Army corps chapel near Petersburg.
Army corps chapel near Petersburg.
The engagement was renewed the next day. There was a gap in the lines, of which A. P. Hill took advantage, and attacked Barlow's division in flank. A severe struggle followed, in which Gibbon's division lost four guns. The battle was continued on the 23d, but no farther progress was made. The troops had been fighting, marching, or building breastworks for forty-sevendays, without interruption. Daily and nightly, from the Rapidan to the Weldon road, they had been in constant action. The troops were exhausted. Grant had lost seventy thousand. The reinforcements which had reached him were inexperienced. Men when physically prostrated are indifferent to commands. Discipline becomes lax. Hundreds of efficient officers had fallen during the campaign. Brigades were commanded by majors, regiments by captains, companies by corporals. The army needed thorough reorganization. The right of the line was sufficiently near to Petersburg to commence siege operations. Intrenchments were accordingly thrown up and guns mounted, and the army enjoyed comparative rest. But it was a rest under fire, day and night, the Ninth and Eighteenth Corps especially being constantly harassed by the enemy, who were bitterly opposed to the employment of colored troops. It was systematic hostility,—ingrained, revengeful, relentless. They would not recognize or treat them as prisoners of war. Slavery long before had proclaimed that black men had no rights which white men were bound to respect. For them was no mercy; only the fate of their compatriots at Fort Pillow awaited them, if taken in arms against their former masters, though wearing the uniform of the republic which had given them freedom and sent them to battle.
There was a tacit understanding between the soldiers of the Fifth and the enemy in front of them that there should be no picket-firing. They filled their canteens at the same spring and had friendly conversations. But not so in front of the Ninth, in which thirty were wounded or killed every twenty-four hours. Such was the unnecessary sacrifice of life to this Moloch of our generation! There were those in the army, as well as out of it, who were not willing that the colored soldier should be recognized as a man.
"The negroes ought not to be allowed to fight," said a Massachusetts captain to me.
"Why not, sir?"
"Because the Rebels hate us for making them soldiers," was the reply; and adding, dubiously, "I don't know but that the negroes have souls; but I look upon them as a lower order of beings than ourselves."
The old prejudice remained. We were not willing to deal fairly. We asked the negro to help fight our battles, but we were willing to pay him only half a soldier's wages, as if we feared this simple act of justice might be construed as an acknowledgment of his social as well as civil equality.
Through all the weary months of fighting and exposure the wants of the soldiers were greatly relieved by the Sanitary and Christian Commissions. The warm-hearted people in the North never ceased their contributions. The machinery of both those excellent organizations was so perfect that the soldiers had quick relief.
The power of any force—moral and religious as well as mechanical—is in proportion to the directness of its application. I recall, in this connection, a hot, dry, sultry day. The sun shone from a brazen sky. The grass and shrubs were scorched, withered, and powdered with dust, which rose in clouds behind every passing wagon. Even the aspens were motionless, and there was not air enough to stir the long, lithe needles of the pines. The birds of the forest sought the deepest shade, and hushed even their twitter. It was difficult for men in robust health to breathe, and they picked out the coolest places and gave themselves up to the languor of the hour. It required an earnest effort to do anything. Yet through this blazing day men crouched in the trenches from morning till night, or lay in their shallow rifle-pits, watching the enemy,—parched, broiled, burned, not daring to raise their heads or lift their hands. To do so was to suffer death or wounds.
The hospital tents, though pitched in the woods, were like ovens, absorbing and holding the heat of the sun, whose rays the branches of the trees but partially excluded. Upon the ground lay the sick and wounded, fevered and sore, with energies exhausted, perspiration oozing from their faces, nerves quivering and trembling, pulses faint and feeble, and life ebbing away. Their beds were pine boughs. They lay as they came from the battle-field, wearing their soiled, torn, and bloody garments, and tantalized by myriads of flies.
The surgeons in charge were kind-hearted and attentive. They used all means in their power to make their patients comfortable. Was this the place where the sick were to regaintheir health, far from home and friends! With nothing to cheer them, hope was dying out, and despondency setting in; and memory, ever busy, was picturing the dear old home scenes, so painfully in contrast with their dismal present.
It was the Sabbath, and there were many among the suffering thousands who had been accustomed to observe the day as one of worship and rest from toil and care. In imagination they heard the pealing of church-bells, the grand and solemn music of the organ, or the hum of children's voices in the Sabbath school.
There were no clouds to shut out the sun, but the brazen dome of the sky glowed with steady heat. The Christian Commission tent had been besieged all day by soldiers, who wanted onions, pickles, lemons, oranges,—anything sour, anything to tempt the taste. A box of oranges had been brought from City Point the night before. It was suggested that they be distributed at once to the sick and wounded. "Certainly, by all means," was the unanimous voice of the Commission. I volunteered to be the distributor.
Go with me through the tents of the sufferers. Some are lying down, with eyes closed, faces pale, and cheeks sunken. The paleness underlies the bronze which the sun has burned upon them. Some are half reclining on their elbows, bolstered by knapsacks, and looking into vacancy,—thinking, perhaps, of home and kin, and wondering if they will ever see them again. Others are reading papers which delegates of the Commission have distributed. Some of the poor fellows have but one leg; others but the stump of a thigh or an arm, with the lightest possible dressing to keep down the fever. Yesterday those men, in the full tide of life, stood in the trenches confronting the enemy. Now they are shattered wrecks, having, perhaps, wife and children or parents dependent upon them; with no certainty of support for themselves even but the small bounty of government, which they have earned at such fearful sacrifice. But their future will be brightened with the proud consciousness of duty done and country saved,—the surviving soldier's chief recompense for all the toil and suffering and privation of the camp and field.
As we enter the tent they catch a sight of the golden fruit.There is a commotion. Those half asleep rub their eyes, those partially reclining sit up, those lying with their backs toward us turn over to see what is going on, those so feeble that they cannot move ask what is the matter. They gaze wistfully at our luscious burden. Their eyes gleam, but not one of them asks for an orange. They wait. Through the stern discipline of war they have learned to be patient, to endure, to remain in suspense, to stand still and be torn to pieces. They are true heroes!
"Would you like an orange, sir?"
"Thank you."
It is all he can say. He is lying upon his back. A minnie bullet has passed through his body, and he cannot be moved. He has a noble brow, a manly countenance. Tears moisten his eyes and roll down his sunken cheeks as he takes it from my hand.
"It is a gift of the Christian Commission, and I accept your thanks for those who made the contribution."
"Bully for the Christian Commission," shouts a wide-awake, jolly soldier, near by, with an ugly wound in his left arm.
"Thank you," "God bless the Commission," "I say, Bill, aren't they bully?" are the expressions I hear behind me.
In one of the wards I came upon a soldier who had lost his leg the day before. He was lying upon his side; he was robust, healthy, strong, and brave. The hours dragged heavily. I stood before him, and yet he did not see me. He was stabbing his knife into a chip, with nervous energy, trying to forget the pain, to bridge over the lonely hours, and shut the gloom out of the future. I touched his elbow; he looked up.
"Would you like an orange?"
"By jingo! that is worth a hundred dollars!"
He grasped it as a drowning man clutches a chip.
"Where did this come from?"
"The Christian Commission had a box arrive last night."
"The Christian Commission? My wife belongs to that. She wrote to me about it last week,—that they met to make shirts for the Commission."
"Then you have a wife?"
"Yes, sir, and three children."
His voice faltered. Ah! the soldier never forgets home. He dashed away a tear, took in a long breath, and was strong again.
"Where do you hail from, soldier?"
"From old Massachusetts. I had a snug little home upon the banks of the Connecticut; but I told my wife that I didn't feel just right to stay there, when I was needed out here, and so I came, and here I am. I shall write home, and tell Mary about the Christian Commission. I have been wishing all day that I had an orange; I knew it was no use to wish. I didn't suppose there was one in camp; besides, here I am, not able to move a peg. I thank you, sir, for bringing it. I shall tell my wife all about it."
These expressions of gratitude were not indifferent utterances of courtesy, but came from full hearts. Those sun-burned sufferers recognized the religion of Jesus in the gift. The Christian religion, thus exemplified, was not a cold abstraction, but a reality, providing for the health of the body as well as the soul. It was easy to converse with those men concerning their eternal well-being. They could not oppose a Christianity that manifested such regard for their bodily comfort. Such a religion commended itself to their hearts and understandings. Thus the Commission became a great missionary enterprise. Farina, oranges, lemons, onions, pickles, comfort-bags, shirts, towels, given and distributed in the name of Jesus, though designed for the body, gave strength to the soul. To the quickened senses of a wounded soldier parched with fever, far from home and friends, an onion was a stronger argument for the religion which bestowed it than the subtle reasoning of Renan, and a pickle sharper than the keenest logic of Colenso!
Visiting Washington one day, I passed through several of the hospitals, and was present when the delegates came to the head-quarters of the Commission and narrated their experiences of the day. About fifty were present. Their work was washing and dressing wounds, aiding the sick and wounded in every way possible, distributing reading matter, writing letters for those unable to write, with religious exercises and conversation. No delegate was allowed to give jellies or wines as food, or to hold meetings in any ward, without permission of the surgeonin charge, which usually was granted. It was a rule of the Commission, and not of the Medical Department. The design was to do everything possible for the good of the men, and nothing for their hurt. One delegate said that he found fully one third of the men in his wards professing Christians. They were glad to see him, and rejoiced to obtain religious reading. A few days before he had given an old man a book entitled the "Blood of Jesus."
"I have found Jesus, and O, he is so precious!" said the old soldier.
Another delegate said: "I found among the patients a minister who enlisted as a private. He has been in the hospital sixteen months, and has maintained his Christian character through all the trials of camp and hospital life. I found some convalescents playing cards.
"'My boys, you don't play cards on Sunday, do you?'
"'It isn't Sunday, is it? Why, hang it all, chaplain, we can't keep track of the days in the army.'
"I talked to them of home and of their mothers. The tears rolled down their cheeks. They put up their cards, and read the papers I gave them."
"I never saw men so ready to receive religious instruction," said another delegate, "or who were so easily impressed with its truths. I am satisfied that this is a golden opportunity to the Christian Church. I found a young man to-day who said, 'I want you, chaplain, to tell me just what I have to do to be a Christian. I will do just what you say. I want to be a Christian.' It was a sincere desire. I find that the Catholics are just as eager to have religious instruction as others."
"I found a sergeant from Massachusetts, very low, but he met me with a smile. 'It is all right, I am happy, and I die content. Tell my friends so,'" reported another.
"I have been over the river to see some detached regiments," said a chaplain. "I asked one noble-looking soldier if he loved Jesus?
"'No, I don't.'
"'Are you married?'
"'No; but I have a sister. She isn't a Christian, but she wrote to me that she wanted me to become one, and I wroteto her that I wanted her to be one; and I guess, chaplain, that everybody who believes the Bible feels just so. If they ain't good themselves, they want their friends to be.'
"I found another soldier writing a letter on a little bit of paper. I gave him a full sheet and an envelope.
"'Are you a Christian Commission man?'
"'Yes.'
"'You are a d—-- good set of fellows.'
"'Hold on, soldier, not quite so hard.'
"'I beg your pardon, chaplain, I didn't mean to swear, but, darn it all, I have got into the habit out here in the army, and it comes right out before I think.'
"'Won't you try to leave it off?'
"'Yes, chaplain, I will.'"
Said another delegate: "I went among the men, and they all gathered round me with great eagerness. They were a little disappointed, however, when they saw that I was a delegate of the Commission. They took me to be the paymaster.
"But I have something that is better than gold."
"'Give me some of it,' said one, who was the son of a Baptist minister, a tender-hearted Christian."
One, just returned from the army at Petersburg, said: "I came across a drummer-boy of one of the Massachusetts regiments, a member of the Sabbath school at home, who lost his Bible during the campaign, but he has written the heads of his drum all over with texts of Scripture from memory. He beats a Gospel drum."
An hour was passed with such narration interspersed with devotional exercises. Glorious their work! Sweet the music of their parting hymn:—
"Nearer, my God, to thee,Nearer to thee;E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,Still all my song shall be,Nearer, my God, to thee,Nearer to thee."
June, 1864.
The Norfolk Railroad enters Petersburg through a ravine. In the attack upon the enemy's lines, on the 18th of June, the hollow was gained and held by Burnside's troops, their most advanced position being about four hundred feet from the Rebel line.
Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Pleasants, commanding the Forty-Eighth Pennsylvania Regiment, a practical miner, conceived the idea of excavating a tunnel under the Rebel works and exploding a mine. He submitted the plan to Burnside, who approved it. General Meade said it could not be done. Major Duane, of the Engineers, laughed at the idea. Other officers, of high rank, scouted the project. Colonel Pleasants was fully convinced of its practicability, and set his men to work.
He made application at head-quarters for a theodolite to make a triangulation of the distance, but was refused its use. He was obliged to send to Washington to obtain one. No facilities were granted him. He could neither obtain boards, lumber, or mining-picks. But his regiment, numbering four hundred men, were mostly miners, and he was confident of success. Work was accordingly commenced on the 25th of June, at noon. No wheelbarrows being provided, the men were obliged to make hand-barrows of cracker-boxes. But they were at home in the earth, and not easily discouraged by difficulties or want of proper tools to work with, and pushed forward the gallery, which was about four and a half feet high and the same in width, with great zeal. The earth brought out was covered with bushes, to conceal it from the Rebels, who by its fresh appearance might suspect where the mine was being sunk, as it was known throughout the army that mining operations had been commenced, and the Rebels had heard of it. The Richmondpapers published the news, and it was heralded through the North.
At every discharge of the Rebel artillery there was danger of the caving in of the earth; but Pleasants' daring burrowers crept steadily forward, till the noise overhead, as well as previous measurements, convinced them that they were immediately under the Rebel works. The main gallery was five hundred and ten feet in length, beside which were two lateral galleries, one thirty-seven and the other thirty-eight feet in length.
A short distance from the entrance, inside of the Union fortifications, a vertical shaft was sunk, in which a fire was kept constantly burning, to produce ventilation. Eight magazines were placed in the lateral galleries, charged with four tons of powder, strongly tamped, and connected by fuses. The mine was completed on the 23d of July.
Grant planned an assault upon the Rebel line, independently of the explosion of the mine. He sent two divisions of the Second Corps, with two divisions of Sheridan's cavalry, to the Army of the James, at Deep Bottom, where an attack was made, four guns captured, and the line extended from Deep Bottom to the New Market road. Lee attempted to recover his lost ground, but failed. Grant, in this expedition, employed an immense train of empty baggage-wagons, which, passing in sight of the Rebel pickets, made the movement an enigma to Lee. The Rebels in the fortifications had commenced a counter-mine, but suspended labor.
General Burnside wished that the colored troops of his division, under General Ferrero, should lead in the assault after the mine was exploded; and the troops were drilled with that special object in view. He believed that they would make a successful charge. They were fresh, had taken but little part in the campaign, and were desirous of emulating the example of their comrades of the Eighteenth Corps. The white troops were worn with hard marching, fighting, and exposure in the trenches in front of Petersburg, where they had been on the watch day and night. The lines were so near to the Rebels that a man could not show his head above the parapet without being shot. They had acquired the habit of takingtheir positions by covered approaches, and had lost the resolute confidence and fearlessness manifested at the beginning of the campaigns.
General Meade objected to Burnside's plan.
"I objected," says Meade, "not that I had any reason to believe that the colored troops would not do their duty as well as the white troops, but that they were a new division, and had never been under fire, had never been tried, and, as this was an operation which I knew beforehand was one requiring the very best troops, I thought it impolitic to trust to a division of whose reliability we had no evidence."[68]
The matter was referred to General Grant, who says:—
"General Burnside wanted to put his colored division in front, and I believe if he had done so it would have been a success. Still I agreed with General Meade in his objections to the plan. General Meade said that if we put the colored troops in front (we had only one division), and it should prove a failure, it would then be said, probably, that we were shoving those people ahead to get killed, because we did not care anything about them. But that could not be said if we put white troops in front."[69]
General Burnside had three divisions of white troops; as there were reasons for assigning either of the divisions to lead the assault, lots were cast, and the duty fell upon General Ledlie.
Burnside was directed by Meade to form his troops during the night, and be ready to assault at daylight on the 30th. His pioneers were to be equipped to destroy the enemy's abatis. Intrenching tools were provided, so that if successful in breaking the Rebel lines, the position might be quickly secured.
Portions of the Fifth and Eighteenth Corps were brought up to support the Ninth.
The field artillery was to be harnessed for immediate use. The siege artillery was to open a heavy fire. The Second Corps, at Deep Bottom, was to move to the rear of the Eighteenth, and be ready for any emergency. Sheridan, with the cavalry, was ordered to attack south and east of Petersburg. The Engineers were to have sand-bags, gabions, and fascinesin readiness. The mine was to be fired at half past three, and simultaneously with the explosion the assaulting column was to rush into the gap.
"Promptitude, rapidity of execution, and cordial co-operation are essential to success," wrote General Meade, in his concluding orders.
The movements and preparations were completed before three o'clock. The moon was shining brightly, but the Rebels made no discovery of the change of position and massing of troops in rear of the Ninth Corps. The heights near the hospitals were covered by teamsters, ambulance drivers, surgeons, and civilians, waiting with intense interest for the expected upheaval.
Half past three came, and the fuse was lighted. A stream of fire ran quickly along the gallery, but no explosion followed. Had the fuse failed? Lieutenant Douty and Sergeant Reese went boldly in to ascertain, and found the fire had gone out one hundred feet from the entrance. The fuse was relighted, but it was almost five o'clock, and the anxious spectators began to speculate as to the cause of the delay.
Grant and Meade were at the front. The troops thought the whole thing a failure, and began to ridicule the Pennsylvania miners.
Fleming's Rebel brigade, composed of the Seventeenth, Eighteenth, and Twenty-Second North Carolinians, was asleep over the mine. The pickets only were awake. Pegram's battery was also in the redoubt.
Finally there came a trembling of the earth, then a bursting forth of volcanic flames and rolling up of dense clouds of smoke. A mountain of rubbish rose in the air. Earth, men, planks, timbers, cannon, shot and shell, were hurled upward and outward! The sight was terribly grand. To add to the frightfulness of the eruption and the grandeur of the spectacle, one hundred guns instantly belched forth their thunders. The Rebels were surprised and panic-stricken for the moment, and ran to escape the falling earth and timbers, leaving their artillery silent. A huge gap had been made in the Rebel works, four or five hundred feet in length and twenty feet in depth.
Success depended upon the immediate occupation of the breach. Ten minutes passed before Ledlie moved, and thenhe only advanced to the crater. The Rebels offered no opposition. The important point to be gained and held was a ridge four hundred yards beyond. Ledlie still halted in the excavation. Wilcox and Potter soon followed him, and the three divisions became intermixed, and general confusion prevailed. An hour of precious time was lost. Ledlie made no attempt to move in or out, and Potter and Wilcox could not go forward while he blocked the way.
The enemy gradually recovered from their stupor, and began to fire from the hills, and batteries of artillery were brought up on the right and left to enfilade the crater: but not a cannon-shot was fired by the Rebels till after seven o'clock. The supporting brigades meanwhile were crowding upon those in front. The colored troops were ordered forward. They also entered the crater, which only added to the confusion. Potter succeeded in freeing his troops from Ledlie's, and pushed on toward the crest, but being unsupported, he was obliged to retire, driven back by the canister which the enemy poured into his ranks from the new position they had taken on Cemetery Hill. The Rebel fire increased. Eight, nine, ten o'clock passed; their batteries were throwing a concentrated fire of shells and solid shot into the mingled human mass. Mahone's and Ransom's divisions of infantry were hurried to the top of the ridge, and mortars were brought into play, and the crater became a terrible scene of slaughter. Meade, seeing that further attempt to take the ridge would be not only useless, but a waste of life, permitted Burnside to withdraw his troops at discretion. Yet to retire was to run the gauntlet of almost certain death. The space between the abyss and Burnside's breastworks was swept by a cross-fire from the enemy's artillery and infantry. To remain in the crater was sure destruction; to advance was impossible; to retreat the only alternative. Permission was given the troops to retire. By degrees they fled to the rear; but it was two o'clock in the afternoon before the place was wholly evacuated.
Forty-seven officers and three hundred and seventy-two soldiers were killed, one hundred and twenty-four officers and fifteen hundred and fifty-five soldiers wounded, and nineteen hundred missing; a total loss of over four thousand men, and no substantial advantage gained.
The loss of the Rebels by the explosion was very great, as also by the heavy artillery fire.
The causes of the failure, as decided by the Committee on the Conduct of the War, were: the injudicious formation of the troops assaulting; the halting of Ledlie; lack of proper engineers; and the want of a competent head at the scene of assault.
The reasons why the attack ought to have been successful are thus stated:—
"1. The evident surprise of the enemy at the time of the explosion of the mine, and for some time after."2. The comparatively small force in the enemy's works."3. The ineffective fire of the enemy's artillery and musketry, there being scarcely any for about thirty minutes after the explosion, and our artillery being just the reverse as to time and power."4. The fact that our troops were able to get two hundred yards beyond the crater, towards the west, but could not remain there or proceed farther for want of supports."[70]
"1. The evident surprise of the enemy at the time of the explosion of the mine, and for some time after.
"2. The comparatively small force in the enemy's works.
"3. The ineffective fire of the enemy's artillery and musketry, there being scarcely any for about thirty minutes after the explosion, and our artillery being just the reverse as to time and power.
"4. The fact that our troops were able to get two hundred yards beyond the crater, towards the west, but could not remain there or proceed farther for want of supports."[70]
It was a humiliating, disgraceful failure, which filled the North with mourning. The Rebels manifested their hatred of the colored troops by shooting some of them even after they had surrendered. The RichmondEnquirersaid that the assaulting column was led by colored troops, who rushed on with the cry of "No quarter," but the assertion is not true. The colored troops were not ordered forward till late in the morning, and then advanced but a few steps beyond the crater. TheEnquirerof August 1st doubtless gave expression to the sentiments of the Southern people respecting the treatment to be accorded to colored soldiers. Said that paper:—
"Grant's war cry of "No quarter," shouted by his negro soldiers, was returned with interest, we regret to hear not so heavily as it ought to have been, since some negroes were captured instead of being shot.... Let every salient we are called upon to defend be a Fort Pillow, and butcher every negro that Grant hurls against our brave troops, and permit them not to soil their hands with the capture of one negro."
It was the opinion of many officers who saw the advance of the colored division, that, had they been permitted to lead theassault, the crest would have been seized and held. Such is the opinion of the Lieutenant-General already given.
The onset promised to be successful, but ended in one of the severest disasters of the war, without any compensation worthy of mention.
Sad the scene on that afternoon. The ground was thickly strewn with dying and dead. The sun blazed from a cloudless sky, and the heat was intense. The cries of the wounded were heart-rending. Officers and men on both sides stopped their ears, and turned away heart-sick at the sight. It was an exhibition of the horrible features of war which, once seen, is forever remembered.
The operation of Grant upon the enemy's lines of communication was beginning to be felt in Richmond. Wilson and Kautz on the Danville and Weldon roads, Sheridan on the Virginia Central, and Hunter in the vicinity of Lynchburg, altogether had caused an interruption of communication which advanced the prices of produce in the markets of that city.
It is amusing to read the papers published during the summer of 1864. All of Grant's movements from the Rapidan to Petersburg were retreats. Lee, in his despatches to Jeff Davis from the Wilderness, said that Grant was retreating towards Fredericksburg. It happened, however, that Lee found Grant attacking his lines at Spottsylvania on the following morning. "The enemy is falling back from Spottsylvania," said theExaminer, when Grant moved to the North Anna.
"Grant is floundering in the swamp of the Chickahominy; he has reached McClellan's graveyard," said the Rebel press, when he was at Cold Harbor.
"Grant's attitude before Petersburg is that of a baffled, if not a ruined man," said the RichmondEnquirer.
"We can stand such a siege as Grant thinks he has established for twenty years to come," was the language of the PetersburgExpress.
Another number of theEnquirer, commenting upon the Richmond markets, revealed more clearly the truth.
"The extortionnowpractised upon the people," said theEnquirerof June 30th, "in every department of necessary supply, is frightful. It is a pitiable sight to see the families of thiscity swarming in the markets for food, and subjected to the merciless exactions of this unrestrained avarice."
The fortunes of the Confederacy were becoming desperate. Sherman had advanced from Chattanooga, driving Johnston to Atlanta. The removal of Johnston, and the appointment of an officer in his stead who would fight the Yankees, was demanded. Jeff Davis heeded the cry, removed Johnston, and appointed Hood to succeed him. TheEnquirerwas jubilant. Said that sheet:—
'There must be an end of retreating, and the risk of defeat must be encountered, or victory can never be won. The rule of Cunctator must have an end, for the rashness of Scipio can only end this war. If General Johnston has been relieved, the country will accept this action of the President as a determination henceforth to accept the risk of battle, as involving the fate and fixing the destiny of the Confederacy. To go forward and to fight is now the motto of our armies, and since Johnston would not advance, Hood has no other alternative, for his appointment has but one meaning, and that is to give battle to the foe.... Grant is hopelessly crippled at Petersburg, and Lee has but a few days ago thundered his artillery in the corporate limits of Washington City. Grant, while apparently advancing, has been really retreating, and this day is in a position from which he can advance no farther, and from which his retreat is only a question of time. Grant is exhausting the malice of disappointment and the chagrin of defeat in bombarding Petersburg; but Sherman, unless defeated by Hood, must march into Atlanta. The movements of General Lee have so weakened the army of Grant, that it is more an object of pity than of fear."[71]
Early in the campaign Grant, seeing the necessity of keeping the ranks of the Army of the Potomac full, had ordered the Nineteenth Corps, then on the Mississippi, to take transports for the James. His policy was concentration combined with activity. His foresight and prudence in this matter were of inestimable value, as will be seen in the ensuing chapter.
July, 1864.
The armies of the Union in Virginia, in the West, beyond the Mississippi, and along the Gulf were controlled by General Grant. The chess-board was continental in its dimensions, but everything upon it seemed within reach of his hand. He had two armies under his immediate direction,—the Army of the Potomac and the Army of the James. He was in constant communication with Sherman at Atlanta, and his orders reached the forces a thousand miles distant on the Mississippi! The details were left to the commanders of the various armies, but all important schemes were submitted to him for approval. But his best plans sometimes miscarried, from the neglect or inability of his subordinates to carry them into execution. Before starting from the Rapidan, General Grant ordered Hunter, who had succeeded to the command of Sigel in the Shenandoah, to proceed up the valley to Staunton and Gordonsville. When Grant was on the North Anna, he advised that officer to move on Charlottesville and Lynchburg, live on the country as he marched, and destroy the railroads, and, if possible, the James River Canal. Accomplishing that, he was to return to Gordonsville, and there join Grant. Hunter advanced. Sheridan was sent with the cavalry, while Grant was at Cold Harbor, to aid him. Sheridan broke up the Virginia Central Railroad, moved to Gordonsville, but hearing nothing of Hunter returned to the White House, and rejoined Grant at Petersburg.
Hunter moved up the valley. At the same time Generals Crook and Averill, leaving Western Virginia, met Hunter near Staunton, where they had a battle with the Rebels under General Jones, who was killed, and his force routed, with a loss of three guns and fifteen hundred prisoners.
Hunter, instead of approaching Lynchburg by Gordonsvilleand Charlottesville, took the road leading through Lexington and thus missed Sheridan.
He reached Lynchburg on the 16th of June, at the same time that Grant was moving from Cold Harbor to the James. Lee, seeing the danger which threatened him at the backdoor of the Rebel capital, threw reinforcements into Lynchburg, and Hunter was obliged to retreat, being far from his base, and having but a limited supply of ammunition. Having advanced upon Lynchburg from the west, instead of from the north, he was obliged to retreat in the same direction through Western Virginia, a country wellnigh barren of supplies. This left the Shenandoah open. There was no force to oppose the Rebels who were at Lynchburg. The decision of Hunter to go forward by Lexington instead of by Gordonsville disarranged Grant's plans, who did not direct him to move by Charlottesville. His letter to Halleck of the 25th of May reads: "If Hunter can possibly get to Charlottesville and Lynchburg, he should do so, living on the country. The railroads and canals should be destroyed beyond the possibility of repair for weeks. Completing this, he could find his way back to his original base, or from Gordonsville join this army." No mention was made of his advancing by Lexington; but taking that route, and being compelled to retreat by the Great Kanawha, gave Lee an opportunity to strike a blow at Washington. He was active to improve it, but Grant was quick to discover his intentions.
Ewell was sick, and Early was appointed to command the Rebel troops in the Valley. Breckenridge was sent up from Richmond. The troops took cars and moved up the Lynchburg road to Gordonsville. Early found himself at the head of twenty-five or thirty thousand men. Mosby, with his band of guerillas, was scouring the Valley and Western Virginia. He reported a clear coast towards Washington, but that Sigel was at Martinsburg.
Early passed rapidly down the Valley, drove Sigel across the Potomac, and followed him to Hagerstown. The people of Western Maryland and Southern Pennsylvania, who had already received two unpleasant visits from the Rebels, fled in haste towards Baltimore and Harrisburg. The panic waswidespread. Extravagant stories were told of the force of the enemy: Lee's whole army was advancing; he had outgeneralled Grant; he had sixty thousand men across the Potomac; Washington and Baltimore were to be captured. All of which was received with exceeding coolness by the Lieutenant-General in command at City Point, who detached the Sixth Corps, ordering Ricketts's division to Baltimore and the other two divisions to Washington. The Nineteenth Corps, which had arrived at Fortress Monroe, was despatched to Washington.
The news was startling. Leaving the army at Petersburg, I hastened to City Point, to proceed to Washington. There was no commotion at General Grant's head-quarters. The chief quartermaster was looking over his reports. The clerks were at their regular work. There were numerous transports in the stream, but no indications of the embarkation of troops. General Grant was out, walking leisurely about, with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest, smoking his cigar so quietly and apparently unconcerned, that, had it not been for the three stars on his shoulders, a stranger would have passed him without a thought of his being the man who was playing the deepest game of war in modern times. The members of his military family were not in the least excited. Calling on Colonel Bowers, Grant's adjutant-general, I found him attending to the daily routine.
"They are having a little scare at Washington and in the North. It will do them good," said he.
"How large a force is it supposed the Rebels have in Maryland?"
"Somewhere about twenty-five thousand,—possibly thirty. Breckenridge has gone, with his command. And Early has raked and scraped all the troops possible which were outside of Richmond. Mosby is with him, and the irregular bands of the upper Potomac, and the troops which met Hunter at Lynchburg. It will not affect operations here. Lee undoubtedly expected to send Grant post-haste to Washington; but the siege will go on."
On the wall of his room was a map of the Southern States, showing by colored lines the various gauges of all the railroads. Grant came in, looked at it, said "Good morning,"and went out for another stroll about the grounds, thinking all the while.
On board our boat was a lively company, principally composed of the soldiers of the Massachusetts Sixteenth, who had served three years, and were on their way home. They were in the Peninsular campaigns. Their commander, Colonel Wyman, was killed at Glendale, where they held the ground when McCall's line was swept away. His fugitives ran through Hooker's and Sumner's lines, but the men of the Sixteenth stood firm in their places, till the drift had passed by, and moved forward to meet the exultant enemy, pouring in such a fire that the Rebel column became a mob, and fled in haste towards Richmond. They were in Grover's brigade at the second battle of Manassas. There have been few bayonet-charges pushed with such power as theirs in that battle. The Rebels were on Milroy's left flank, which was bending like a bruised reed before their advance, when Grover moved to the attack.
"We stood in these lines," said a wounded officer of the Second Louisiana, a prisoner at Warrenton, two months after that battle. "They fell upon us like a thunderbolt. They paid no attention to our volleys. We mowed them down, but they went right through our first line, then through our second, and advanced to the railroad embankment, and there we stopped them. They did it so splendidly that we couldn't help cheering them. It made me feel bad to fire on such brave fellows."
They were reduced to a squad. Their comrades were lying on nearly all the battle-fields of Virginia.
"We have had a pretty rough time of it, and I am glad we are through; but I wouldn't mind having another crack at the Johnnie's round Washington," said a soldier, lying on the deck with his knapsack for a pillow.
The whole regiment was ready to volunteer for the defence of Washington.
The cannoneers of the Twelfth New York battery were of the company. They were in Wilson's raid, had lost their guns, and felt sore. Even when their loss is owing to no fault on the part of the artillerists, they usually feel that it is humiliating. They give pet names to the dogs of war; and when a good shot has been made, affectionately pat their brazen lips.
There were members of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, taking care of the sick and wounded; also a family of refugees from Prince George County, on the way to Maryland, to find a new home till the war was over.
Early was making the most of his opportunity. His cavalry moved at will, with no force to oppose them.
They divided into small bodies and overran the country from Frederick to Williamsport, destroying the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, burning canal-boats, seizing horses, cattle, and supplies, from the farmers, ransacking houses as thoroughly as the soldiers of the Union had done in Virginia.
The first invasion of Maryland, in 1862, was a political as well as a military movement. It was supposed by the Rebel leaders that the State was ready to join the Confederacy, that the people were held in subjection by a military despotism. "My Maryland" was then the popular song of the South, sung in camp, on the march, and in parlors and concert-halls.
"The despot's heel is on thy shore,Maryland!His torch is at thy temple-door,Maryland!Avenge the patriotic goreThat wept o'er gallant Baltimore,And be the battle-queen of yore,Maryland! My Maryland!"
When Jackson's corps crossed the Potomac, his troops sang it with enthusiastic demonstrations, tossing up their caps. They came as liberators. Jackson's orders were strict against pillage. All property taken was to be paid for in Confederate notes,—at that time esteemed by the Rebels to be as good as greenbacks, though not very acceptable to the Marylanders. It was an invasion for conciliation. The troops respected the orders, and, aside from the loss of a few horses, the people of Maryland were well treated in that campaign. But in the second invasion, when Lee passed into Pennsylvania, no favor was shown to Maryland. Houses, stores, public and private buildings alike were sacked and burned. The soldiers foraged at will, and the one who could secure the most clothing or food was the best fellow. In this third and last invasion, officers and soldiers pillaged indiscriminately.