpartial in their attentions. There were pet patients wherever the young ladies were allowed to go. A very good illustration is given in a paragraph which went the rounds of the Southern papers, as showing the experience of an interesting wounded soldier, who had dark eyes and a darling mustache, and a generally romantic aspect. A young lady said to him: “Is there not anything that I can do for you?” Wearily the soldier said: “Nothing, I thank you.” Not to be baffled, the young lady said: “Do let me do something for you. Will you let me wash your face for you?” The sad response of the soldier was: “Well, if you want to right bad, I reckon you must; but that will make seven times that my face has been washed this evening.” There were some patriotic verses on the same subject, written in all seriousness, which ended with this touching couplet:
“And every day there is a rushTo give the soldiers milk and mush.”
“And every day there is a rushTo give the soldiers milk and mush.”
“And every day there is a rushTo give the soldiers milk and mush.”
“And every day there is a rush
To give the soldiers milk and mush.”
The doctors complained, too, that the young ladies were rather in their way; and that their prescriptions were oftentimes set at nought by surreptitious doses of pies and sweetmeats. But the motive was always good and pure, and, after I had known what it was to be hit myself and to need a woman’s attentions, I was not disposed to quarrel with any one, however fascinating, for being assiduous in attentions to a wounded Confederate.
As soon as I was able to stand up, Captain Murray offered to go with me to Petersburg, where I might remain until I recovered. Mrs. Annie T. White invited me to stay at her house, and I was there for several weeks. While there, Mr. John Dunlop, who has been one of the staunchest friends I have had, called to see me. He was a native of Petersburg,but was educated in England, and took the degree of A. M. at Wadham College, Oxford, not long before the beginning of the war. He went to New York to practice law there; but returned to Virginia as soon as the State seceded, and joined one of the Virginia regiments as a private. He was appointed aide-de-camp to General Armistead, which was the position he held at the time that I first knew him. After the second battle of Manassas he was retired on account of his failing sight, and went to England. After the war he returned to Virginia, and is now living at Richmond, where he pursues his profession with much success.
Murray returned to Richmond in a day or two. Poor fellow! I never saw him again. He was killed at Gettysburg. I have fancied that he was deeply attached to Miss Jennie Cary, who has never married.
Mr. Raines was greatly concerned at hearing that I had been wounded, and sent his carriage to Petersburg to take me down to his house in Sussex. He told me that his house must be my home. In his own simple and heartfelt language: “My dollars and cents I will divide with you; and half my bread and meat is yours.”
As soon as I was able, I went from Petersburg to Sussex, and there remained until I had recovered completely. It was here, at Oakland, as the plantation of Mr. Raines was named, that I learned what Southern life really was. I was treated in every respect as one of the family, and was hailed by the darkies, big and little, as part of the establishment. They did, however, have a rather unpleasant way of prognosticating an untimely end for me, as I heard the little negroes chanting continually: “Poor Mas’r Frank! he bin sure to die long before de acorn come.”
Captain Robert B. Pegram was staying at the place of Major Belsches, about two miles away, and one morning Nat. Raines, Jr., and I drove over to make him a visit. As we passed by the mill, about half way, we met Captain Pegram in a buggy, and saw that his benignant face was shining even more brightly than usual. His first words were: “Dawson, I have some good news for you.” I asked him what it was, and he handed me a note from his cousin, Mrs. G. W. Randolph, the wife of the Secretary of War. The words were few, but they were pregnant words for me. They were these:
“Dear Cousin Robert:Mr. Randolph has ordered a commission as First Lieutenant of Artillery to be made out for Mr. Dawson.Yours, sincerely,MARY RANDOLPH.”
“Dear Cousin Robert:
Mr. Randolph has ordered a commission as First Lieutenant of Artillery to be made out for Mr. Dawson.
Yours, sincerely,
MARY RANDOLPH.”
The cup of my happiness was full. Standing in the streets in Richmond, and watching the troops as they passed, I had so often wondered whether, in the course of time, I might hold a commission in the Confederate army; and now it had come to me unexpectedly, unsolicited, undeserved. I learned afterwards that Willie Pegram had been so good as to recommend my appointment on account of my behavior at Mechanicsville; and his recommendation was vigorously sustained by his uncle, Captain Robert B. Pegram, and my Navy friends. The Confederate government had no power to appoint company officers for the volunteer forces; and for this reason I did not receive a commission in the line. My appointment was under an Act of the Confederate Congress, which authorized the appointment of forty First Lieutenants of Artillery for assignment to duty as Ordnance officers.
There was joy indeed at Oakland when the news of my promotion was received there; and the young ladies set themselves to work at once to contrive ways and means whereby my gray Navy coat could be converted into the tunic of an Artillery officer. The most troublesome part of it all, we found, was to get the Austrian knot on the arm, the “curleyqueue,” as we called it, into the right shape. It is so long since, and these things are so soon forgotten, that it may not be out of place to mention here that my new uniform was a gray tunic with scarlet cuffs and scarlet collar; an Austrian knot of gold braid on each arm; two bars of gold lace, denoting the rank, on each side of the standing collar; gray trousers with broad red stripes; a scarlet kepi, trimmed with gold braid, and commonly known, by the way, as the “woodpecker cap.”
One important consideration for me about this time was, how I should get the money to pay for a horse and other necessary equipments. Mr. Raines had two sons in the service, and was, as I knew, supporting the families of several soldiers from the neighborhood. He came to me, however, and told me that he had instructed his factors at Petersburg, to honor any drafts that I might make upon them; and that I must go there and get the money necessary for a horse, and anything else that I wanted. This was more than I was willing to accept; but I had not much choice in the matter; and Mr. Raines assured me that it was a pleasure to him to be able to assist me in preparing myself to fill properly the position that I had won. So off I went to Petersburg, and thence to Richmond,in all the brilliancy of gray and scarlet and gold; the little darkies on the plantation, as I drove off from Oakland, singing the refrain that I have mentioned before.
I had not yet been assigned to duty with any particular command, and had not the remotest idea of what kind of duty it was to be; but I had heard a good deal of General Longstreet, and when I reached Richmond, I went to the Ordnance Bureau to have a preparatory talk with Colonel Gorgas, who was Chief of Ordnance of the army. I began to realize, from what I saw around me, that I was likely to be in a worse plight as an Ordnance officer, whatever that might be, than I was as an able bodied seaman, so-called, on theNashville; and I said frankly to Colonel Gorgas, that I felt inclined to decline the commission which had been tendered me. He asked me why I intended to take such a step. I said that I knew nothing whatever of the duties of an Ordnance officer, and hardly knew the difference between a Napoleon gun and a Belgian rifle. I did not think it right, therefore, to undertake what I did not think I would be able to perform satisfactorily. Colonel Gorgas looked at me a moment to see whether I was in earnest or not, and then said very quietly: “I think you had better accept the commission; I reckon you know as much about it as many other officers who have been assigned to the same duty.” I took him at his word, and asked to be assigned to General Longstreet’s corps. At the same time I mentioned to Colonel Gorgas that I did not want any duty in the rear; and he gave me a letter to General Longstreet, requesting that, if any particularly hazardous service should fall within the line of my duty, it might be given to me.
It was difficult to get such a horse as I wanted in Richmond;but I succeeded in getting a respectable iron sabre with a painted scabbard, and I bought a good revolver and an imitation McClellan saddle. With these, and a large valise as my baggage, I went down to the Virginia Central Railroad station to take the train for Culpepper C. H., which was the nearest point on the railroad to the place where the army was believed to be. I should mention that, after the battles around Richmond, Jackson had attacked and defeated the enemy at Cedar Mountain; and the whole army of Northern Virginia was now in motion towards Manassas. I met, at the station, Captain Taylor, of Norfolk, a naval officer, who had been appointed Captain of artillery, and assigned to duty with Stephen D. Lee’s battalion of reserve artillery. We traveled together, and left the cars at Culpepper C. H. By dint of hard talking, we obtained quarters for the night at the hotel, and the next morning we set out to overtake the army. I left my valise with the hotel-keeper; but I could not consent to part with my saddle, which I lugged along as best I could.
The roads were sandy and the day was intensely hot, and the weight of the saddle increased every mile. Soon we struck a column of troops marching in the same direction as ourselves, and the men began the usual chaff. “I say, Mister,” said one, “who stole your horse?” Another, in an expostulatory tone of voice, rejoined: “Why don’t you let him alone; don’t you see that the other man is going to get up and ride?” Then again: “Come out of that saddle; it’s no use to say you ain’t there; I can see your legs sticking out.” One man very demurely stepped up to Captain Taylor, and said: “You must not mind these boys, sir; they don’t mean any harm by it.” He replied very courteously: “I don’t mind it all, my friend.” “Well,” continued the man, “they don’t mean any harm, but they always carry on in that way whenever they see a d—d fool come along.” This last sally caused a shout all along the line; and we were glad enough to part company with them.
That night we met with some of Captain Taylor’s friends, who gave us supper; after which we had a bath in a creek near by, and, rolled up in our blankets, had an excellent sleep.
In the morning we were on the road betimes; and I managed to stow away my saddle in a wagon. There were all manner of rumors concerning the whereabouts of Longstreet, and we kept on until we reached the little village of Stevensburg. No positive information could be obtained here; but we found a man who was willing to let us have dinner. We enjoyed the meal thoroughly, chatting merrily the while. Two or three citizens came into the room andscrutinized us closely, but we paid no attention to them. Presently, after whispering among themselves, one of them approached me and said: “What battery do you belong to, sir?” “None at all,” I replied; and went on with my dinner. Shortly he returned, and said: “What State do you hail from, sir?” “None at all,” I replied, “except a state of semi-starvation.” This seemed to annoy him, and he tried me once more: “Where are you going to?” “To General Longstreet’s head-quarters,” I answered. “What for, sir?” questioned the stranger. In the meanwhile I had finished my dinner, and feeling very comfortable, I turned to Captain Taylor and said: “I have heard a great deal of the curiosity of Americans, and I am disposed to gratify it as far as I can conveniently; but this man is becoming a bore.” The inquiring citizens now took a new turn, and asked Captain Taylor where he was going to. Whereupon he told them that it was none of their business. We paid our bill, and got up to leave the room, when one of the citizens quietly closed the door, and said: “Men, you can’t leave here until you show your papers!” “The devil we can’t!” said I. “What right have you to ask for our papers?” The answer came sharply enough: “We ask for your papers by the right that every true citizen has to question men whom he suspects to be deserters or worse.” Both Captain Taylor and I were rather high tempered. I had a great idea of my own dignity as a Confederate officer, and I told our inquiring friends at once that we positively refused to show any papers or answer any more questions. They told us that they would not allow us to depart until we did. Captain Taylor drew his pistol, and I drew my Confederate-iron sabre, and a lively fight of two to four was imminent. At this moment there was a violent knockingat the door, and a cavalry officer with two or three dismounted cavalrymen, came in. The citizens took him out and talked with him; and when they returned the officer asked us where we wanted to go to. Captain Taylor said he wanted to find General Lee’s head-quarters; and that I wanted to find General Longstreet. The officer told us very demurely that he was going along in the right direction, and if we would accompany him he would show us the road. We thought that we now had the best of the bargain; and the citizens who had so tormented us smiled grimly as we rode off. After riding for some distance without anything being said, I asked our escort whether we were nearing the place to which we were going, and he replied in the affirmative. Passing through a thick skirt of woods, he suddenly wheeled to the right, and ordered us to follow him. We did so; and a few paces further on we saw the body of a man dangling from the bough of a tree; a halter having been used instead of a rope, to swing the poor devil up by. Asking what this meant, I was told that the dead man was a spy, and that all spies were treated in that way in this army. I was glad to receive the information, but did not see that it had any personal application until we reached a tent in front of which a stern looking man, in a General’s uniform, was lolling on the ground. The officer dismounted, saluted, and said: “General, here are two men who have been arrested by some citizens of Stevensburg on suspicion of being spies.” “Ah, indeed,” said the General, rising with some interest. “What proofs have you of this?” “No particular proofs, General; but they refuse to show any papers, or to give any account of themselves.” “Well!” said the General, “that’s the best proof in the world. I have a short way of dealing with these rascals.”Then turning to a courier who was standing by, he said: “Tell Captain —— to detail a non-commissioned officer and three men to report to me immediately.” Turning to us he kindly said: “Fine morning! men. Any message or any other little thing that you would like to send to your friends in the North?” Captain Taylor and I had been so completely taken aback that, up to this time, we had said nothing; but the joke was becoming rather serious, and I said frankly that Captain Taylor and I had refused to show our papers because they had been asked for impertinently, and without any authority; but that we had in our pockets our orders and our passports, and that I had letters of introduction to General Longstreet from General Randolph and Colonel Gorgas. The order for the detail was countermanded as soon as our papers had been glanced at; but our friend, the General, told us that it was a suspicious circumstance, as we must admit, to find two officers of artillery wandering about the country without any command, and on foot. I suspect the nautical bearing of Captain Taylor, which his uniform did not disguise, and my own fresh color and English accent, had more to do with our trouble than the fact that we were dismounted and alone. I really had some little difficulty in making myself understood at Stevensburg. When I asked for water at the house, the man hesitated until I had repeated the word two or three times; and then asked if I meant “wat-ter.” We started off again, and I parted from Captain Taylor, who went to General Lee’s head-quarters, while I plodded along to Brandy Station. I had seen Captain Taylor for the last time. He was killed in action soon afterwards.
Almost broken down, I was trudging wearily along the road when I heard some one bawling out my name. Lookingaround I found that it was Lieutenant McGraw, of the Purcell Battery. In a minute or two I was in comfort and at ease in the midst of my old comrades. I had not seen Captain Willie Pegram since the fight at Mechanicsville, and we had a great deal of news to tell each other. The battery was parked in the woods, and, although we had no supper, I slept without waking. In the morning there was an artillery duel with the enemy at the Rappahannock River, in which we lost one or two men. Willie Pegram then lent me a poor old rip of a horse, with a hole in his side, punched there at Gaines’ Mill by a piece of a shell; and I sallied forth once more to find General Longstreet. By this time I was about half starved, and I was very much disgusted by a soldier whom I met at the roadside with a huge pile of corn-dodgers, and who refused to sell me a piece of bread, although I offered him $5 for it. But I found General Longstreet at last, and was introduced by him to his Chief Ordnance Officer, Colonel Peyton L. Manning, who directed me to return to Brandy Station, where I should find the Ordnance train of the corps.
About night I found the train, and met with a cordial reception at the hands of Lieutenants Leech and Duxberry. A good supper of coffee, biscuit, and fried bacon was improvised, and I heartily enjoyed the quiet luxury of a pipe.
A day or two after my arrival at my post, I succeeded in buying a very good riding horse, and hired a capable servant. I may as well say just here that I found Colonel Manning, my immediate superior, an exceedingly easy man to get along with. Unquestionably a gentleman in his tastes and habits, and brave as a lion, he knew comparatively little of his work as Ordnance officer, and was unable to write an ordinary official letter correctly. Spelling was indeed his weakest point. He was from Aberdeen, Miss., and died at his home there three or four years after the surrender. Lieutenant Leech was from Charlottesville, Va., and was very quiet and unassuming. Lieutenant Duxberry was good tempered, but exceedingly conceited, and casting about always to make himself friends at head-quarters. One of his peculiar conceits was that his name, Duxberry, was a corruption of Duc de Berri, from whom he supposed himself to be in some extraordinary way descended. I found out afterwards that, at the beginning of the war, he was an assistant in a drug store at Montgomery, Ala., and that he was born somewhere in Massachusetts.
Longstreet pressed through Thoroughfare Gap and reached Manassas just in time to save Jackson from being overwhelmed there. I knew but little of what was going on, and did not see much of the great battle itself. Here I made my first capture in the shape of a Gatling gun which had been abandoned by the enemy, and what was of more importance, I secured a commissary wagon containing a barrel of ground coffee.
The army now advanced to the Potomac, which wecrossed at Point of Rocks; the bands playing “Maryland, my Maryland!” There was no cause to complain any longer of a lack of provisions, and we were able to buy whatever we wanted with Confederate money at fair prices. After resting a day or two at Hagerstown, where we completed the equipment of our mess, we moved rapidly to South Mountain, where we had a brisk fight, and were driven back. This was on August 15th, I think. Late at night I rode back to the camp to get some supper, but had hardly told the cook to make the necessary preparations when an order came from General Longstreet to me to take charge of the Ordnance trains of the corps, and move them to Williamsport. The order was imperative, and I was directed to move as rapidly as possible.
At about ten o’clock at night I started. It was intensely dark and the roads were rough. Towards morning I entered the Hagerstown and Williamsport Turnpike, where I found a cavalry picket. The officer in charge asked me to move the column as quickly as I could, and to keep the trains well closed up. I asked him if the enemy were on the road, and he told me that it was entirely clear, and that he had pickets out in every direction. It was only a few miles now to Williamsport, and I could see the camp-fires of our troops across the river. I was hungry, sleepy and tired, and the prospect of camp and supper in an hour seemed the summit of bliss. I was forty or fifty yards ahead of the column, when a voice from the roadside called out “halt!” The gloss was not yet off my uniform, and I could not suppose that such a command, shotted with a big oath, was intended for me. In a moment it was repeated. I quickly rode to the side of the road in the direction of the voice, and found myself at the entrance of a narrowlane, and there adown it were horses and men in a line that stretched out far beyond my vision. To the trooper who was nearest to me I said indignantly: “How dare you halt an officer in this manner.” The reply was to the point: “Surrender, and dismount! You are my prisoner!” Almost before the words were uttered I was surrounded, and found that I had ridden right into the midst of a body of Yankee cavalry, numbering about two thousand, who had escaped from Harper’s Ferry that night to avoid the surrender which was to take place in the morning. I was placed under guard on the roadside, and as the trains came up they were halted, and the men who were with them were quietly captured. In a short time the column moved off in the direction of the Pennsylvania line. I was allowed to ride my own horse. By the side of each team a Federal soldier rode, and, by dint of cursing the negro drivers and beating the mules with their swords, the cavalrymen contrived to get the jaded animals along at a gallop. While we were halted, one of my Sergeants had knocked the linchpins out of the wheels of the leading wagons, in the hope that this would delay the march. The wheels came off and the wagons were upset, but a squad of men dismounted instantly, threw the wagons out of the road, and set fire to them, so that there was no halt of consequence. I had a cavalryman on each side of me, and tried vainly to get an opportunity to slip off into the woods.
Soon after daylight we reached the little village of Greencastle, Pennsylvania, where the citizens came out to look at the “Rebel” prisoners. They hurrahed for their own men and cursed at us. Even the women joined in the game. Several of them brought their children to the roadside and told them to shake their fists at the “d—d Rebels.” Still there were some kind people in Greencastle. Three or four ladies came to us, and, without pretending to have any liking for Confederates, showed their charitable disposition by giving us some bread and a cup of cold water. My horse was taken from me at Greencastle and ridden off by a dirty-looking cavalryman. Then the Confederates, numbering a hundred or more, were packed into the cars, and sent by the railway to Chambersburg.
Duxberry had the good luck to be away from camp the night that we marched from Crampton’s Gap, and was not taken. Leech had been asleep in one of the wagons, and did not wake up until we had all been gathered in.
Chambersburg is a pretty little town, and I had the satisfaction of seeing it a year later under pleasanter auspices. On arriving there the first time, the Confederates were put in the open yard of the jail which we pretty well filled. Our presence there suggested a new and interesting game to the small boys of Chambersburg. It was a plain calculation that a stone which should fall within the area of the yard would be very apt to hit one of the prisoners. The boys, therefore, amused themselves by pitching stones over from the outside, enjoying in this way the luxury of scaring the “Rebels,” and hurting them too, without any risk tothemselves. It was sport to the boys, but it came near being death to some of our men. But here, as at Greencastle, there were some charitable souls. Mr. A. K. McClure, who is now the editor of the PhiladelphiaTimes, came to the jail with a committee of citizens, and gave us an abundance of coffee and bread and meat. That night we lay on the rough stones in the jail yard, and in the morning we were put on the train for Harrisburg. We did not go into the town, but were taken at once to Camp Curtin, in the suburbs, where we were to remain until our final destination should be determined on.
By this time I had no baggage. It had been promised that my valise, which was in one of the wagons, should be given to me, but it was appropriated, I suppose, by one of our captors. At all events, I saw nothing of it, and could get no information about it.
At Camp Curtin we were tolerably comfortable. There were only two officers in our party besides myself, and as my uniform was comparatively bright and fresh I attracted more attention than my rank warranted. The United States officers at the camp were exceedingly attentive, and talked with me in the frankest manner about the position of affairs and the prospects of their army. They gave me a blanket which I needed sorely, and bestowed upon me what was equally desirable, a new tooth-brush. The evening after my arrival, the Commandant of the camp asked me whether I would not like to go into town, saying that one of the officers was anxious to take me in with him. I told him I had no other dress than my uniform, and if I had I would not wear it, and I did not suppose that any of the officers would care to go into Harrisburg with a Confederate officer in uniform. The Commandant said that this was what wasproposed, although he did not think it very prudent. The Commandant gave me the necessary pass, and Captain —— and I went into the town.
First we went into the principal hotel and took supper. The persons hanging about the hotel looked at me rather sulkily, but I was too hungry to pay much attention to them. After supper we walked out to the front of the hotel, where my companion slapped me on the shoulder, and said in a loud voice: “Here is a real live Rebel officer! The first man that says a word to him I will knock his d—d head off!” This was not a very pacific speech to make to a crowd of fanatical Pennsylvanians, who had just heard that the battle of Sharpsburg had begun. Nothing came of it at the moment, and my companion now insisted that we should visit the principal music hall. As we entered, the whole company of singers was on the stage shouting lustily: “The Union and McClellan forever! Three cheers for the Buck-tail Brigade,” the audience joining in the chorus with patriotic energy. My companion marched me down the middle of the hall to the very front seat, and there was a murmur of astonishment and disapprobation. But my companion did not mind it, and I could not help it, so we remained there about half an hour and then passed out, with no other damage than being scowled at by the audience. By this time my companion was decidedly exhilarated; and the next time that he invited an attack, by saying that he would inflict condign punishment on any one who molested me, an indignant patriot knocked my hat off. I knocked down the man who did it, and half a dozen men pitched into me at once. There was a general scrimmage. Knives were drawn, a shot was fired, and I knew nothing more until I found myself in a large room surrounded by a group ofsoldiers. In the row, it seemed, my companion had been treated rather badly, and I had been choked and knocked until I was insensible, and, indeed, was only saved from death by a woman, who seized the arm of my foremost assailant and prevented him from stabbing me to the heart. Just as I had learned the particulars, the door opened and an officer came in whom I recognized as the Commandant of Camp Curtin. He said very quietly: “I thought you would be very apt to bring up at the guard-house about this time, so I came in to look after you.” He then accompanied me back to camp. I did not wish to trouble the Commandant to escort me to my quarters, but he told me that his guards were quite young, rather stupid, and very malicious, and quite apt to shoot at a stray prisoner without giving him a chance to halt and explain. I objected no further. The whole night’s work was a very unpleasant one for me, but I had no way of escaping from the difficulty when I once reached the city. Captain —— had been drinking hard, which I had not suspected until it was too late. If I had left him and gone off alone I should have been in worse case than by remaining in his company.
The next morning the Harrisburg paper had a glowing account of an attempt I had made to escape from camp, and said that, when recaptured, I had nearly succeeded in laying a mine to blow up the great bridge across the Susquehannah. The newspapers, too, were very severe in their condemnation of the Union officers who had been seen in the city in company with a “Rebel officer in full uniform.”
Early the next day we were ordered to be ready to take the cars for Philadelphia, on the way to Fort Delaware. Just before leaving camp, I was told that there were some ladies at the gate who desired to see me. I went down and foundtwo handsomely dressed women in an open carriage. One of them asked me whether I did not recognize her. I told her that I did not, and she said: “You ought to do so, for I was passing by when you got into that difficulty in town, and was the means of saving your life.” I thanked her very warmly, but told her that there were too many demands on my attention at the time of the fight to permit me to have seen her. The ladies bade me very heartily good-bye, and I left my unknown friends.
It was not a long run to Philadelphia, and in the cars was a civilian who accosted me courteously, and asked me many questions about the Confederacy and the Southern people, the character of the army and the estimation in which the different Generals were held. All such questions I answered as well as I could without divulging anything that might be of injury to our side, and taking care to depict everything in the highest possible colors. It was night when the train reached the Quaker City, and I suppose that ten thousand persons were awaiting the arrival of the train. There were no lamps in the cars, and the persons in the crowd outside clambered up at the windows, even lighting matches and holding lanterns to our heads that they might see us the better, as though we were wild beasts in a cage. One man thrust his hand in through the sash, grasped my hand firmly and whispered: “Cheer up, it will all come out right.” At last, it was my turn to leave the cars, and, as usual, my scarlet cap attracted more attention than was agreeable. Some said I was a drummer-boy, others declared I was a Colonel, while one big fellow shouted out that he knew that I was a spy who had deserted from the Union Army, and had been recaptured. There was instantly a shout: “Hang him to the lamp-post,” and for a few minutes I was in worseplight at Philadelphia than I had been in at Stevensburg. The guard, however, succeeded in driving the crowd back, and I reached in safety the steamer which was to take us to Fort Delaware.
Late at night we reached the Island upon which Fort Delaware is built. We were marched up to the gates, and were halted there until an officer had passed along the line and enquired whether any of the prisoners wished to take the oath of allegiance to the United States government. There was no reply, and we were marched into the Barracks. These Barracks were common wooden sheds, affording accommodation for about ten thousand persons. The bunks were arranged in tiers of three, and into one of these I crawled. The next morning I was told that these Barracks were the quarters for the privates and non-commissioned officers, and that, by requesting it, I could be removed to the quarters for the officers, which were inside the Fort. Lieutenant Leech and I wrote to the Commandant, and were at once removed to the Fort, where we were installed in a large barrack-room, which then contained seventy or eighty officers. The highest in rank was a Major Holliday, belonging to one of the Virginia regiments.
During the time that I was in the Fort I slept next to Adjutant W. P. DuBose, of the Holcombe Legion, who had been taken prisoner at South Mountain. He was supposed to have been killed, but had really been but slightly wounded. When he returned to South Carolina he found that his obituary had been published, and that his friends were in mourning for him. Afterwards he went into the ministry, and was appointed Chaplain of Kershaw’s Brigade. He is now one of the Professors of the University of the South, at Sewanee.
As the number of officers increased with new arrivals, theroom became painfully crowded. Within the room we could do pretty much as we pleased, except that we were not allowed to gather together in a body, lest we might plan an escape, I suppose. Nor were we allowed to cross the threshold of the door, on pain of being shot. The guards were abusive, and would swear at us like dogs if we did anything they disapproved of. A word in reply was met by a blow with the butt end of a musket, or by an order that the offender be sent to the Black Hole. Still we were far better off than our comrades were in the Barracks outside. Our room was dry, warm and well lighted, while the Barracks were cold, damp and dark. Our room had conveniences for washing to a certain extent, and there was plenty of water of a poor quality. The washing of clothes went on all the time, which was not conducive to the comfort of those who used the washstand for personal ablutions. The inhabitants of the garments which were steeped in the washstand naturally took refuge in the water.
No exercise of any kind was permitted to us, and we only left the room to march down into the mess-hall. For breakfast we had a cup of poor coffee without milk or sugar, and two small pieces of bad bread. For dinner we had a cup of greasy water misnamed soup, a piece of beef two inches square and a half inch thick, and two slices of bread. At supper the fare was the same as at breakfast. This was exceedingly light diet. Some of the officers behaved disagreeably; and eight or ten of us, principally Virginians, associated ourselves together for mutual protection, and formed a mess of our own. We contrived to make some additions to our diet by purchases at the Sutler’s store. When we had no money the Sutler would take watches or other valuables in pledge, and let us have the provisions.
A number of the citizens of Baltimore, including Mr. Carpenter, had been arrested for disloyalty, and they were found at this time in the Fort. They were not watched as closely as we were, and sometimes in going down to dinner we had an opportunity to exchange a word with them. They were jolly fellows, and exceedingly liberal. Mr. Carpenter was editor of the MarylandNews Sheet, and was released about the time of our arrival. Being appointed the chairman of the Baltimore Society for the relief of prisoners, he returned to the Fort to see what our wants were. At one shipment over two thousand pair of excellent shoes were sent to the Fort for the prisoners. Indeed, each one of the three thousand Confederates in the Fort received a blanket, a pair of shoes, warm trousers, a jacket, and a felt hat; or such of these things as he required. Nor were the officers in our room forgotten. Clothing of every kind was sent to us. It was proposed at first that the senior officer present should take charge of the supplies, and distribute the clothing according to the necessities of the individuals. This did not suit some of our comrades. When the packages were brought in and opened there was a general rush, and those who pulled hardest and pushed most got the larger part of the spoils. I saw men wear two pair of new trousers under an old pair, and then complain to Mr. Carpenter that they wanted a new pair. And so it was with jackets and with under-clothing. Blankets were in great demand. One man who was crying lustily for a blanket was found to have four new blankets hidden under his bunk.
I had only been in the Fort a day or two when the guard called my name, and handed me a newspaper. This was a most unusual occurrence, as newspapers were not allowed to be given to us, unless they contained some startling reportof Union victories. The newspaper was the PhiladelphiaInquirer, a rabid Union sheet, and I was curious to see what it contained that concerned me. There I saw, in big type, the announcement of “The Arrival of the Rebel Prisoners!” “Conversation with a Rebel Officer of Longstreet’s Staff!” “Condition of the South!” “What is thought of the Rebel Generals!” &c., &c. The writer said that, in the cars, he had had the pleasure of a conversation with Lieutenant Dawson, of General Longstreet’s Staff, who was in England when the war began, but immediately returned to his home in Sussex County, Va., and entered the Confederate service! After complimenting me upon my intelligence and courtesy, he gave a very fair report of what I said. The mystery was explained. My inquisitive friend on the cars was a newspaper reporter. I was annoyed by the publicity given to what I had said, for I feared that my friends at the South would misunderstand it; but it proved after all to be a fortunate occurrence for me. Two days after the appearance of the article in the PhiladelphiaInquirer, the guard came and began to talk to me in a surprisingly civil way. Suddenly he turned his back to me and slipped a letter into my hand, telling me not to let any one see it. I hurried off to the only private place we had, and read my letter. It was from a Mr. Neal, of Walnut Street, Philadelphia. He said that he had seen my name in theInquirer, and that, being a Virginian and a prisoner, I had claims upon him; and that anything that I wanted, either in money or clothes, he would be only too happy to send me. I replied, thanking him for his kindness, and asking that he would send me some under-clothing, of which I stood in great need. Mr. Neal at once came down to the Fort, and brought me a valise well furnished with handkerchiefs,socks, shirts, collars, and other things that I required. He also insisted that I should take a small sum of money, which I was fortunately able to return to him when I was set at liberty. Much to my regret, I have not been able to learn anything about Mr. Neal since the war ended.
I had hardly settled down to the quiet enjoyment of my valise and its contents, when a big basket was brought to me, with a note from a Miss Spotswood, who said she saw by the papers that I was from Sussex, Virginia, where she had spent many happy years, and begged that in memory of this I would accept the accompanying basket. I did. In the basket were jelly, preserves, sugar, tea, coffee, pickles, pepper and salt, a comb and brush, a tooth-brush, note paper, envelopes and postage stamps. My comfort was now complete. Who but a woman would have thought of sending so many little necessaries which I could not otherwise have obtained!
The time dragged heavily, although we amused ourselves by singing Southern songs and playing games, some very pretty chess-men and chequers having been made by the prisoners. There were cards in abundance, and there was a faro-bank; but these games were not patronized by our mess. Once on a Sunday we were allowed to go to Church service on the ramparts, but this privilege was not granted again.
The confinement had a serious effect upon me, and I became really unwell; but new courage was given to all of us by the rumor that there would soon be a general exchange of prisoners, and that we should be released on parole. The rumor gained ground; but day after day passed and no confirmation came. When we had almost given up hope, an Orderly announced to us that Major Burton, the Commandant, had sent a message to us, which he would deliver if we would receive it quietly. In a moment all was still: “Major Burton says that orders have been received from Washington to send you all on to Virginia to be exchanged, as soon as boats can be secured.” We could not restrain the cheers that rose to our lips.
A day or two afterwards, when we began to think that we had been deceived, the printed forms of parole were brought in for signature. This part of the performance having been completed, Major Holliday, the senior officer, was called for, and went out. Shortly afterwards one of the Captains was taken away; then another Captain was sent for. When five or six had gone out and none had returned, so that all the tracks went one way, we began towonder what it meant. My name was next called. I went out, and was conducted to Major Burton’s office, where was an officer in full uniform. Major Burton said that Colonel ——, of the United States Army, wished to speak with me. The Colonel asked me whether I was on General Longstreet’s staff. I told him I was. He then asked me how many divisions there were on General Longstreet’s command. I did not answer him. He repeated the question, and asked how many men Longstreet had. My reply was: “You have no right to ask such questions; and you cannot suppose that I shall so far forget my duty as an officer, and my honor as a gentleman, as to tell you anything whatever concerning the command to which I belong.” Again being asked the question with the same result, I was given up as a bad job, and told that I could return to my quarters. Hurrying back to the room, taking on the way a bag of cakes that some sweet Maryland girls offered me, I reached the room and found the men there in great excitement, as no one of those who had been called out had come back. I described what was going on, and bade them be on their guard. By this time it had been ascertained that I had returned to our quarters instead of retiring to the room where were placed the other officers who had been catechized. So I was hurried out again, and unceremoniously put in the pen. The object was to keep the officers in our quarters in ignorance of what was expected to be extracted from them. But the hint I had had time to give was sufficient. Thenceforward the haughty Colonel received free answers to his questions; but I am not disposed to think that the information was very valuable. He asked particularly the number of Maryland troops in our service, and one officer told him that we now had fifty thousandMaryland Infantry, ten thousand Cavalry, and five battalions of Artillery. The interrogator was astonished. He said he had thought that there were only one or two thousand Maryland troops in our service, which was near the truth. The officer told him that of late all the Marylanders in the different Brigades had been consolidated into a Maryland Corps, which had the strength stated. A special note was taken of this information. Another officer belonged to a Brigade which had about four hundred muskets, and was asked the strength of it. He asked whether his interrogator wanted to know its present strength or the usual strength. The Colonel said he wanted to know both. The officer told him that the usual strength was about twenty-two hundred men, but he reckoned it had not more than eighteen hundred men now.
At last the long expected steamers came, and we went aboard. Our confinement was at an end, and only the sea trip and the run up the James River lay before us. The Sutler tried hard to play a Yankee trick. I have mentioned that we pawned watches and chains with him in order to buy provisions. Prior to the time for leaving the Fort most of us had obtained the money to redeem them. Major Burton indeed offered to furnish us any small sum that we needed, which we might remit to him when we reached home. But the Sutler, as soon as he learned that we were going away, went up to Philadelphia, and did not return. It was evident that he intended to remain absent until we were out of reach; but the boats were later in arriving than he expected, and he was obliged to come back to his post. Our pledges were redeemed, and the Sutler received a severe rebuke from Major Burton. No one could have been more considerate, consistently with his duty, than Major Burtonwas. This is the same noble officer who had President Davis in charge, after he was taken from the custody of the brutal officer who caused him to be so tortured at Fortress Monroe, as described in Dr. Craven’s well known book. Mrs. Burton was, I think, a Mexican lady, and sympathized very deeply with the Southerners. One day while we were on our way to the mess-hall, she waved her handkerchief to us, but I suppose that the good Major was constrained to prevent so unwise demonstrations afterwards. We did not see her again.
The fresh sea breeze was very refreshing, and we sat up nearly all night talking of home. Hunger, however, soon asserted itself, and we had much difficulty in getting a small piece of cold pork and some hard-tack. The next evening we reached Fortress Monroe, where we expected that our baggage would be searched or confiscated; but by some good fortune it was allowed to pass, and we reached Varina, ten miles below Richmond, without any trouble, although nearly famished.
Our commissioner of exchange was expected to meet us, but he was at church in Richmond with some fair lady, or too happily engaged otherwise to hurry down to attend to the wants of a few hundred prisoners who were half starved and pining to be ashore again. So we remained many hours within ten paces of the shore, before the necessary forms were complied with and we were allowed to land. There was some talk of sending us to Camp Lee to remain there until we should be exchanged; but I was taken by a friend in his carriage to Richmond, where we arrived at night. I was surprised that my joy at my deliverance was not so visible on my face that it would be noticed on the streets, and I half expected that even strangers would congratulateme. It was the 6th of October when I reached Richmond. I had been a prisoner of war only three weeks, but it seemed to me an eternity, and I can hardly realize now that the time, counted by days and weeks, was really so short. And yet, it must have been so.
The morning after my arrival at Richmond, I went down to the head-quarters of General G. W. Smith, who was then in command of the Department of Richmond, and asked his Adjutant-General for leave of absence until I should be exchanged. The Adjutant-General, who was no less a person than Major Samuel W. Melton, of South Carolina, refused point blank to allow me to leave the city. The officers and men who had been paroled could not, of course, rejoin their commands until they should have been exchanged, and there seemed to be no object in keeping them in Richmond. It was feared, however, that if they were allowed to go home, some of them might not return promptly; and for this reason no leaves were to be granted. As usual in such cases, the many were to suffer for the possible faults of the few. In my own case there was certainly no reason to refuse a leave of absence, as if I had desired to leave the service I could have done so at any time by resigning. The Conscript law of course did not affect me, and it seemed rather absurd to suppose that one who was in the Confederate service by his own choice would keep away from the field of duty which he had deliberately selected. I went to my friend, Colonel Gorgas, the Chief of Ordnance, made my official report of the capture of the trains at Williamsport, and through him obtained from the Secretary of War permission to go down to Sussex, and remain there until the completion of the exchange of the paroled prisoners.
After remaining at Petersburg a few days, I went on to Sussex, and found my friends there in great distress. Mrs. Raines had died the day before my arrival, and the loss toher husband and family seemed irreparable. To me, also, it was a heavy blow, for Mrs. Raines had been to me from the beginning a good and true friend. I stayed awhile with Major Belsches, about two miles away, and then went over to Oakland, where I had the complete rest and quiet I so much needed. The change from the dreary confinement and brutal treatment at Fort Delaware to the ease and abundance at Oakland was sufficient to make any one happy.
The days passed swiftly by, and it was not until the latter part of November that I was exchanged and free to return to the army. A fresh horse was now necessary, and I bought in Petersburg, for $400, a good-looking black charger, which turned out to be an utterly good-for-nothing animal. From Petersburg, I rode, by way of Richmond, to Fredericksburg, where General Longstreet now was. I reported for duty on December the 6th, and set to work at once to familiarize myself with the condition of my department. Lieutenant Leech did not return to us, but was assigned to duty with General Pickett as Chief of Ordnance of the division. Lieutenant Duxberry I found at head-quarters in much the same condition as when I left him at South Mountain. Very soon, the whole responsibility in the Ordnance Department of Longstreet’s Corps devolved upon me. Colonel Manning had no taste for anything but marching and fighting, and Lieutenant Duxberry was too fond of pleasure and show to be of much practical use.
I was under canvas at this time a few hundred yards from Guinea Station. The weather was bitterly cold, but my tent was small, and with the aid of a large stove I managed to keep reasonably warm. There was, as yet, no particular deficiency in the Commissary Department, but there was not much variety in the food. Bacon was thegreat staple, with occasional rations of beef, so tough that it deserved to be described, as it once was, as “the sinews of war.” The fat of the bacon was used in place of lard, in making bread and biscuits, so that when the bacon itself was served it was particularly dry. There was so great a craving for a change in the food that I ate often with relish a sauce composed of bacon fat and brown sugar, which in these days is sickening to think of. One of my men captured somewhere a keg of lard which proved to be a great acquisition. I think I may safely say that it was not paid for.